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You think we would have had enough of Etruscan history for a lifetime but close by Tarquinia is another necropolis this time of a different time period and shape of burial mound.
Sally Sat Nav took us miles out of our way into the nearest town to the necropolis and we got stuck in a one way deviation due to a parade in town. There have been a number of these. Perhaps it is the equivalent of the marching season in Northern Ireland but the police were out in force all in their spangly shiny uniforms . Picture Ello Ello and the Italian officer and you get the picture – all feathers and plumes, ribbons and medals and guns . Of course they have to tote guns. There were bands playing music- I guess a sort of Last Post or Reveille
We eventually parked up close to the graves. As we walked we passed by a man foraging in the grass. His arms were full of wild asparagus. Fig trees grew with their huge leaves draping their trunks and the embryo fruit starting to form. There were kiwis growing amongst the wild barley and the deep blue bearded Iris.
It must have seemed paradise for Etruscan man. Free food to forage in the hedgerows, fishes swimming in the rivers and birds and beasts aplenty to hunt. Hunter Gatherer Man could not have more happy than to live in this idyllic spot.
It even looked an idyllic spot to lay your dead to rest. The tombs are different in shape and form to those at Tarquinia. Tarquinian tombs are underground with their structure compromised. These although underground still maintained their roof structure rounded and domed. They were huge in comparison. On the site were tombs of varying sizes from small to enormous. Most of the above ground were round with rounded roofs of the local tufa stone. The grave space or spaces below were dug out of the soft rock and the chambers for the dead were hollowed out along passageways deep underground. Each space had slabs similar in shape to a bed with bedheads and ends. There was little decoration although it must have been there but had just worn away over time. Unlike Tarquinia where you viewed the chambers through glass here we were free to wander in and around each and every single room of each
tomb which was open. It was damp and dark inside. Not all tombs were open.
These were the streets of the dead , long alleyways cut along the rock line with tomb doorways cut into them. Small niche tombs were cut into the walls of the rock. Where you were buried in the graveyard depended on your status. The size of your tomb and complexity of its construction depended on wealth and class and whether the tomb was for an individual or was a family crypt. . Some tombs were flooded so were closed to the public. I tried to imagine what it felt liketo be an Etruscan as I walked along those silent streets and I imagined them coming on high days and holidays to venerate their dead. It was an eerie place to be in. Quiet, peaceful and quite mournful. Sad, echoing and very empty.
There were not many visitors so it was easy to get into each tomb and spend time trying to understand the culture that built them. Did they die out quickly fighting the Romans or through some plague or natural disaster ? Or was it more likely that they integrated with the
Romans through marriage and familial ties. Probably the latter rather than the former if you look at what happened in Britain when the Norsemen invaded and then the Romans and finally the Norman French.
We are now through the first week and into the second of the holiday. Where does time go to? Before we know it we will reached the hump of the holiday and will be starting to head northwards. I have managed to pull a muscle in my shoulder trying to carry our new heavy water container and have also managed to get water in my hearing aid when I forgot to take it out to shower. I now have a constant hissing in it as if a stray snake has taken up residence. I can only hope in the next few days my shoulder with stop aching and the hissing will stop of its own accord or I shall have to work on what lie I can tell the hospital to explain its demise. .
After leaving the necropolis we drove a few miles to Orbetello a small town on the coast with a windmill out in the lagoon. We knew we would not
be able to stay but wanted to drive along the causeway which is stunningly beautiful and to see the sea for the first time in a while. We wanted to just have a glimpse at this strange site of a windmill in the water. I can report the sea was blue, it was inviting and the windmill was as always picture perfect.
This is the first time this holiday we have struggled to find a night stop. The first out of our ACSI book was easily found but the gates were firmly shut as it did not open for another two weeks. Plan B try the next one in the next village – failed again. This one too was closed until the 1
st May. We ended up in an ACSI site somewhere we didn’t want to be . A busy site , a typical Italian seaside one but it had to do as we got fed up riding round and round the same old roads and finding no room at the inn. It was dark and miserable with thick pine trees which would have formed a good shade in the height of summer but today with a weak sun
it was too dark and gloomy. It made Suzy dark inside and it felt colder than it should have done. . We fell into conversation with our neighbour the first Brit we have seen for some while. A Brummy who had had a mid or late life crisis. He had reached almost retirement age and had been affected badly by seeing his friends and relatives dying all a young age. He took the plunge, took early retirement and bought a second hand motorhome. His wife who was a lot younger than him still worked and had not joined him on his travels . He had overwintered in spain and had the tan to prove it and had recently caught a ferry from Barcelona to Genoa and was travelling down the coast of Italy to meet his wife in Rome. She would stay a few days and then go home leaving him to ponder whether to carry on down Italy and see more of the country or travel by boat to Greece or Turkey . Greece a worry if they came out of the Euro and he couldn’t get his money out of the banks so he felt Turkey might be a better option. He had a grandchild born in January whom he had never seen. He never regretted his lonely one man tour but his son had not forgiven him for being so selfish as to up sticks and leave. We symphatised with him and thought his son selfish was wishing he would stay at home. We could understand his frustration and agreed with him that you only have one life and you need to live it.
Just to treat ourselves we had a meal in the on site restaurant . Sadly we sat like Billy No Mates on our own as we drank wine and toasted each other. Our meal was simple meat with spaghetti but to be fair whilst everything was not exceptional the meal and the wine were eminently quaffable. Tomorrow is another day.
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Home and Away
Bob Carlsen
I feel for Brummy...
but you gave him the right advice. I'm enjoying reading your blogs. With the HoF you've accepted the challenge and succeeded in writing wonderful blogs. Sorry I missed you in Slovenia...someday.