Le 52 gallerie
Bookshops are enchanting places even if one doesn't usually read in the given language. I often visit them around here, though the English selection is usually limited to a few of Jane Austen's works. Already the atmosphere gives away a lot of information. The current affairs section is full of multiculturality issues - always tantalising, though I know for a fact that it will take me months to finish one of these books. The poetry corner is neat and classical. But the true surprise was the first time that I came face to face with the history shelf. Imagine a 1x2metre bookshelf, of which two lower levels contain general Central European history, Roman Empire and everything predictable. The rest of the height of the bookshelf is full of books about the First World War. All imagineable titles along the lines of "There they fought", "1917", "In the trenches" etc. All about this particular war. Endless books about the battles that took place barely an hour away in the mountains.
The Pasubio mountain range, situated in the Southern Prealps of the province of Vicenza, has been the site of some serious military activity. The Italian-Austrian front from WW I has left its unmistakeable signs on the whole area. One of the most remarkable remains of it all is the Road of the 52 Tunnels, La Strada delle 52 gallerie, that was constructed in 9 months in 1917, as a means of transporting provisions up to the fighting soldiers on the protected side of the mountain. It reaches across 6,3 km, more than 2 of which inside tunnels (guess how many). The road rises up from 1216m to 2000m above sea level. It took us 3 hours to walk it, 2 to return on the other side of the mountain.
Now, though walking can be an easy enough word, it can cause some misunderstanding. It turns out that when a walk, the one where one walks across a town, park or riverside, is a passeggiata, then going_walking, camminare, is an altogether different thing. Once I turned up in light ballerina-shoes, thinking of going for a walk, when in fact we were going walking. I should have worn strong mountain-boots instead. Walking means walking in the mountains, getting up early for it, going with friends, bringing sandwiches, dressing especially, bringing backup t-shirts, sweating, walking slow for 3-4 hours, working hard for it, no stopping, never complaining. Arriving to the top latest before noon. Returning, tired but happy. It took me a lot of time to start understanding what it all means. That I can stop for making a photo, but that's the maximum. That all the effort will probably be repaid at the top when the clouds clear up and the panorama takes one's breath away.
Last Sunday was the third in a series of Sundays spent in the mountains, so we decided to make a serious round this time, though the weather was quite grey. The first part of the road is the most steep. Going through tunnels 1 and 2, knowing that there are 50 more to come, didn't seem like the beginning to a particularly enjoyable day. Luckily it got a little easier later, until we arrived to tunnel 19 that wound about for some 300 metres in complete darkness. As the tunnel ceiling is not particularly high nor the floor too smooth, this was no laughing matter. A light came in very handy indeed. The locals tell stories of people who have felt their way around in the dark for a full half hour until being illuminated in their unorthodox positions by another walker who has thought to bring a torch. Some way up the tunnel floors were iced. I would never have managed it without Daniele's walking sticks. In a few places there was high snow on the track and starting from nr. 34 many of the tunnel entrances were almost completely covered in snow, leaving only a small gap.
From about 1700 metres upwards the fog / clouds (technically it should be clouds if we can see them from below, but no-one believes me...) cleared up and we were greeted by the bluest of skies, arching over valleys full of white cotton fog. My only regret at these moments is that there is no way my little camera could take it all in. It couldn't. The magic is the feeling of achievement, of arrival, as well as the panorama.
After sandwiches (one of the scarce moments when the sawdust-like Italian bread is truly delicious) and a little rest in the sun we walked back on the other side of the mountain. The road arches downwards in slow elongating curves, easy, but long. The snow hadn't melted on that side yet, and though the sun was hot enough, it might have been 5 degrees in the shadow. It's only in the mountains that one can go around in a light jacket in the snow and not be cold. Going down slowly on an almost level road would probably have given us a fever though. We decided to cut straight down on a steep snowy track.
It did feel quite extreme, running and sliding down a mountainside at speed. I finished with my trousers filled thickly with snow and having tripped on young pines a few times, but otherwise perfectly happy.
Back at 1216 metres, changing shoes as fast as possible in the 8 degrees and strong wind, I thought of the circumstances in which the road had been built. The slow, winding road that we had used to return was open to Austrian fire. The Road of the 52 Galleries was built at great sacrifices for a simple task: getting food up to the fighting soldiers. There are holes for dynamite in the walls of higher tunnels incase they would need to be blown up while retreating. The fact that the road is now used for careless peaceful Sunday recreation, must be a great victory indeed.
The Pasubio mountain range, situated in the Southern Prealps of the province of Vicenza, has been the site of some serious military activity. The Italian-Austrian front from WW I has left its unmistakeable signs on the whole area. One of the most remarkable remains of it all is the Road of the 52 Tunnels, La Strada delle 52 gallerie, that was constructed in 9 months in 1917, as a means of transporting provisions up to the fighting soldiers on the protected side of the mountain. It reaches across 6,3 km, more than 2 of which inside tunnels (guess how many). The road rises up from 1216m to 2000m above sea level. It took us 3 hours to walk it, 2 to return on the other side of the mountain.Now, though walking can be an easy enough word, it can cause some misunderstanding. It turns out that when a walk, the one where one walks across a town, park or riverside, is a passeggiata, then going_walking, camminare, is an altogether different thing. Once I turned up in light ballerina-shoes, thinking of going for a walk, when in fact we were going walking. I should have worn strong mountain-boots instead. Walking means walking in the mountains, getting up early for it, going with friends, bringing sandwiches, dressing especially, bringing backup t-shirts, sweating, walking slow for 3-4 hours, working hard for it, no stopping, never complaining. Arriving to the top latest before noon. Returning, tired but happy. It took me a lot of time to start understanding what it all means. That I can stop for making a photo, but that's the maximum. That all the effort will probably be repaid at the top when the clouds clear up and the panorama takes one's breath away.
Last Sunday was the third in a series of Sundays spent in the mountains, so we decided to make a serious round this time, though the weather was quite grey. The first part of the road is the most steep. Going through tunnels 1 and 2, knowing that there are 50 more to come, didn't seem like the beginning to a particularly enjoyable day. Luckily it got a little easier later, until we arrived to tunnel 19 that wound about for some 300 metres in complete darkness. As the tunnel ceiling is not particularly high nor the floor too smooth, this was no laughing matter. A light came in very handy indeed. The locals tell stories of people who have felt their way around in the dark for a full half hour until being illuminated in their unorthodox positions by another walker who has thought to bring a torch. Some way up the tunnel floors were iced. I would never have managed it without Daniele's walking sticks. In a few places there was high snow on the track and starting from nr. 34 many of the tunnel entrances were almost completely covered in snow, leaving only a small gap.
From about 1700 metres upwards the fog / clouds (technically it should be clouds if we can see them from below, but no-one believes me...) cleared up and we were greeted by the bluest of skies, arching over valleys full of white cotton fog. My only regret at these moments is that there is no way my little camera could take it all in. It couldn't. The magic is the feeling of achievement, of arrival, as well as the panorama.After sandwiches (one of the scarce moments when the sawdust-like Italian bread is truly delicious) and a little rest in the sun we walked back on the other side of the mountain. The road arches downwards in slow elongating curves, easy, but long. The snow hadn't melted on that side yet, and though the sun was hot enough, it might have been 5 degrees in the shadow. It's only in the mountains that one can go around in a light jacket in the snow and not be cold. Going down slowly on an almost level road would probably have given us a fever though. We decided to cut straight down on a steep snowy track.
It did feel quite extreme, running and sliding down a mountainside at speed. I finished with my trousers filled thickly with snow and having tripped on young pines a few times, but otherwise perfectly happy.
Back at 1216 metres, changing shoes as fast as possible in the 8 degrees and strong wind, I thought of the circumstances in which the road had been built. The slow, winding road that we had used to return was open to Austrian fire. The Road of the 52 Galleries was built at great sacrifices for a simple task: getting food up to the fighting soldiers. There are holes for dynamite in the walls of higher tunnels incase they would need to be blown up while retreating. The fact that the road is now used for careless peaceful Sunday recreation, must be a great victory indeed.
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