Church at the top of La Morra
View from il Bastioni
Since I lacked internet connection and a printer, I had taken pictures of my laptop screen with my phone. I thought I was ingenious--who needs a gps when I got a picture of the directions! This would not be the first time my hubris would come to snip me in the ass. First thing that happened- I forgot to turn off my screen when I put my phone in my pocket. The gods saw fit to delete the first picture that had the first few steps of the hike (porco dio) so I winged it. The directions going into Barolo were very easily marked by sign posts telling you how many km away each area was and in what direction. Upon reaching Barolo I did a few things: First, I went and got some biscotti. This is absolutely crucial because (a) Alba, the town I stayed in, is the birthplace of nutella sooooo (b) many of the biscotti are made with some of the best hazelnuts in the world. I'll just leave that there. I made a pitstop at the corkscrew museum and tried their flight of Barolo wines-- perché no? Unfortunately, there were no cameras allowed in there so I couldn't take pictures of the wacky shit in there. This will have to do in its stead.
I hanged a left towards a sign that pointed to a number of places that sounded nice. It also looked like I could begin the loop back towards La Morra albeit in a slightly roundabout way. I took the paths that lead through the vines which were amazing to just simply walk through and look at.
After cutting through I reached the small town of Novello. I thought my town was small but this little town has the population of roughly 968 people.
This, my friends, is when my luck begins to sour. I asked the old lady at the church for some directions back to La Morra. The directions were right; I was stupid. I got adventurous and thought "hey, lets cut through the vines again! It looks a lot quicker than following this stupid, winding roadway! I can see La Morra perched on a hill in the distance!" Boy was I wrong. I proceeded to waste three further hours of my time in the blistering sun getting lost in the vines. I kept thinking I saw a path back up to the main road leading to La Morra but, without fail, it would be blocked by an impenetrable patch of trees and unknown bushes. It happened so many times that I started calling them Gob Moments.
"Oh yeah! I can totally get over that ridge! I can taste the end now!"
"Oh COME ON! *kicks dirt*"
-____________-
The sun was unforgiving... It beat down on me and wouldn't quit... I was growing more and more thirsty...fuck why did I think this would be a good idea? Every time I looked up at La Morra I thought I was getting closer, but it was my eyes playing tricks on me. There were plenty of getting more lost, sitting down for a few minutes under a tree to catch a break from the sun, and plenty of cursing. Instead of writing out my continuing aggravation by means of literary flair, I'll just do an internet montage. Imagine me Benny Hill'ing my way through the vines, finally reaching a clearing out to the main road again. Reaching the top of the hill, I saw a chapel that I remembered seeing on the trail map before leaving. I mean, this thing was fucking unmistakable. The Capella della Brunate was a chapel redesigned by a couple of contemporary artists-- David Tremlett (American) and DeSoll Witt (English)-- that started as a refuge for vineyard workers in one of the most famous of Barolo's 3 Cru's. You can read more here. More importantly, I knew one thing: this fucking thing was 2 km away from La Morra. FUCK. YES.
.tiff)
I suddenly regained all of the energy that had left me meandering the endless maze of vines and began my upward clime to the top of the final hill. Cars passed me; bikes passed me; I gave zero fucks. I was determined. This determination lasted all of about 10 minutes and I began to give out again. What should've been a shorter ascent became an hour and a half ordeal. I took several breaks, one of which was in the center of a roundabout because there was a nice shady tree there. I got a lot of funny looks from Italians whipping past me- some sweaty, muddy, and tired american under a tree dreaming desperately of water and a glass of white whine (*fingers crossed* Arneis?).
The only thing that got me back up was a signpost in the distance: "La Morra 1km". I looked in front of me and saw this ridiculous winding, up hill road. Whelp, here it goes. I just about made it there when I gave in to the granite bench on the side of the road. Sitting down and looking up at the final turn where the sign "La Morra" loomed over me, I began to have doubts. "There's no way in fuck this is near where my car is". I thought back to my drive up to this town and was too tired to remember even going this way. But...wait...what's this? A goddamn water fountain across the street. I ran up to it and dumped water all over my face and my mouth. I knew this had to be the place. I walked a little further up that last fucking hill and I saw it. My car. I opened the door, took my shoes off, and turned the ignition on. This time the radio sounded a song a bit more somber than the Boss, but still hopeful. I drove off down the hill I had just willed myself up and was overcome with a feeling of relief. I whipped down the hills and landscape that took me hours to scale; the car took it in minutes. I came back to the hotel, cracked open a beer, and exhaled audibly. Every step I take, my chaffed thighs remind me of my hubris thinking I could outwit the landscape.
I have to pack up my clothes since I leave the hotel tomorrow. After all- It's not my home, it's their home, and (at 10 am tomorrow) I am welcome no more. I'll be spending the day in Turin tomorrow. I'm an hour away from the Piazza where Nietzsche lost his shit and hugged a horse and the Fiat factory where Gramsci led a worker's strike. How can I not go?
Ciao suckers,
Tyler
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