We arrived starving, for a change. It does not matter how long the journey took, the first thing I do when I turn off the engine is look for somewhere to sit down and order something. This time, though, we had to get settled first. We parked and dragged our wheelie cases over the cobblestones to Sextantio Albergo Diffuso. I had read that it was at an altitude of 1,250 metres, right in the heart of the Borgo medievale di Santo Stefano di Sessanio, but walking in felt strange. The rooms are set inside historic period buildings; ours had immensely thick stone walls and Wi-Fi that only worked right next to the bathroom window. My husband Marco was completely fine with that; our eight-year-old daughter, Mia, considerably less so.
We barely spent an hour wandering round the village. It is all an undulating maze of winding alleys and artisan workshops, but my mind was already firmly on dinner. We slipped into Il Cantinone, at Via Boragno 7. As soon as you walk in, there is this massive fireplace dominating the rustic dining room. I ordered some local wine and a couple of traditional peasant dishes from the Gran Sasso area that genuinely brought me back to life. Stepping back outside, it was properly cold.
The following morning we had a strict appointment: the visita guidata of Grotte di Stiffe. I had obsessively read the rules the night before. Booking a time slot online was strongly recommended, but what worried me most was the temperature. Down there, it is a constant 9°C. I forced the whole family to layer up in thick hoodies and walking shoes, enduring Marco's grumbles that I was overreacting. Naturally, as soon as we entered the karst complex, he fell silent. The dampness gets right into your bones. The visit lasts sixty minutes, walking along slippery stretches alongside this active resurgence and subterranean waterfalls that make a deafening roar. At one point Mia half-slipped near a stalactite—I aged about ten years, but we made it out in one piece.
Back in the sunlight, we drove towards the Altopiano di Campo Imperatore. Distances are deceptive here: connecting the plateaux takes at least 20-30 minutes, and the weather shifts every quarter of an hour. Above 1,600 metres, the wind practically blew you off your feet. They call it the 'Little Tibet' of Abruzzo for these barren, endless horizons. We pulled over at Canyon dello Scoppaturo (Valianara). Marco tried to explain to the kids that they filmed spaghetti westerns like 'They Call Me Trinity' here, but they only had eyes for the rocks. I, on the other hand, was watching the clock. It was 11:45.
We had to hurry. The entire purpose of this weekend in Abruzzo boiled down to one thing: Ristoro Mucciante in Fonte Vetica. It is a historic butcher's shop where you cannot book a table. You buy the raw meat fresh and grill it yourself. I knew that on summer weekends you need to arrive before 12:30, otherwise the large outdoor charcoal braziers are completely taken and you end up queuing all afternoon. We just about managed it. We bought a mountain of arrosticini and sausages. That was when disaster struck. Marco took his place at the brazier convinced he was the barbecue king. The smoke was blinding, ash was flying everywhere, and while turning the skewers he dropped three into the glowing embers, singeing the hair on his arms into the bargain. We ate with our hands, covered in soot, our clothes reeking of smoked mutton. It was exactly what I had hoped for.
In the afternoon, while digesting, we made a quick stop at Borgo di Castel del Monte, just long enough to see the fortified houses and have a look around the pastoral heritage museums, before getting ready for sunset. Our destination was Castello di Rocca Calascio. I had read the signs and blog warnings: parking spaces on the final hairpin bend are extremely limited, and parking fines are fierce. We left the car down in the village of Calascio and walked up. The medieval fortress, sitting at nearly 1,500 metres altitude, is famous for period films. Sunset is the best time to visit, or so everyone claims. Honestly? It was far too crowded. Everyone was jostling in line to take the exact same photograph. I had had quite enough of the crowd. It was much nicer to walk down slightly and sit on the steps of Chiesa di Santa Maria della Pietà, an octagonal stone chapel on the path just beneath the castle. Down there, it was quiet, and the light on the stone was infinitely better.
We spent most of our third day in the car. Getting down towards the lake district meant tackling an hour and a half of twists and turns. Scenic roads, certainly, but an endless succession of hairpin bends that really tested the kids' stomachs. Our goal was Lago di Scanno, this natural mountain lake nestled among the Monti Marsicani. We parked in the paid car park along the shore (a dreadful parking meter that only accepted coins; I had to search under every car seat to scrape together €6). Instead of unwinding straight away, I insisted on hiking the Sentiero del Cuore.
The climb takes an hour. It is hot, and the dust clings to your shoes. The fountains along the path are dry, so luckily we had a backpack with a litre of water each, as a local had advised. We passed Eremo di Sant'Egidio, a small country church with a viewpoint looking back over the village, and finally reached Colle di Sant'Egidio. From there, the lake genuinely reveals that heart-shaped outline. Beautiful, truly stunning, but my mind was already wandering towards lunch.
Back down at the water, while the kids demanded a ride on the pedalos for hire, I scrolled through reviews. We settled on Ristorante La Baita, just a short walk away, rounding off our itinerario in Abruzzo with more wonderfully hearty traditional dishes, completely unfazed by the 30°C heat outside. Only in the late afternoon did we drag our feet through the Centro storico di Scanno, the 'village of photographers'. Nothing artificial here, just dark stone alleys, archways and traditional goldsmith workshops. We walked along in silence, utterly exhausted, well aware that the long journey home awaited us the next morning.