5th May 2024

After a comfortable night’s sleep, we showered and made our way downstairs to join our hosts for breakfast. It was a glorious day, with clear blue skies and a warm breeze. The view down the valley was breathtaking, scenery that simply demanded to be explored. A brief moment of excitement occurred in the garden when a large swarm of bees angrily swirled through, thankfully without pausing to establish a new hive within its bounds.

Later, while Joan and Phil undertook their daily exercise, strenuous circuits of their steeply sloped orchard lasting half an hour, Sue and I set off down the lane that leads into the valley. I’ve walked this path many times before and know it well, so I was looking forward to seeing whether anything had changed. Since I last took this route with Sue, several derelict farmhouses along the way have sadly deteriorated further and appear not to have been used at all this year.

Near the bottom of the valley lies Luke’s place, a rather whimsical house, once renovated to modern standards by an English family. Complete with a swimming pool and a field of solar panels, it sits at the end of a rough track navigable only by four-wheel-drive vehicles. It has stood empty for many years now. Once on the market, it is now practically unsellable due to its poor access.

The midday heat was beginning to take its toll on our pace, and we paused frequently to rest beneath any patch of shade we could find. At one point, we stopped to observe the flattened body of a large black grass snake, evidently run over by a vehicle that had somehow made its way along the track.

The climb back up the hill was exhausting, and it was with considerable relief that we finally reached the cool refuge of our hosts’ kitchen, where we were greeted with refreshing glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.

As we recovered from the heat, we chatted amiably while Joan, once again working her culinary magic, prepared a delicious salad for lunch.

Much of the afternoon was spent on the rear patio, enjoying the view and the warmth of the Italian climate. We did, however, find time to deal with an unruly wisteria that had once climbed a pillar and trailed along the roof of the covered patio. A few months earlier, it had been blown down by strong winds, so we pulled it back into position and secured it with wire salvaged from some old fencing. The cat, clearly delighted by the company in what she considered her rightful domain, meowed incessantly for attention.

At 5.30 p.m., our hosts disappeared indoors to listen to the Liverpool v Spurs match on the radio. We joined them a little later, and, as ardent Liverpool supporters, they were thoroughly pleased with the 4–2 victory.

A splendid evening meal followed, accompanied by more relaxed conversation and a delve into Phil’s extensive music collection, before sleep eventually beckoned.

6th May 2024

Another cloudless day dawned, with my weather app predicting a high of 28 °C. Our hosts were expecting another guest, Pat, an Irishman who lived in the town and was due to drive them to Ancona Hospital the following day for Phil to have a blood test.

Sue and I had decided to visit Gola dell’Infernaccio, a series of dramatic gorges carved by the River Tenna, located in the municipality of Montefortino in the province of Fermo, within the Sibillini Mountains National Park. I had been before, but Sue had not, and it seemed the perfect day to explore this striking natural feature together. The shade within the gorge would provide ideal conditions for a gentle ramble.

After breakfast, we left Joan and Phil to await their friend and set off on the 17-mile journey, following a series of winding switchback roads, mercifully quiet and free of traffic. Where, I wondered, were all the Italian drivers who had caused me such concern just a few days earlier?

The final 8 kilometres were slow going along a gravelled track riddled with potholes, but we managed to avoid the worst of them and eventually reached the small car park at the entrance to the ‘Horrid Gorge’. The mountains flanking us were fiercely rugged, with sheer cliffs rising vertically from the roaring Tenna River to impressive heights, dwarfing us and making us feel wonderfully insignificant.

It is, without doubt, an awe-inspiring place.

Reassuringly, there were two other cars parked, though there was no sign of their occupants. We wouldn’t be entirely alone, yet the setting still felt remote and slightly daunting. The gravelled track led us to the riverbank, where, by stepping carefully from rock to rock, we managed to ford the torrent without getting our feet wet.

Joan had thoughtfully provided us with a torch to tackle the tunnel that cuts through the shoulder of the mountain, where the river squeezes through a narrow rocky gap. However, the entrance was barred and locked, forcing us instead to take the steep and narrow path that clings closely to the river’s edge. It was something of a scramble at first, but immensely satisfying to make it over a massive rockfall and emerge onto an ancient, narrow trail, pressed between the boulder-strewn, racing waters and a sheer rock face.

With the sky reduced to a ribbon above the narrowing gorge, we paused for a while to watch a flock of birds cavorting wildly in the updraft, chattering and calling to one another with apparent delight before vanishing from view.

Eventually, we reached the point where the tunnel would have rejoined the trail. From here, we continued along a well-worn path popular with hikers during the walking season. Our route now took us up into the forest and away from the river. Towering, timeworn trees, their spring foliage a vivid green, clung precariously to the steep mountainside, a scene that wouldn’t look out of place in a nature magazine or on a desktop wallpaper.

Continuing our steady climb, we eventually reached a wooden signpost pointing to another trail. Hoping it might lead us to the Hermitage, we followed it. The Hermitage of San Leonardo al Volubrio is a destination for annual pilgrimages, perched on a hillside overlooking the gorges. It stands as the last surviving legacy of an ancient society rooted in pastoralism and forestry, ways of life lost to the passing centuries.

We pressed on valiantly for another half-hour, the trail becoming ever steeper, before reluctantly admitting defeat and turning back. On our return, we passed several pairs of hikers setting out to enjoy the beauty of the gorge, just as we had. We exchanged “buongiorno”s with warm, knowing smiles, fellow travellers on a path worth every step, even if not fully conquered.

The satnav chose a different route to Santa Vittoria, still maddeningly twisty and riddled with potholes. Passing through one seemingly deserted hilltop town, we spotted an open bar and pulled in to see if they served ice cream, and they did! Taking seats outside with a splendid view of the surrounding mountains, we devoured ludicrously large cones stacked with multiple scoops in a range of flavours, each one threatening to slide off and onto our hands; mine eventually did.

Feeling suitably chilled, we wandered on foot to the top of the town to see the obligatory church and take in the views. The maze of cobbled alleyways and close-packed stone buildings was just as you’d find in every hilltop settlement across the Marche region: pleasantly cool, quiet, and immaculately tidy. Sadly, on reaching the summit, we found the church closed and surrounded by scaffolding, heavy machinery, and all the signs of ongoing renovation. So, we retraced our steps and returned to the car.

When we arrived back at our accommodation, Pat had been and gone, and an early start had been arranged for the hospital visit the following morning.

That evening, it had been arranged for us all to dine in town. We chatted with our hosts and amused Cat, who relished the attention, until it was time to drive the short distance to the Farfense Hotel and Ristorante, described as “a delightful place that offers a blend of traditional Marchigian cuisine with innovative touches.” The food and atmosphere lived up to expectations, rounding off a lovely evening. By 10 p.m., we were snug in bed, comfortably full and content, enjoying that rare peace only a well-fed body can bring.

7th May 2024

Our hosts had already left for Ancona by the time we woke. The forecast warned of thunderstorms later in the day, so after breakfast, we decided to visit Lago di San Ruffino. Located in the municipality of Amandola, within the Sibillini Mountains National Park, the lake is artificial, created in 1961 when a dam was built to block the flow of the Tenna River and form a reservoir.

It took us about half an hour, along the now-familiar assault course of crumbling roads, to reach the small car park situated over the dam, nestled between two lakeside restaurants.

Pulling on our boots and taking a raincoat and umbrella, just in case, we set off along the trail. A large information board at the start of the path suggested that the route would circumnavigate the lake. It was a pleasant walk beneath a warm, though increasingly threatening, sky. We were serenaded all the while by a cacophony of frogs hidden in the thick foliage lining the water’s edge.

A handful of waterfowl drifted aimlessly across the lake’s still surface, occasionally disturbing the mirrored reflection of the dam and the surrounding forest. Only one person passed us during the entire walk, a lone cyclist descending the trail on the far side; otherwise, we had the place entirely to ourselves.

Where the lake narrowed into its feeder river, we crossed via a road bridge and followed a promising-looking path along the opposite bank. Unfortunately, it petered out after about 100 metres, and we were forced to retrace our steps to the road and follow that back to the car park.

Walking along the white verge of the road, facing oncoming traffic as is the custom, we were unexpectedly stopped by the Carabinieri. After enquiring what we were doing, they listened to our explanation, advised us to take care, and drove off. It was a brief but oddly entertaining interlude.

We opted for a light lunch at one of the lakeside restaurants. When we ordered insalata verde and insalata pomodoro, our waitress looked puzzled that we didn’t want pasta alongside. She took the order to the kitchen, only for the cook to emerge moments later, visibly intrigued and clearly needing confirmation that we really didn’t want pasta. Neither could quite believe it, and both seemed highly amused. We enjoyed our meal regardless, paid up, and left, with the waitress watching us drive away, still shaking her head in bewilderment.

The rain began as we drove towards Servigliano in the hope of finding ice cream. We were in luck. A gelateria in the main square, unlike the other shuttered establishments, was open. We sat outside beneath a canopy, enjoying our ices as the rain gently fell around us. I even ordered a second one before we made a soggy dash back to the car and returned to Santa Vittoria.

Joan and Phil had returned from the hospital by the time we arrived, so we caught up over coffee, each sharing the day’s adventures. Later, we joined them in the top-floor lounge to watch some television until it was time for our evening meal.

That night, we said our goodbyes to Joan and Phil, grateful for the wonderful hospitality they had shown us throughout our stay. Very early the next morning, Pat was due to collect them again and take them back to Ancona for a minor operation on Phil’s ear. We’d still be fast asleep when they left.

8th May 2024

At some point in the very early hours, Joan and Phil quietly slipped out of the house with Pat, not disturbing our sleep in the slightest. It was around 10:30 a.m. when we finally set off, bound for the Hotel Touring in Ancona, ready for our return flight the following day. The weather was warm and clear, and the drive took a leisurely two hours. We avoided the toll roads and encountered no mishaps, an uneventful but satisfying conclusion to a thoroughly memorable trip.

As before, the hotel kindly allowed us to check in early. After dropping our cases off in the room, we rang Joan to check on Phil. He’d had his operation and, although feeling sore, was otherwise fine. They were just waiting for a doctor to complete the paperwork and sign him off as fit to go home.

Consulting Google Maps, we located a nearby petrol station just five minutes away and filled up the tank in readiness for dropping the car off at the airport the following morning. With the car safely returned to the hotel, we walked down to the beach and found a restaurant that was open. A light salad meal filled our stomachs nicely, and we stretched our legs afterwards with a gentle stroll along the shoreline, pausing now and then to watch a group of workmen repairing one of the breakwaters.

Back at the hotel, I enjoyed a nap while Sue relaxed on the balcony in the sunshine, solving crosswords on her phone and watching boats pass by on the distant Adriatic. By 7:30 p.m., we were downstairs again, enjoying two more excellent pizzas in the hotel restaurant. Afterwards, we rounded off the evening by watching a Netflix documentary on my laptop before drifting off to sleep.

9th May 2024

We were down at breakfast by 7 a.m., joined by a crowd of reps and workmen using the hotel while working away from home.

It was an easy ten-minute drive to the airport. Following the signs for rental car returns, we parked the car in the same multi-storey where we had picked it up a week earlier. On our way to the Sicily by Car office to drop off the keys, we passed the correct parking spot, right next to the terminal, which we had missed. The attendant just smiled (this must happen often), took the keys, and waved us in the direction of the terminal.

With a couple of hours to wait for our 11 a.m. flight, we breezed through security and found seats near the departure gate. There was a minor hiccup when the gate opened: Sue, as usual, dashed ahead, leaving not just me behind, but her rucksack too. Luckily, the passengers were held up partway to the aircraft, and from a distance, I watched her realise the oversight. In a mild panic, she ran back, calling through the window for me to retrieve the forgotten bag from her seat.

The rest of the journey went smoothly, though we faced a bit of a wait at Stansted as the eGates weren’t in operation. We landed at 1 p.m. and were home by 3 pm.

It had been a lovely week away with friends, one full of walks, food, laughter, and ice cream, and we hope there are many more like it still to come.