pictures
history
museums
island s. giulio
sacro monte
activities
nietzsche & orta
culinary curiosit.
art shows in orta
fond. calderara
ecomuseo cusius
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Orta is a place of mists and devotion.
Morning mists come with the territory: this little jewel, just eight miles long and less
than two wide, is the only one of the Italian lakes entirely in Piedmont. The devotion is
figured plainly in the 20 small chapels of the Sacro Monte above Orte San Giuilo, with
their stirring and educational tableaux of terracotta sculptures - like
Counter-Reformation television - illustrating scenes from the life of Saint Francis. It is
there too on the island of San Giulio, dominated by an ancient basilica and more modern
convent. But the devotion is also that of those who have been here, and been charmed, and
secretly wished that nobody - or at least nobody else - should give the game away.
Certainly not in print.
This is also the only Italian lake that has a single, must-stay base: the charming,
car-free town of Orta San Giulio. There are some cheerful, historic villages elsewhere,
and one extraordinary church - the Madonna del Sasso - perched on a rocky ledge high above
the western shore. But it is Orta San Giulio that holds the attention, with its serious
cream-coloured houses roofed with thick slate tiles arranged like a display of biscuits,
its magnetic lakeside central square ovelooked by the Palazotto - a frescoed 16th century
town hall borne up by the stilts of a cosy loggia - and its unforgettable view over the
Isola San Giulio, lit up at night like a holy ocean liner.
San Giulio, or Julius, was an industrious founder of churches, born on the Greek island of
Aegina. With the help of his brother Giuliano, or Julian, he had notched up 99 of them by
the time he arrived on the shores of Orta. He liked the look of the island - which was, of
course, a rocky wilderness inhabited by dragons and snakes; and it was, of course, more
than any boatman’s job was worth to row him over. So Julian spread his cloak upon the
waters and aquaplaned across, using his staff as a rudder. Once there he got rid of those
beastly worms, planted flowers and trees, and built his hundredth church, which he
dedicated to the Holy Apostles. The legend has it that he used to share tools with Julian,
who was building church number 99 in Gozzano, just south of the lake. If Julius needed a
trowel, for example, he would call to Julian, who would promptly throw it seven kilometres
into his brother’s grip. Once, it is said, Julius fluffed the catch, and a pick-axe
pierced his arm; the blood left an indelible stain on a nearby rock. And then some
busybody of a scholar had to go and spoil it all by suggesting that Julius and Julian were
in fact the same person, separated in the Middle Ages by a careless scribe. |
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Miraculous cloaks are not for hire on the
lakefront in Orta San Giulio; but rowing boats are. The old boatman is called Piero, and
he knows very well - he told me, nodding his wooly hat gravely - how good the English are
at rowing. I did my best to disabuse him, veering this way and that and catching enough
crabs to start a colony before I got the hang of the thing. By that time, it had started
to rain, and the wind was up. Insidious waves over ten centimetres high swept across the
lake, buffetting my fragile craft. I wondered if my friends would cremate me on the shore,
like Shelley. And then I realised, turning round, that I was about to crash into the
private jetty of one of the island’s desirable houses.
There is something deeply satisfying about tying one’s boat up by the church while a
tour group troops off the public ferry on the jetty above. Less satisfying is the
sensation of having a hundred Belgian eyes on you while you try to remember the difference
between a sheepshank and a half-hitch. But I ended up with a knot that looked, well,
complicated enough, and made my way up into the old stone basilica, which is far and away
the only church on the island.
The interior is a delight. A greeny-black marble pulpit has carved figures that - a rarity
indeed in Italy - were influenced by Saxon models. There is a warrior saint, his jaw
jutting out, and a centaur firing an arrow into a pagan swirl of tendrils. And covering
walls, columns and ceiling are frescoes from four centuries. In some cases the overlay is
literal; an early Rennaissance foot pokes out beneath a Mannerist leg. Below, in the
crypt, in a crystal urn, are the remains of Saint Julius, or Julian, or Jules.
The rest is silence. Quite literally: the short circular lane that runs between the huge
pile of the Benedictine monastery in the centre and the few privileged private villas that
hog the shore has been baptised “The Way of Silence”; though if you follow it in
the other direction it is “The Way of Meditation”. Aha! The message is brought
home by a series of little signs in four languages at regular intervals along the path:
“If you can be yourself, you are everything”; “Listen to the water, the
wind, your steps”. As if to ward off the pernicious New Age influence of these
mottoes, one of the villas has a more down-to-earth Venetian proverb by its door:
“Protect this house from troubles - never may a lawyer or a doctor set foot
here.”
Back in Orta San Giulio - and a calm crossing I had of it, this time - the town was going
about its serious, cultured business. Tourist tack is almost absent; instead, there are a
number of delicatessens, a good wine bar, an antiquarian bookshop and even a shop
specialising in period jewellery. From a trompe l’oeil window on one side of the
Palazzotto, a frescoed woman looks down, faintly mocking, faintly imperious.
Orta knows it is good-looking; but it also knows how to play hard to get.
Hotels and Restaurants
Orta San Giulio: Its many afficionados will be sad to hear that the Villa San Crespi - a
little gem of a hotel and restaurant in a Moorish folly on the edge of town - closed down
for good at the end of the 1998 season. This leaves the four-star Albergo San Rocco (Via
Gippini 11) as the hotel of choice. Set in a seventeenth-century convent - origins which
are perhaps over-stressed in the devotional decor of the public areas - the San Rocco has
a wonderful lake frontage, with swimming pool, overlooking the island, which can be
reached by the hotel’s private launch. It also has Orta’s best restaurant, with
fine pasta courses, grilled vegetables and lake fish and a good wine list; only the
uninspired desserts let the side down. The Hotel Orta on the main square is foursquare and
old-fashioned, with great lake views from the rooms at the front. For something a little
more bijoux, the Piccolo Hotel Olina (Via Olina 40) - which centres on the competent and
cheerful restaurant of the same name - has a series of neat, bright rooms and apartments
scattered around town, including a whole lakeside villa. Another good value hotel under
the same management is the pretty peach-coloured Hotel Santa Caterina (Via Marconi); its
only drawback is out-of-town location on the other side of the Sacro Monte. If the San
Rocco restaurant feels too formal, head for the Taverna Antico Agnello (Via Olina 18),
which is as rustic and family-run as anyone could wish for; they even have “horse
with garlic and rosemary” (as close as you get in Orta San Giulio to minced donkey
meat, a local speciality which for some reason never shows up on tourist menus). The Sacro
Monte restaurant, up among the improving chapels, is less of a tourist trap than one might
expect, with good pasta dishes and a decent selection of wine. And for a nightcap - or an
aperitif, or a morning pick-me-up, as they start drinking early round here - dive into
Maria Longhi’s cosy Enoteca Re di Coppe on the main square. The large selection of
Italian wines - many available by the glass - includes a number of local Nebbiolos, one of
those severe, reserved Piedmontese reds that takes a while to open up. Rather like the
local people, in fact.
Isola San Giulio: there is one bar/restaurant on the island, the Ristorante San Giulio, in
an 18th century building with ceiling frescoes and a pretty vine-covered lakeside terrace.
The cooking is fairly average, but that’s hardly the point. (ndr: the restaurant
now is closed)
Soriso: If you and your bank manager feel ready for a real no-holds-barred gourmet
experience, make your way eight kms south from Orta San Giulio to Gozzano and then head
right for this tiny village, which is really just an excuse for a restaurant. Al Sorriso
(Via Roma 18) - with two R’s because sorriso means “smile” - is one of only
three establishments in Italy to have three Michelin stars. It is also - perhaps not
coincidentally - one of Italy’s most expensive restaurants. Feast on giant ravioli
with goat cheese filling cooked in alpine butter, or crostini with polenta, onions, roses,
foie gras and pomegranate seeds (and those are a couple of the simpler dishes) while you
contemplate your credit limit. If it’s all too much, they also have a few rooms where
you can sleep it off (the meal, not the credit limit).
By Lee Marshall, taken from Travelintellicence
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