SS-91

From SS-91 Looking Off Toward the Town of Cairano

on the Distant Anvil Shaped Peak

 SS-91

It’s fun to sometimes take a ride, like one of those Sunday afternoon jaunts as a kid with Mom and Dad.  Nowadays, we challenge ourselves to live actively even in the July heat of Italy.   One late afternoon recently, we took a ride when the light was about right to take in what we could of the beautiful countryside about us here in Campania.  It is hard to describe what our eyes perceive.  A camera just can’t compare to what our eyes present.  It is due to the processor each of us has called a brain.  The brain takes in a rather narrow, highly focused image and stitches it with a wide-angle peripheral image to fashion what we take in.  My camera can’t do that, a 70mm IMAX scene can’t do it either.  Then how do we capture the essence of what the eyes see?  We can’t.  This is especially a shame when trying to capture the panoramic grandeur of a scene spread out before us.  Panning about slowly is our only insufficient hope compared to those backseat Sunday scenes back then from that old, green, ’52 Chevy. 

There is a particular road we occasionally travel, Strade Statali-91 or State Highway-91.  Beginning from a southern segment where it intersects the east-west SS-7 artery that runs past Calitri, it continues its climb north beyond the next main east-west thoroughfare, the A-16 Autostrada.  While we haven’t explored its entire length, we use it to travel the tens of miles from, let’s call it Conza della Campania alongside SS-7, northward through the countryside about as far as the town of Andretta.  I find it both a relaxing and interesting ride that in a brief few miles conveys us through history, both of a recent and far, far past vintage.  It is a trail of past lives, death and destruction, modern advances, and the continued simple agrarian lifestyle which is embodied in this area.

L'Ottaggano, a Refreshing Change Along SS-7

Serving as a marker, we begin our jaunt at a rather new restaurant that lies at the junction of the ‘slip road,’ (as our British-voiced GPS Margarette would announce), from SS-7 onto SS-91.  As I said, it is new.  When we first visited, it was only five days in the making of a name for itself.  In Conza Della Campania it is called L’Ottaggano.  As its name implies, it is octagonal in shape making it unique to the area and difficult to miss especially at the wide-open intersection it occupies. We sat outside, to our surprise, with many others we knew from Calitri.  Word had clearly spread throughout the river valley and folks were eager to give it a try.  While they offer a range of entrees from pizza to T-bone steaks, the majority of their menu was reserved for a description of hamburgers, many named after colors such as Mr. White, Mr. Brown, Mr. Blonde, Mr.

Mr. White Burger

Blue, etc.  All sorts of added fixings somehow combine to explain their colorful names.  Each featured a different topping … the likes of crispy bacon, prosciutto, sliced tomatoes, sharp caciocavallo or tangy gorgonzola cheeses, rucola, caramelized onions, porcini mushrooms, and so on.  Clearly, they are catching on to burger-making here.  They were so large it was a challenge to get your jaw open enough and not revert to a fork and knife.  Each to his own, but having been gone so long, thinking back to their American cousins, their patties were very lean by comparison, lacked a juicy flavorful consistency, and as yet were not offered char-grilled.  Clearly, Burger King and MacD still have comfortable leads.  It appears to be that way with hamburgers wherever we purchased them.  Options for 80 or 90% lean meat don’t appear to exist at the markets.  If I could figure out how to ask a butcher for an 80% lean / 20% fat ground beef mixture or to simply add a little suet, it could result in a range of offensive responses ranging from a frown to an outright affront to Italian gastronomy.  Worth a try, I’ll have

Earthquake Devastation

a go at it next time with Michele, our butcher.

Moving along SS-91 just a mile or so, we arrive in old Conza della Campania, or what is left of it.  It was on Sunday evening, 23 November 1980 that a 6.9 magnitude terremoto (earthquake) materialized out of the blue to level dozens of villages, including Calitri.  In its wake it left 2,600 people dead, 8,000 injured, in addition to approximately 300,000 homeless.  It was just the other day when the visiting former Calitrani di Carlo brothers, who had been born in the building outside our doorway (and kept a corralled pig there by the stairs leading to the castle), told us that his grandmother had died there during the quake.  Likewise, the original Conza was completely razed to the ground only to be rebuilt on another site some miles away.  From the rubble of Conza, which included the ancient Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta, built on the remains of a Roman basilica, various structures from past eras emerged.  They include the ruins of a Roman settlement, now part of the archaeological area of Compsa.[3]  Following the destruction and subsequent demolition carried out

Moment the 1980 Terremoto
Struck Calitri
(Clock was Never Repaired)

throughout Conza, Roman finds were unearthed.  Their existence came to light some six meters below the road level of the town following the removal of rubble.  These finds included the cobbled pavement of the Piazza del Foro, the remains of Irpinia houses prior to the 2nd century BC, the vestiges of a Roman building with a limestone block podium, remnants of the forum square with a funerary stone, and a Roman spa facility.  Along with these, vestiges of a Roman amphitheater have emerged along with a votive altar dedicated to Venus, in addition to numerous epigraphs, sarcophagi, and mosaics.

According to recent studies, it appears that the original Samnite settlement, located in the area, later moved to the environs of present-day Conza following the Roman conquest.^[2]  The Samnites, reportedly an offshoot from a group of Sabine exiles^[1], were an ancient people who settled this area well before the Romans arrived.  Maria Elena and I were able to observe some evidence of this when we visited the archaeological site and were shown telltale remnants of a herringbone pattern made of small, elongated stones, still in the earth and attributed to them. 

Conza Archaeological Park

Some homes have been rebuilt while others, some multistory, are new to the scene.  Following a few signs leading off SS-91 through the devastation of the old town, brings us to an excellent restaurant with a fantastic view.  Because of its relative isolation, it is primarily known only to area residents.  It is the Antica Trattoria Zia Michelina.  We have eaten there many times including on multiple birthdays accompanied by friends.  In 2012 we knew it as La Locanda Ninco Nanco, named after a local brigante (bandit) who met with a bad end.  I’m sure that well before we discovered it, it was known by another name.  Instead of tearing them down, Italians repurpose buildings unlike the general custom in the States.  Being made of stone likely accounts for some of this reuse.  In time, people may come and go along with the storefront names, but the buildings remain.  That is unless there is an earthquake.  In addition to the fare Chef Angelo serves up, it is 

Just Follow the Signs

spectacular location high up on a mountain ridge along SS-91 that adds to its fame.  While the restaurant may not be very large, its side patio presents a panorama unlike any other in the region (unless, forgive me, I add our rooftop terrace to the mix).  As though you are on a cloud, about you the majesty of the Ofanto River valley lies at the base of our table like the edge of some infinity swimming pool.  It is a spectacular scene, especially when washed in the light of the late afternoon, bordering on evening.  You may imagine it, but like a photo, it is not the true experience.  It begins in the west as the Apennines gradually swallow the light of day.  I find it to be the finest part of the day, that twilight time before sunset when daylight leaches to evening.  Here, shards of reflected light on the water of manmade Lago Conza, far below, offer a momentary mirage soon to be overtaken by the flickering wash of starlight as we finish sipping 

Dam Across the Ofanto River

an aperitivo.  The lake was created in the seventies when a diga (dam) was constructed across the Fuime Ofano (Ofanto River).  The resulting reservoir was intended for irrigation purposes, and later as a source of drinking water.  Since 1999, the southern side of the lake has been designated a WWF-protected oasis.  From this lofty perch, across miles of rolling countryside dotted with fields and forests, nature gradually clicks off its luxuriant color palette and bids goodnight.  It is indeed an enchanting spot to linger.

When last there, I recall enjoying cavatelli rosso with hunks of baccalà (cod) and black olives.  Now refreshed by the repast and the scenery, Mare and I continued our journey first along an elevated span across the outflow of the dam.  It leads us by the water treatment plant to join winding roads through hayfields dotted with growing numbers of wind

No, This is Not a Painting

turbines and patches of forest teaming with wild boar.  There is ruin here also, though not necessarily from earthquakes.  The timeless cycle of life is evident in the remains of old farmhouses which speckle the rolling fields corralled by lopsided barbed wire fences.  Though beautiful to behold, this remains wild country where life, even though tractors have long replaced teams of oxen, is hard and remains physically demanding.  On this stretch of SS-91, agriculture is focused on growing hay needed throughout southern Italy to feed livestock during the long stretch of winter. Daily, trailers loaded with round haybales lumber along the roads to the

Abandoned Farmhouse

annoyance of more speed-conscious drivers.  Not everything is cultivated.  Areas like steep ravines, saddles, and the juncture of hills too difficult to utilize remain wildly untouched and forested.  Though unscathed, these areas are not unused.  They team with wild boar.  Negotiating these still natural stretches as we continue toward Andretta, we’ve had to stop our car to let these feral pigs cross the road.  Actually, we had little choice since mother hog and her piglet brood, called a sounder, offered little choice. 

    Just ahead lay Andretta.  The name stems from Greek for firmness or fortress, andreia.  If it sounds remote, it is.  Why it is there is yet a mystery to me.  After ten or more kilometers, a farm here and there, intermittent between expanses of beautiful though stark countryside, Andretta gradually materializes first from the hint of a few houses into something more than a hamlet to a striving

These Little Piggies Don't Go to Market

community.  While Andretta has been inhabited since the sixth century BC and by 1931 saw its population grow to 4900 residents, emigration has since reduced its numbers to the point that today only approximately 2000 souls make it their home.  Today, this settlement’s arrangement features small scattered residential areas like those we’d witnessed along SS-91 with a clear agro-pastoral bent, expressive of its Samnite-Roman cultural inheritance. Holding further to its past, Andretta's coat of arms has the manacing wildness of a

Wild Country

rampant golden lion holding a laurel branch poised on the Samnite shield.  I can imagine Roman legions marching through its countryside unknowingly on their way to utter defeat in Cannae at the hands of the Carthaginians.  Surprisingly, this historic battle took place on a more distant riverbank farther east, although beside the same Ofanto River as Conza.  Andretta grew from a small village at the end of the Greek-Gothic war (535-554 AD).  It formed part of a defensive and territorial control system and served as the last barrier to the advance of the Lombards towards Salerno and the Puglia region.  Eventually, when Conza was occupied by the Lombards, Andretta became a fortified village and was elevated to the rank of Castellum, a small, fortified military camp.^[4]  While it was settled in the Bronze Age, its earliest historical mention was in 1124, then under Norman rule.

To this point, Andretta marks the farthest we’ve ever gone along SS-19.  There’s no need to go beyond it for our terminus is the door front of Pizzeria Da Zio Rocco e Gianmaria, where a menu still

Entry Walkway to Zio's Pizzeria

does not exist (see “I Am The Menu” in the Blog archive published Aug 2017).  Following a thirty-one-month absence, there had been visible changes.  The ‘nave’ of this gastronomic shrine had been paneled on either side with romantic tables for two, shaded by overhead vines.  Continuing straight ahead through the doorway, across the foyer into the kitchen, we’d walk directly into the roaring heart of Gianmaria’s den, the pizzeria’s wood oven.

Keeping with tradition, there is no need for a menu when Zio Rocco himself will explain what is on offer that evening.  Zio himself hadn’t changed much.  He was as welcoming as ever, though certainly more arthritic.  All part of the show, he remains his commanding, brusque self.  Here is a genuine place with a rustic atmosphere typical of the cuisine of the area.  What is not typical is the pizza served in this far-flung oasis.  He has struck on a pizza like none other.  In fact, I’m unsure whether any other pizza topping choices are offered there.  After all, Zio (Uncle) began by selling pork.  It is a wonderful pie, the best I’ve ever eaten.  The closest runner-up to it might be a sausage pizza but unlike

The Zio Rocco One and Only Pork Pizza

any of those, this is a true pork pizza teaming with large chunks of juicy roasted pork.  Once removed from Gianmaria’s wood-fired oven it is then camouflaged with crispy leaves of Boston lettuce.  Hopefully, I’m not revealing trade secrets here.  For all I know, the pork topping could have been wild porchetta from that sounder pack of pigs now all grown up that we’d had a run-in with years earlier.  More is on offer here than pizza, more than announced by Zio, the ‘living menu’.  We once asked Zio if he had any ravioli.  He hadn’t.  He made a call, however, and a full plate of the freshly made puffy pillows arrived.  When it comes to food, it just may take a village after all!

As part of my predisposition for musing over possible futures if I’d chosen what was behind ‘Curtain 1’ versus ‘Curtain 2’, I sometimes daydream about what life would have been like for us if we had never visited Italy, if we had never bought our pied-à-terre in Calitri, if we had never taken that turn off SS-7 onto SS-91, definitely a road less traveled.  As Robert Frost wrote in his 1915 breakthrough poem, The Road Not Taken:

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

Life is a journey, and we are all on roads to different places.  Point A may lead to B or C or …  Our decisions or a left turn versus a right can make a world of difference.  We tend to speed along and take

scant notice, as beautiful as it may be, of what lies around us, never chancing to detour from our customary paths, and take the chance to explore what ifs.  Once upon a time, a turn off SS-7 brought us first to Zia Michelina and then on to Andretta and Zio Rocco.  What lies ahead farther along SS-91?  I know for a fact that it leads on to Bisaccia, home to the Grillo Doro Ristorante (Golden Cricket), and along the way, following diverging paths, lie the makings for stories for another day.

From That Rogue Tourist
Paolo 

[1]  Samnites, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samnites#:~:text=Origins%20and%20early%20history,-Map%20of%20Ancient&text=The%20Greek%20geographer%20Strabo%20wrote,a%20group%20of%20Sabine%20exiles.

[2]  Rafael Scopacasa, Ancient Samnium: Settlement, Culture, and Identity Between History and Archeology, Oxford University Press, 2015,

[3]  Compsa, https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compsa 

[4]  Commune de Andretta Storia, https://www.comune.andretta.av.it/index.php?action=index&p=76