A Panda, Two Figs and Three Carabinieri: How a Day in San Severina Took a Wrong Turn

“Did you hear that,” I asked Betta who looked at me like I might be losing it. We had been sitting at the side of the road for quite a while at that point, sun blazing, temperatures rising, no drop of water left in our bottles, and cicada providing the soundtrack to our self-inflicted misery.

I got up to listen more closely, but nothing. Maybe Betta was right and my mind was just playing tricks on me with dehydration slowly kicking in. I was about to sit down again in the tiny shade a bush provided which I partially had to crawl under to reap its full benefit. A ridiculous sight I’m sure, two adult women curled up in ball under two bushes, sweat rolling down their faces, only two straw hats poking out offering some protection as they kept wrecking their little brains replaying the scenario that led to the momentary conundrum, one feeling guiltier than the other.

As I was adjusting my dress to retain some kind of dignity, I saw Betta’s face light up. Apparently, I wasn’t going mad after all. There was definitely some noise to be heard in the distance, a car slowly making its way up, probably choosing their route more wisely not to fall victim to the road that already got the best of our poor little Panda. And he did so well that day…

After a peaceful morning watching the sun rise over the Calabrian coast, waves crashing against the rocks, Italian espresso breathing life into our sleepy bodies, we were off to a great start, ready for a day full of sightseeing, local treats and some unique cultural experiences, something we got plenty of but not quite in the way we anticipated.

Our first chosen destination was Santa Severina, a town in the province of Crotone in Southern Italy, the place where my friend Betta (whom you’ve met before on our stroll to Pinatubo) grew up, and which I’ve been lucky enough to visit various times by now. Despite being a sleepy little province at the bottom of the boot (if you picture Italy’s shape on the map), it never let us down in terms of excitement so far, planned or not.

On this visit, we opted for San Severina to check out Carafa Castle which was constructed in the 11th century for Roberto il Guiscardo (or Robert Guiscard), the Norman adventurer who conquered Southern Italy and Sicily. Fit to house a king, it dominates the wide valley of the Neto River and surrounding hills with an impressive structure extending for 10,000 square meters.

Located on a hill itself, we drove as far as the steep road would let us, parked our reliable companion, and climbed up the final steps ourselves. The view was well worth the climb which led us through a gorgeous entryway. It made you think of medieval times when ‘gorgeous’ was probably not the word people had in mind as the spiky gate fell shut in front of their eyes, if not worse, an early indication of the grim torture chambers the castle had in store for us, once it opened, as we happened to arrive early.

It gave us an opportunity to take some nice pictures before the crowds arrived while exploring the square in front of the castle which provided the perfect illustration of Italian culture — no matter which corner you turned, you spotted only men out and about, drinking espresso and watching the world go by while the women were probably home cooking and doing the housework. A very traditional setup wherefore the appearance of two foreigners seemed to have caused quite a stir forcing them to adjust their chairs based on wherever we decided to go next.

Quite amusing if not slightly questionable behaviour which made Betta chuckle and bow her head in shame while it didn’t bother me that much. Probably because I was already busy figuring out what I wanted for lunch as the scents coming from the bakeries were competing for easily influenced customers, me being one of them. But no time for that just yet as the castle gates opened allowing us to get an even better perspective on the beautiful landscape from the castle wall.

While the mentioned torture chamber did have quite a few gut-wrenching apparatuses on display, it did not mess with my appetite which got satisfied with most likely the best panini I ever had, stuffed with prosciutto, mozzarella and tomato — sounds terribly simple, but it was pure bliss wrapped up in some freshly baked bread, the little things in life, right? It was followed by ‘la granita al limone,’ a dessert made from fresh local limes, which definitely hit the spot.

Happy with our cultural explorations so far, we decided to push it a bit further and move on to Belvedere di Spinello, another town and commune in Crotone which was formed by two villages, Belvedere and Spinello, in 1863, and is home to the Santuario della Madonna della Scala (sec. XVIII), just a staircase as Betta’s mom put it being rather surprised about our interest when checking in with us to see when we might be back.

On we went unperturbed eagerly following where our GPS might lead us next, supposedly a straight forward journey from one town to another along some curvy roads cutting through the hilly countryside. Making a right turn at a somewhat dodgy sign, we thought we might have gone wrong as it felt like we were entering private property. It led us down a rather steep road which seemed counterintuitive but appeared to be the way to go according to our electronic guide hinting at the fact that it’s the original carriageway connecting both towns.

Always up for an adventure, we went with it and continued on the less direct but supposedly more scenic route, ultimately leading to the same destination. Scenic it was indeed, with quite a few muddy sections and puddles to pass through due to the uneven road which definitely hadn’t been serviced in a while. One of them was rather intimidating at first but our little Panda muscled through it.

As we carried on, we passed by some rusty machinery, barbed wired fencing, as well as a stray shoe somewhat reminding of a Wrong Turn-scenario with banjo-playing hillbillies waiting for our car to break down, a reference I immediately regretted once we turned another corner revealing a section of road with potholes stretching across more than half of the width, which was not much to begin with as the road itself got narrower the further we went making it sheer impossible to turn around.

I think both of our hearts dropped a little at that point, and we started debating what might be the best call of action. Turning around wasn’t really one of them having nowhere to go really and being so far in. Given the state of the road, it could not get any worse, or so we thought, so we decided to carry on. The sounds coming from our little Panda were definitely not cheerful, and given the heat of the day and the incline we were dealing with, a lot of huffing and puffing happened inside as well as outside the vehicle.

Pothole challenge accepted and completed, we did make it across, kudos to Betta and her perfect balancing act along whatever was left of the road. We wiped the sweat of our panic-stricken faces, and had a little chuckle on behalf of those hillbillies and their ineffective trap.

But I should have known better having made the mistake of premature celebrations once before this year (if you recall my NDW intro). As we successfully carried on and turned another corner, the road out of a sudden came to a dead end, as in ‘no road left to drive on,’ only a giant pothole covering the entire width of the road. Our little Panda tried to tackle that battle sight but he truly reached his limits by then. After all, he was made for a pleasant city drive not so much off-roading, no matter how nicely you talked to him.

Our journey came to a complete halt, so we got out to see what lay beyond that ultimate hurdle. It didn’t look very promising and upon our return, the emotionally and physically deflated state of our wheeled companion became apparent. Despite being rather careful when potholing our way along the road, we managed to slice open our front tire which slowly emptied itself, completely eliminating our option of turning around.

Well, and there we sat in the shade deliberating our actions. Betta, clever woman that she is, decided to call the fire brigade first given the road conditions and hoping they might be able to give us a hand with the spare tire and turning around instead of phoning road service which would have probably cost a fortune. I was okay with either trusting her local judgement and not being of much help with my rudimentary Italian skills.

All I managed to contribute was acknowledging the twinkle in her eye when calling the fire brigade, which would probably also be a more pleasant help to deal with, a bit easier on the eye surely — a not necessarily helpful comment in the moment, but it did lift the spirit slightly once help was on the way and we stopped beating ourselves up about not turning around right away once it felt slightly off. That big old puddle in the beginning had danger written all over it, but there we were, two sweaty damsels in distress waiting for their saviours. Once they arrived, they seemed to enjoy the scenario more than I anticipated making Betta proud of her country, which might not be the subtlest when ‘appreciating’ women walking by, but appears to be gallantly helpful when it counts.

To cut a long story short, there was a lot of back and forth between the fire brigade and the carabinieri, the national gendarmerie of Italy, before they came our way not being one hundred percent sure where we were. Luckily, one of the officers knew the area due to a murder that happened there a few years back — I’m sure you can imagine my facial expression when those words had been uttered.

Once they arrived, said officer appeared in civil as he already finished his shift but was so intrigued that he stayed on and directed his colleagues who were new to the area. Instead of the scolding I expected, they were all rather lovely. Having waited outside in the heat for quite a while by then, they took us to the station, offered us water, even food which we declined at first being too embarrassed to engage, until a plate of local figs was passed around, a local delicacy one should not say no to.

Not the cultural experience we left the house for in the morning but definitely one to remember wherefore Betta was brave enough to ask for a picture once we returned to our car where Tonioli, a local mechanic, was already waiting with spare tires to get us out of our misery.

Once ‘re-tired’ and safely turned around, one of the carabinieri taking our details for the report even invited us to come along for a coffee before heading back home, another local custom apparently, one we happily declined though still feeling a bit shaken and not wanting to test our luck even further.

It was also quite late in the day and we did not want to worry the person who was not too keen on us visiting the staircase in the first place either. What would you say if I told you that Betta’s mom reminded her that morning that the car was registered under her sister’s name, just in case anybody would ever ask… — motherly premonition?

Either way, definitely a day both of us shall not forget anytime soon and treasure as a reminder to always trust your gut — if something feels off, it probably is — and to closely listen to the wise people in your life, especially in moments when you think they’re not quite following but are actually far ahead, you just don’t know it yet.

When was I there? 12 September 2020