Castel San Pietro: of War Monuments and Movie Sites

In thinking about places we miss - and that are often missed period - my mind landed on Castel San Pietro, a small town above Palestrina. I planned to write that Palestrina (dating back farther than the 8th century BC) is one of the more important cities within 25 miles of Rome, but Wikipedia gives it short shrift. 

It gives even shorter shrift to Castel San Pietro, calling it "now occupied by a few poor houses and a ruined medieval castle of the Colonna family."  Whoa! Don't think the locals would like that description.  In fact, they worked hard to make Castel San Pietro a much-used movie site, especially in the 1950s, because of its picturesque setting. One can see Rome from its heights. Gina Lollobrigida starred in the 1953 "Bread, Love and Dreams" (Pane, Amore e Fantasia), filmed in the town. There are a dozen or so placards around  explaining the film sites in both Italian and English, though we've never seen a tourist of any nationality - or anyone speaking English.

We've always liked hiking up - and it's waaay up - to the "Rocca" or castle ruins (see photo at top) that form part of this small town above Palestrina. It's sort of (if you count going up and over the hill town when you don't have to) on our way to a hike we like that takes one down to ancient aqueducts - and Horace's tree - if we could ever find the latter.

What we found the last time we were wandering the town, looking for a coffee bar, were two war monuments, neither of which we'd seen in our previous walking around.

One monument was to the Italian combatants and Holocaust victims from the area who died in World War II, with this statue combining the two types of "caduti" - "fallen." Photo left.

The other monument, photo below, is accompanied by an inscription that reads, "In this place, on 6 July 1944, three young boys, playing with a war ordinance left over from the war, were made innocent victims. This monument is a testament to that incident, and stands against every war, past and present, against the shame of landmines and in honor of civilian victims. 8 December 2004." The Germans had left the area by early June, 1944

The two monuments together are a chilling testament to the horrors of war. And they make our casual escapade through the town, and down into the aqueducts, an after-thought. 

More later on the hike, which we do almost every year when we're in Rome, and Palestrina, home to the great 16th-century composer Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, whose statue stands in a central town square, and to the fictional site where the pact with the devil was made in Thomas Mann's "Doctor Faustus." Mann spent some time in Palestrina in the late 1890s.

Dianne

Aqueduct Hunting 101

First step in the aqueduct hunt:  waiting for the bus to get around the corner of
the tagliata  [the "cut" in the tufo]  - a car driver finally got out and directed traffic.

Aqueducts are the imposing reminders of Rome's thousands of years of history, and we're as intrigued as anyone by them.  So when we saw a map that purported to show "The Roman aqueducts itinerary," we were ready to go.  We assumed we'd be tromping through weeds that grow up among the high aqueducts, as one does at the Parco degli acquedotti [Aqueduct Park], not far from the center of Rome.

Yes, we thought this map would get us there.
Oh, well.

What we thought we'd find - these are at Parco degli Acquedotti,
number 2 on our RST Top 40 list.

We were a bit perplexed when we did not see any of these high aqueducts, as one often does, as we scootered ten, then twenty and more kilometers out of Rome on the via Prenestina, the road that led ancient Romans to Palestrina, almost to the current town of Gallicano nel Lazio. We dutifully followed the guide that told us we would go through and out of the darkness of something called the "Tagliata [cut] di Santa Maria di Cavamonte."  And a "cut" through the high tufo rock it was, as we waited for a bus, stuck in trying to make a curve through the dark tagliata [a word that until then meant for us a nice cut of steak].

The first or second century AD bridge on the ancient Roman road
to Palestrina - Ponte Amata.  Not an aqueduct, but our starting point.

Beyond the Tagliata we found our starting point, Ponte Amata, a first or second century A.D. bridge over the fosso [deep gully] in pristine condition, restored after being damaged in World War II, but now beginning to be surrounded again by the high grasses and weeds.  The ponte's dating is not certain, but is based on the Ponte di Nona, not too far away also on the ancient via Prenestina [at its ninth Roman mile from Rome] - and about which we've also written on the blog.

Dianne on the ancient via Prenestina, just before Ponte Amata.

Ponte Amata is just off the road, having been on the original via Prenestina, and it wasn't far along the road that we found good signposts indicating our route - or something close to it.












We trudged down a road, that became increasingly sterrata - or unpaved, until we came to another signpost - indicating our aqueduct was - to our surprise - far below where we were walking.

Our first aqueduct siting:  Ponte della Bullica. Dianne's red jacket
is visible where she's standing on the aqueduct bridge, about 50 feet above the
bottom of the fosso.

We followed the path down [down, down down] to another bridge over the fosso, and it was an aqueduct from the first or second century AD crossing the fosso.  This one bears the name of Ponte della Bullica and carries the Aqua Marcia water, second century AD.  Pretty exciting stuff for us.  Yes, we had found our aqueduct - not high above the campagna, or fields outside Rome, but deep in the gullies.




There are four aqueducts that cross through the valleys or gullies in this fairly compact area around the via Prenestina here, including Anio Vetus, Aqua Marcia, Anio Novus and Aqua Claudio, several on top of each other through the same structure.  That's a fine collection of aqueducts for any aqueduct hunter.

Amazing Roman engineering: Ponte Pischero, that carried the aqueduct
Anio Vetus.

We nixed the spelunking.

We found another aqueduct bridge, complete with caves that apparently one can explore - we chose not to: Ponte Pischero, billed as carrying the Anio Vetus water in 270 AD.













And then our guideposts mysteriously disappeared.  After more than an hour of traipsing around, through, and back and forth through farmers' fields, we were ready to give up.

Trail lost.

But views were great.

We found ourselves on a road that wasn't on our map.  [Most of the hiking maps are laid over World War II maps], with cars whizzing by.

Wait...this road isn't on the map.

Miraculously, it seemed, we saw a sign for via Francigena, one of the many St. Francis paths that cross central Italy.  We took a chance that it might follow the aqueduct route and scouted it out across the road.

The hazards of aqueduct hunting: a possible path through a dump.

We traced it through a dump, literally, and, lo and behold, we found yet another gorgeous aqueduct bridge.  We marked this one on our Google map, in the hopes that some of you can find it too. https://maps.google.com/?q=41.886067,12.796168&hl=en&gl=us We've also included below links to some Italian sites on the area - not that they are very helpful in actually getting you to the aqueducts.  And we've added a few more photos at the end.

Our last sighting:  the aqueduct bridge, Taulella, carried Anio Vetus water.

With that discovery we thought surely we were wise enough now to find a few other places marked on our original map, but another hour-plus of slogging through briers, weeds, cliffs, and paths yielded beautiful views but no aqueducts.

Perhaps we'll go back one day to see if we can locate the other sites on the map.  But maybe not.  We think we've earned our aqueduct hunter badge by now, and may let it rest.

Dianne

Links that might be helpful: http://www.tesorintornoroma.it/Itinerari/La-Via-Prenestina/Gallicano-nel-Lazio-Itinerario-degli-acquedotti-romani-e-ponte-Amato

http://www.tibursuperbum.it/ita/escursioni/gallicano/ponteamato.htm

What the top of an aqueduct bridge looks like today;
complete with rope so you don't fall over.

More examples of great Roman engineering; still with us.

Garibaldi in Rome

Today the name "Garibaldi" is known primarily among Italians, some Uruguayans (he was active there, too) and to those accustomed to filling in "19th-century Italian patriot" on the Monday crossword puzzle.  If it is hard to imagine, or remember, what Garibaldi was some 150 years ago, consider this line, the first one actually, from Christopher Hibbert's compelling 1965 biography:  "A hundred years ago Garibaldi was, perhaps, the best-known name in the world."  Better known, that is, than Louis Napoleon, or Charles Darwin, or Karl Marx, or Abraham Lincoln, or Giuseppe Verdi, all contemporaries. 

Garibaldi postcard

In our own half century, when heroism has been in such short supply, and the craving for it so strong and ubiquitous that every police officer, firefighter, soldier or advocate for the underprivileged is proclaimed a "hero," it is unfortunate that Garbaldi is not better known.  For he was a hero.  Not just a "Hero of Italian Unification," the subtitle of Hibbert's book, but a figure of glorious proportions, of unprecedented and largely deserved fame.  "There were streets and squares named after him," Hibbert continues, "in a hundred different towns from Naples to Montevideo; statuettes of him, busts, medallions, china figurines were almost as common in Manchester as in Milan, in Boston as in Bologna; postcards garishly depicting his messianic features were sold in their millions; you could drink a Garibaldi wine, wear a Garibaldi blouse, see a Garibaldi musical, eat a Garbaldi biscuit."  [You can also see more of Garibaldi on the Trastevere itinerary in our new book, Modern Rome: 4 Great Walks for the Curious Traveler;  see below for more information.]

Madonna, in the age of celebrity

None of that seems extraordinary in the postmodern age of celebrity, when Bowie, Madonna (left), and Lady Gaga have reinvented themselves for an album, concert, or public appearance, marketing the new self to consumers of pop culture, worldwide.
But Garibaldi was not born into an age of celebrity and, except for occasionally donating a lock of hair to an admirer, he did not reinvent or sell himself.  The image of Garibaldi that circulated across the globe in the mid-19th century--courageous, relentless, flamboyant, earnest, a charismatic leader of men, a brilliant tactician of guerilla warfare, indefatigable, the billowing red shirt that some believed had miraculously kept him from harm--had been earned, time and again, on the battlefields of what would become, in substantial measure due to his unfailing commitment, "Italy." 

"There are some men," wrote the novelist Alexander Dumas, who knew him well, "who can achieve anything, and Garbaldi is one of them.  If he were to say to me: 'I am setting out tomorrow on an expedition to capture the moon,' I should doubtless reply, 'All right, go on.  Just write and tell me as soon as you have taken it...."  And the poet Tennyson, on meeting Garibaldi for the first time, wrote:  "I had expected to see a hero, and I was not disappointed....He is more majestic than meek, and his manners have a certain divine simplicity in them such as I have never witnessed in a native of these islands, among men at least."

Our focus here will be on Garibaldi in Rome, but before we get to his adventures there, it is worth saying that his reputation as hero owed more to his liberation of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies (Sicily and Naples) from the Bourbon monarchy in 1860--a genuine success, and accomplished with a rag-tag army, vastly outnumbered--than from anything that happened in Rome.  The cult of Garibaldi was apparent midway through that campaign, when his Legion managed the perilous crossing from Sicily to Calabria, where the local peasants believed him "Il nostro secondo Gesu Cristo"--our second Jesus Christ.   

Rome, more than a decade earlier, contributed to his reputation, too, but it was also, in the final analysis, a military and political defeat, with French troops helping to crush the short-lived Republic and to restore Pio Nono to dominion over the Papal States.  

Giuseppe Garbaldi's first sight of Rome was as a youth of 17, accompanying his father up the Tiber in a small boat carrying wine, pulled upstream by oxen.  Father and son would likely have done business in the port of Rome, within a few hundreds yards, upriver or down, of the Ponte Sublicio on Testaccio's edge.  He would not see Rome again until April of 1849, when the Legion, some veterans of campaigns in Uruguay and northern towns including Novara and Brescia, and led by a red-shirted Garibaldi on a white horse, entered the city from the north, through the gate at Piazza del Popolo, then down Via del Corso toward the Piazza Colonna, today the offices of the Italian prime minister. 

Piazza of the Palazzo della Cancelleria, site of the Rossi murder

Garibaldi was late to the party.  Amidst the liberal, revolutionary (and, in Italy, nationalist) fervor that spread through Europe in 1848, the Pope, Pio Nono, had rejected the Risorgimento (the movement for unification).  Then, in November, an anti-democratic appointee of Pio Nono, Count Pellegrino Rossi, was stabbed and killed in the piazza in front of the Palazzo della Cancelleria, the Renaissance building at one end of Campo de' Fiori, just off Corso Vittorio Emanuele II.  Fearing for his life and threatened by a popular uprising, the Pope left the city for refuge in Gaeta (then part of the Kingdom of Naples), and in early February 1849, the Republic was declared, with Mazzini in charge.  In April a French army landed at the port of Civitavecchia, intending to restore Papal rule--and setting the stage for Garibaldi and his Legion.

Villa Corsini's entrance, where so many
Italian patriots died.

Rome was a complex battlefield.  Although the ancient walls on the city's east side were in some ways most vulnerable to attack, those in charge of the Republic's defense correctly assumed that the French would launch their attack at the more modern walls that surrounded the city's west side (Trastevere), running from Castel Sant' Angelo in the North, over the Gianicolo, and down to Porta Portese (at Ponte Sublicio).  Indeed, the most vulnerable part of the front, the part assigned to Garibaldi, was that around Porta San Pancrazio.  Here, the terrain posed a special problem: the ground outside the walls was higher than that within, allowing the enemy's cannon to look and shoot down on the defending armies.  There appeared to be only one solution: occupy the high ground by fortifying Villa Corsini, several hundred yards outside the walls.  Garibaldi made the villa his first headquarters. 

And so it was that the first contact between Garibaldi, his Legion (and other troops defending the city) and the French forces took place on the grounds of the Pamphili gardens, just below Villa Corsini, with Garibaldi, on horseback, personally rallying his troops in a counter-charge, shouting from his horse, "Come on, boys, put the French to flight like a mass of carrion!  Onward with the bayonet [a weapon in which Garibaldi had great confidence], bersaglieri!"  It was a great victory, to be sure, but its impact was limited; a cautious Mazzini rejected Garibaldi's request to follow up.  The momentum was lost. 

While the French licked their wounds, the Garibaldini left Rome for the foothills to the city's northwest and west, where their mission was to meet a threat from the armies of King Ferdinand of the Two Sicilies.  The Legion encamped briefly on the grounds of Hadrian's Villa near Tivoli, then turned south to Palestrina to challenge the right flank of the Neapolitan army, ensconsed in the Alban Hills.  Although vastly outnumbered, the Garibaldini were again successful, first in a series of daring guerilla raids of the sort at which Garibaldi excelled, then in a full assault down the steep slopes of Palestrina. 
A few days later, and with a much larger force (not officially under his command), Garibaldi steeled his retreating calvalry into an assault on the Neapolitans at Velletri.  "So that night," writes Hibbert, "Garibaldi went to sleep in a bed that had been occupied the night before by King Ferdinand himself."  In the following days, the Garibaldini pursued the enemy down the Liri Valley.

Back in Rome in early June, Garibaldi was recuperating in his personal quarters in Via delle Carozze (near Piazza di Spagna) from wounds suffered in the Pamphili gardens and Velletri, where he was trampled by horses.   He was not at the moment in charge of anything, having resigned his command while insisting that he was "an ordinary soldier of the Italian legion."  That status changed when the French stormed and took the Villa Corsini and the nearby Vascello Villa (retaken soon after).  Garibaldi got out of bed and made his way across the river to the Porta Cavalleggeri (just south of the Basilica of Saint Peter) to check fortifications there, then up what is now Via Garbaldi to Porta San Pancrazio.  From there he coordinated and participated in a series of frontal assaults on the Villa Corsini, each futile and costly; hundreds of Garibaldini and bersaglieri were killed.  Late in this bloodbath, he had the temerity to order the commander of the bersaglieri to attack once again:  "Go," he ordered Emilio Dandolo, "with twenty of your bravest men, and take Villa Corsini at the point of the bayonet."  That attack also failed.  And so, for once, had Garibaldi. 

Villa Savorelli (now Villa Aurelia)

It was all over but the shouting, although the good guys held out for another 26 days, until the end of June.  Even that was not easy.  Garibaldi and his staff moved into Villa Savorelli, just inside the wall at Porta San Pancrazio.

 Built in 1650, the villa had a commanding view of the area, but that view also made it fodder for the French cannon, which struck it methodically, killing several of Garibaldi's dinner guests and nearly destroying the structure.  Despite the shelling, Garibaldi's morning routine included a visit to the watch-tower on the roof of the building, where he would taunt the French sharpshooters by casually lighting a cigar as the balls whizzed by.  Restored in 1856 and renamed Villa Aurelia in 1895, it now belongs to the American Academy in Rome and is used for some of its functions.

Villa Spada, restored

As the siege wore on, Garibaldi moved his headquarters once more, to the 17th-century Villa Spada, behind the Aurelian wall, consigning that structure, too, to withering fire and destruction.  It, too, was restored, and now serves as the Irish Embassy to the Holy See. 

Garibaldi had left his pregnant wife, Anita, in Rieti on the way down to Rome.  He wrote to her on June 21:  "We are fighting on the Janiculum and these people are worthy of their past greatness.  Here they live, die and suffer amputation, all to the cry of 'Viva la Repubblica!'  One hour of our life in Rome is worth a century of ordinary existence."  (Anita must have felt the same, for as Giuseppe was writing, she was already on her way to join him in Rome; she would arrive on June 26).

These were inspiring sentiments, but the reality was more depressing, and as the month wore on, Garibaldi decided--contrary to the sentiments of the political and military leaders above him--that Rome could no longer be held, and that the cause would be best served by a strategic retreat into the countryside, where he could once again exercise his skills in guerilla warfare.  "Ovunque noi saremo,"  he would say, "sara Roma":  Wherever we will be, there will be Rome.  Fierce fighting continued on the Gianicolo, but Garibaldi had made up his mind.  He gathered volunteers in the Piazza of St. Peter's and at San Giovanni in Laterano, adjacent to Porta San Giovanni.  With Anita and about 4,000 volunteers, he left Rome on July 2, from the San Giovanni gate. 

Pursued by the French, Garibaldi feinted in the direction of Palestrina, then cut north to Tivoli, then northwest through Mentana (site of a good Garibaldi museum), where he turned north again, pushing through Terni, Todi, Orvieto, Arezzo, Macerata and points further north and east, now with the Austrians in pursuit.  In late July, his forces dwindling from defections, he officially released his remaining followers.  "Remember," he wrote in his final order, "that although the Roman war for the independence of Italy has ended, Italy remains in shameful slavery."  He would not again see Rome.

Anita Garibaldi, remembered on the Gianicolo

Both Garibaldis are represented by statues on the Giancolo.  Giuseppe's is the more prominent, located in the large piazza (Piazzale Garibaldi) that overlooks the city.  Anita's is about 150 meters to the north, on the west side of the road leading up.



Our thanks to Christopher Hibbert for use of materials from his remarkable book, Garibaldi, the basis for the above account.  It's available at Amazon. 
Bill

And for more on Garibaldi in Rome, see our new print AND eBook,  Modern Rome: 4 Great Walks for the Curious Traveler.  Along with the tour of Trastevere, Modern Rome features three other walks: the "garden" suburb of Garbatella; the 20th-century suburb of EUR, designed by the Fascists; the 21st-century music and art center of Flaminio, along with Mussolini's Foro Italico, also the site of the 1960 summer Olympics.

This 4-walk book is available in all print and eBook formats The eBook is $1.99 through amazon.com and all other eBook sellers.  See the various formats at smashwords.com. 

Modern Rome: 4 Great Walks for the Curious Traveler now is also available in print, at amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, independent bookstores,  and other retailers; retail price $5.99.

Lions and Tigers and Bears: Animal Encounters on Lazio's Yellow Brick Roads

"Lions and Tigers and Bears! Lions and Tigers and Bears!" That famous refrain from The Wizard of Oz ran through our heads as we thought about the world of fauna that one naturally encounters in hiking the hills and mountains outside Rome. The lions and tigers are few and far between, and in our experience there are no bears except in the Abruzzi. Even so, in Lazio you'll often have animals as hiking companions, and they can be intimidating--especially if, like suburban-raised Bill, your life experience with farms is limited to children's books. Having visited her Italian-American grandmother's farm outside Seattle in the summers, Dianne is more familiar with the bucolic. You'd be amazed at the use once made of the Sears, Roebuck catalog.

The pigs you'll encounter as you walk Lazio's ridges and valleys are not of the barnyard variety.

They're wild boars--cinghiali--brutish and potentially dangerous creatures. Fortunately, they flee at the first sight of hikers, even if they're already hundreds of yards away and off the trail. Our only encounter with more than one of these savory fatties was in Umbria, where we had gone to visit friends who had restored an 18th century farmhouse in the luscious rolling hills near Gubbio. To avoid farmers' fields and try something different, the two of us had set out to hike straight up a muddy streambed
(surrounded by trees, the stream we walked was just to the left of the center at the photo at left, taken from our friends' terrace; that's me looking toward the camera). Coming over a rise, we surprised about 15 of the beasts with their snouts in the watery muck some 50 yards away. They took off like bats outta hell, up the stream and away from us. We continued ahead but never saw anything of them again--and we were glad of it.

Sheep are a common presence on the trail and usually just mill around and eat, especially if tended by a shepherd (most of them now from Eastern Europe) and his dog. We had one experience that was different. We had come off the top of Monte della Fate, not far from Pontinia (one of the Fascist-built cities to Rome's southwest), and descended into a coll. Just ahead were hundreds of sheep, many of them large and fat, the flock unsupervised. As we approached, the animals reacted with dread, apparently convinced that we were terrorists. The pack exploded down the steep, rocky, adjacent hillside, a sea of wool in full flight, raising clouds of dust in their desperate effort to escape the threatening hikers. We were transfixed, horrified at the thought that our presence had precipitated what was sure to end as a sheep massacre, blood and broken bones everywhere. As it turned out, the sheep were more agile than we ever imagined, and not a one even fell.

While sheep generally prefer slopes and fields to the paths trod by humans, Italy's cows and horses are likely to be right there on the trail
as you come around the next bend. Our rule of thumb is that the cows will stand their ground and the horses will run for cover,
though neither is always true. If the terrain is open (right, above) and the trail proper a mere convenience, it's easy enough to skirt the cows and the occasional stationary horse, but often the trail is confined. (Below right, a bunch of skittish horses has taken off down a confined trail at our arrival; harder to see is one that decided to get away by going up the rocky hillside at the right).

Sometimes one must pass gingerly by the beasts. We are particularly cautious about cows with huge horns, which we identify as potentially mean bulls, especially if there are calves nearby that the bull may be anxious to protect. On one occasion, we were returning to the hilltop city of Norba via a set of terraces in back of the town--and only meters from paved roads--when our progress was effectively blocked by a large bull. We retreated to find another route (which proved dangerous and ultimately unsuccessful). Another time we had ill advisedly decided to finish a hike by going off trail toward some farm houses. We entered a narrow, sunken streambed that we imagined would take us past the farms to the road beyond. It was a good idea, but two enormous bovine stood midstream, and we scrambled up the bank.

We no doubt over-estimate the hostile intentions of cattle, female or male. The trail up Monte Gennaro, the most popular substantial climb close to Rome, is laced with passive cows, guys and gals, enjoying the sun of the high pasture or, as in the photo at the top of this post, taking refuge in the shade of the dry riverbank leading to it (the photo is ordinary; we were seconds late in capturing an episode of fornication). Another day, when crossing a huge open field with an Italian hiking group, we passed within 20 feet of a cow that had recently given birth, its calf still attached by umbilical cord. None of the animals seemed to mind our presence--but we did not linger to take photographs. You'll find donkeys
on the trail, too, and they are harmless. Here's one helping Dianne read the map.

Every farmer has a dog--and often more than one--and while they bark a lot, most of them are territorial to a fault and don't care much if you're not on their turf. And if the owner's around, he'll call them off. Still, if you're off trail and cutting through the bushes in a farmer's back yard (not so uncommon for us), the anxiety is palpable.

Yet only once have we been really frightened by dogs. It happened in the hills near Palestrina. We were nearing the end of a long--and needlessly difficult--day of hiking. We had missed the trail down into the enormous gorge in back of the city and, at Bill's urging, had plunged a thousand feet down a steep wooded ravine to the creek below, then up the other side (on a dirt road), finally, finally (Dianne was upset), emerging on the far crest of the gorge in lovely, flat country,
with the paved road to Palestrina and a cold beer less than half a mile distant. In that moment of temporary bliss, Dianne took the photo at right.

Within minutes (see the buildings at the left of the photo that promised our return to civilization), we understood that to get to that road we would have to walk through the middle of a rural homestead, several buildings on each side, with the holy grail of the paved road two hundred yards beyond. And there were dogs. One at first, then a few, then NINE (we counted), barking, snarling, teeth-baring, and all following us in a pack as we walked at a measured pace between the buildings. The farmer or his wife would appear at any second, we thought, to rein in their crazed mutts and appease us with pasta and wine, but never did. The dogs were at our feet, sniping at Dianne's heels, and to keep them off--but hoping not to provoke an attack--I poked at the more aggressive ones with my hiking pole, which seemed to give them pause. Ha Ha. And we methodically walked on. As the road got closer and their turf farther away, the dogs lost interest. We felt spared. And I had saved Dianne (Dianne remembers the event somewhat differently: she led the way through the pack of dogs, Bill following behind).

We have had close encounters with nice dogs, too. A scruffy white one met us in the main square of the small town of Calcata; followed us down into the Etruscan ruins of the Valle della Treja below and 4 miles,
some of it off trail, to Manzana, where the three of us ate our lunch; napped (see photo) on his full stomach; then took us back to his village. An inquiry at the local bar revealed that this is pretty much what this dog does. Once we knew he wasn't going to get lost, we enjoyed the company.

Bill