The next chapter of my journey was spent with daughter Ilse in Apricale, the central town of the Nervia Valley. She flew to Nice, and I rented a car in Sanremo, picked her up at the airport, and together we drove back to Liguria, to this hidden valley with its little medieval gems.
Ilse only landed at 4.00, so I had plenty of time to sightsee in Ventimiglia before I tackled the road to Nice Côte d’Azur International Airport. I had slept in, bags all packed, had a lovely breakfast with Lola, said my goodbyes and walked down to the Avis office in Via XX Settembre. I got a Fiat Panda for the week, just perfect!
I chose to take the coastal road to Nice, as I had plenty of time. When I reached Ventimiglia, I drove through the quaint city, and on the other side the river Roya cuts the ancient Borgo off from the rest of town. Over the bridge I found an excellent free parking lot. It is Saturday, market day, so off to market I head.
This town has Roman origins, some still visible as ruins. In Roman times it was called Albintimilium, and lay on the Via Iulia Augusta.
On the bridge I take in a few facts: this is the culmination of quite a lot of mountain streams. The smaller streams are called Rio, the medium sized ones Torrente, and the large ones Fiume. So this one is Fiume Roja, whereas the Nervia is a torrente.
This bridge is Ponte Andrea Doria, which points to a time when the mighty Doria family reigned in Ventimiglia. He was one of the good rulers. Believe me, there were some bad ones!
I spy a lone sunbather at the river mouth…
Now the market. Obviously the fishmarket will be closing soon. I find samphire there, called sea asparagus in Italian, at a stiff price! In folklore it is gathered near the beach. It is widespread all around the world, nowhere cultivated, but eaten everywhere.
The tag tells you exactly where each product was caught.
The flower market is a happy sight, as are all the usual suspects among the food stalls.
There is one amazing stall that procures the most wonderful array of dried and pickled foodstuffs.
Pasta of every description, Sardenaira….
When the going gets tough, we all sit down…
I saunter back to the river, because I want to climb the hill that houses the ancient hilltop town.
The Romans feared nobody, therefore they lived on the coastal plain. However, when the Saracens or Moors became a threat, people made scramble for the nearest hill, built a high wall and all piled inside. It might have a castle or a big church at the top, but these villages all have the same characteristics: narrow steep winding alleys, darkness, stairs, and wonderful views.
On the piazza at the top stands the Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta, built in the 13th C.
I climb down again via another route, but nothing is sure here. I have to retrace my steps a few times to find an exit!
I head back to my little Panda and put on the GPS on my iPhone to guide me through the border, Monaco (where today the Formula One race is taking place), and especially Nice, to reach the airport on the far side of Nice. So far so good…
Let me just make a very clear statement here: NEVER try and save money by avoiding the heavily tolled highways around Nice!! The byways are a knot of poorly signposted ups and downs, ins and outs, and if your French is iffy, this is a nightmare! My GPS guided me to a point where I could drive for 15 km before it would speak again. After an eternity I checked the iPhone again, and it had gone flat. And I had no car charger :#$&*@%! I was reduced to my own devices. I did not know how much battery life a GPS uses. So I had even taken photos with my cellphone! My time was running out, and I was not finding the way to the airport. At one point I asked a man in the street how to reach the airport, and he told me “Look for the A Huit; that will take you straight to the airport.” The toll road, obviously! I get to the A8, but nowhere does it state east or west!! I drive a while, and suddenly realize I’m going straight back to Italy, so off the highway and look for a turning point. In the end I managed to find the airport. Now where to park? So I park the car in a parkade that said terminal 1. And I run towards a pipe dream. The whole airport is under construction, so pedestrians are diverted over miles to Terminal 1. What a disaster! When I got to the arrival hall, there sat Ilse patiently waiting for Godot….
Well, as they say in the classics, all’s well that ends well. I dried my tears, Ilse took over and took us ably and competently to our destination Apricale with HER iPhone GPS, plugged into the socket, on the highway!
Soon we turned into Ventimiglia to reach the regional road, turned north toward Dolceacqua, and the winding mountain road took us to Isolabona and Apricale.
Just a fleeting glimpse of Dolceacqua at dusk
Schlepping our baggage up the steep hill…
We absolutely did not know how arduous the climb from the parking lot to our Piccolo Appartamento di Charme right next to the main piazza would be, and it’s just as well, because we were SOOOO happy with our selfcatering apartment! On the left is Annalisa Cassini, who looks after the apartment for the owners. After such a gruelling day there was no contest: dinner at La Ciassa, one of the restaurants on the square. Ciassa is pronounced Ciazza, which is Ligurian dialect for Piazza.
They served me the best Italian wine of my whole sojourn that night: a Rossese di Dolceacqua, but I never asked which one. It is a local wine made from Rossese grapes, and all the others we tried were inferior :((
I went to sleep that night a thoroughly happy chappy!
Ilse Andrag's Blog 