You’ve never heard of Barga, Italy. You’ve heard of Florence, and maybe even Lucca, but chances are, you’ve not heard of this magical gem in Tuscany, or toscana as the locals would say, which we totes are now, but more on that later…
Anyhoo, the hubs and I were hanging out in another Italian village you’ve never heard of, Fiumalbo, visiting my father in law and other various villagers whom we happen to love. And we like to do day trips using this little Alpini village as our home base, and on this day JJ picked a true winner. He read that there was a very old and quite impressive church, Collegiate Church of San Cristoforo, or, Duomo di Barga, perched atop this little village and we should probably go see it. I’m in! And even though it’s only 31 miles from Fiumalbo, it’s going to takes us like 2 hours to get there because the mountain pass, or Passo delle Radici, is like legit mountain driving.
*passo delle Radici-it was either zero visibility or I was too horrified to take any good pictures*
After some intense white knuckle driving, we arrive in what turns out to be the cutest little village this side of Lucca. It’s adorbs and even though it’s a dreary and cold day, don’t care, I’m here and dammit this place is the bomb or as the locals would say, la bomba.
I mean, for real, how cute is that? And if you’ll take a quick peek up at the top of the photo there, you’ll see the tower of the church…feck.
Did I mention I’m from a place called, the lowcountry? And here, in said lowcountry there aren’t a lot of hills, or slopes, or inclines, or even stairs really. It’s like flat and sometimes below sea level. Not at all like a 20% grade like this situation we have here. But, I’ve got my hiking boots on and I’m ready to pant and shed layers despite the 40 degree weather to get to the top by god, or by San Cristoforo as it were today. So up we go…
That’s my hubs poking his head out of an alley way the feck up there. You know what though, totes worth it…
The church was amazing, construction began in the 11th century y’all! Bananas! There are ancient frescos and marble and all the things you love about 11th century duomos.
And that’s just the inside of the joint, the view from the top is ridic. I can’t imagine on a sunny day because it was like a Tuscan dream on a rainy one.
And gladly, thanks to simple laws of physics, what pants and sweats hiking to the top of Barga, strolls carefully (cause its steep y’all) but not breathlessly down in Barga.
Once we got back “into town”, I had worked up a thirst (read: time for a spritz) and in need of snack (read: all the local food I can stuff in my face). We parked near a fairly busy cafe when we arrived, so I figured we’d just eat there, but then we spotted him and knew immediately that we had to eat whatever he was cooking.
He looked like what you’d think an Italian chef of a local joint would look like, except, that’s a stereotype and cooks here don’t actually look like they belong on a can of Chef Boyardee. But this guy did. This guy was sitting down in a ridiculous chef’s hat made of patchwork that was flat on top, smoking a cigarette petting the cafe’s cat-you know, cause DHEC ain’t a thing here and cats can jump on your lap while you are stuffing your face with polenta. But, I digress. This cafe also looked like what you’d think it would look like and there was room for about 8 people inside.
So, there’s a thing in Italy- and I’m sure other places where throngs of tourist flock to and locals get over it eventually- where they charge different prices for tourists and locals. We get it, even tourist prices are very affordable in Italy. So when they plop the very small but oh so enticing menu down, we weren’t surprised at the prices. Not crazy high, but not cheap. We chalked it up to the church drawing a crowd of tourist and perhaps we were some of them…well, at least I am, there’s no mistaking that I ain’t from around these parts. The hubs passes as a local but he was speaking English to some idiot girl so maybe not. But then, then the magic happens. Now, JJ knows me well so he needn’t ask. So when it’s time to order, I don’t have to embarrass myself and everyone around me by attempting to pronounce Italian words out of my southern mouth. He can do the ordering for the both of us.
With the ease and confidence of a local boy, JJ fluently orders and communicates with our server. I use the tiny bathroom located in the kitchen, my spritz arrives and I’m officially in heaven. And this place is cute y’all, and just a bit magic just like this whole village. Just some simple polenta and some quiche, served with plastic utensils and it was just perfect.
But, but the best part about the whole day was yet to come…The cat jumped into JJ’s lap and then, and then my friends, he paid the bill and was charged the locals price.
A cat in the lap and the highest of all the compliments-the locals price-made my Italian’s day. What didn’t make my Italian’s day, was what happened on the way home…but more on that later.
Ciao y’all.
Ciao Y’all 