GRADO — BORGO LUSSARI

Like any annual Summer Walks organised by the Centre for Early Medieval Studies, it is once again in small groups that we set out on our, at least for me, unexpected journey. Following the official Cammino Celeste, going from Grado to the Monte Lussari, we began our adventure in the suburb of Aquilea after a long day of travelling from Brno by train. As if directly thrown into what would be our lives for the next ten days, we woke up in our cosy beds in the morning and fell asleep in the evening, lying next to each other, in an Italian vineyard.

At first light, we set off for Grado, a coastal town circa ten kilometres from Aquilea, where we planned to spend the morning, before retracing our steps back to Aquilea and devote our late afternoon there. As we began our walk, we were quickly caught up by the intense heat of the Italian sun – one should remember that this adventure took place in the middle of August! When we reached Grado, while a short walk in terms of distance, the sensation of having crossed the desert was felt by most of the group’s members, and we took refuge in the shadow created by the Basilica of Sant’Eufemia’s brick façade. This edifice, commissioned in the sixth century by the Patriarch Elia, was probably built on the remains of a fifth-century monument. This three-vessel basilica has of course been renovated several times in the course of its existence, but what remains remarkable is the preservation on the floor of a large mosaic decoration.

A few metres from there stands a second church, smaller in size, commissioned by the same patron: the Basilica of Santa Maria delle Grazie. Like the nearby church of Santa’Eufemia, this one too was probably built on the foundations of a fifth-century building. The two stages of construction are clearly visible inside the church, thanks in particular to the restorations carried out in 1924. The nave, the left aisle, and the altar are located at the level of Elia’s construction, while the right aisle and part of the apse are about one metre lower and attest of the first fifth-century construction. Part of the decoration of this first building-phase has also been preserved in the form of mosaic decorations on the floor, mainly consisting of geometric motifs.

Later in the afternoon, we walked back to Aquilea. While today a small town of about three thousand inhabitants, it was once an important trading city, linking the Mediterranean Sea to the rest of continental Europe. There, we visited the outstanding patriarchal complex, principally known on an archaeological level. At the very heart of this ensemble rises the Basilica di Santa Maria Assunta, which is luckily still partially preserved in its original state. It was probably built during the Theodorian period, in the fourth century, since which we have preserved the imposing floor mosaic of the nave. The rest of the edifice was remodelled in later periods, stylistic comparisons of certain elements have identified modifications made both in the Romanesque and Gothic periods. We take the opportunity of our passage through Aquilea to visit the city’s National Archaeological Museum where the different objects found during the archaeological excavations are displayed. Although the exhibition is of artistic, historical, and anthropological interest, and is full of objects of fabulous quality and sometimes of acute rarity, it is above all the lapidarium which is perhaps the most exceptional. Here, at the expense of the weather and amidst tombstones from different periods, are the fragments of paving mosaics, dated to the fourth century and were presumably located in thermal baths. If we can question the conservation as well as the exhibition choices (on the wall) of these mosaics, we are forced to salute both their rarity and their quality, while at the same time desolating their abandon in both academia and in museums. It is after a day which was much fuller of culture and history than of walking that we hit the road again.

It will only be after a few days of walking that we will reach our third and last art-historical-ish stop: Cividale. For a couple of days, we had ventured into rural and remote areas of the Friuli. From village to village, we had continued north towards mountains and plains that stretched as far as the eye could see. As soon as we arrived in Cividale, we were confronted with a disturbing observation: we, backpackers with our sometimes-questionable looks and smells, were like the outsiders of a fully living society. While we were waiting for the museum to open, we were struck by city noises and odors, as well as the constantly-moving crowds that surrounded us. Without demonstrating any form of hostility, the passers-by seemed disturbed, or at least surprised by our presence. As far as art and architecture were concerned, Cividale was the chance to observe three impressive objects, all dated from the Lombard period: the altar of Ratchis, the Baptistery of Callixtus, and the Tempietto of Cividale (also called oratory of Santa Maria in Valle). All three, by the subtlety of their decoration and their impressive quality, are material evidence of a poor appreciation of the art produced during the Lombard period, an assumption largely due to some historiographical bias.

It took us about a week to reach our final point: the monastery of Monte Lussari. These final days of walking were, above all, days of discovery, and in more than one way. First of all, we had discovered an ever-changing landscape, evolving as we headed towards the Alps and rose more and more in altitude. Secondly, we had continued our discovery through the one of the other, be it the members of the group with whom were spent days and nights, but also of the different people we had met along the way. If it is impossible to mention here all the people who showed us hospitality and generosity, I think that two examples should be nonetheless highlighted. This first one happened when we walked deeper and deeper into a forest on a mountainside. We were forced to observe the absence of any form of civilisation, and therefore, of supermarkets, grocery shops, or any other form of stall that would have enabled us to buy food for the day. It was the inhabitants of a small village, who came to our rescue. When we asked, with some concern, where the nearest shop was, these people, while telling us that it was more than 15 km away, all offered us a little something to eat: bread, biscuits, carrots, cheese, and even wine! We would have never starved to death, but the rest of this day would have been much more different and intense without them. The second example I wish to relate here is that of the generous hospitality of a retired couple. As we began the ascent to the Refugio Grego, we were caught up by nightfall and faced the impossibility of finding a place to sleep: we had no other option than on the mountainside, on the cliff, or directly on the side of the road. It was then this gentle couple who provided us with a roof for the night. Once again, while we would have survived such an experience, it is thanks to human kindness that we were able to enjoy a restful night without a hitch. Finally, along with the chance to discover both a region and its inhabitants, it is also self-discovery that this adventure had given us. Forced to listen daily to our body, step by step, inspiration after expiration, we saw ourselves in a new light. When it comes to accepting one’s own body, its limits, its requirements, but also its uniqueness, something must be said about the unique perspective provided by showering, naked beneath the moonlight, in an Italian vineyard.

In the early morning of our last day, we started our final route up to Monte Lussari. Once we arrived at the top, what a spectacle! This sanctuary, situated 1790 m in altitude, overlooks a splendid landscape, standing at the crossroads of Austria, Slovenia and Italy. We had followed the Italian route, but similar pilgrimage paths also exist through the other two countries, all three leading to the same arrival point. Like our group, this end point of our adventure represented the both internationality and differences, while at the same time the similarities that unite us.

Our return journey was as sudden as our arrival: waking up next to an Italian church, ascending to the peak of Monte Lussari, running to catch a train to Austria, and falling asleep in the evening in Brno. The brutal return to civilisation can only make us cherish more those moments outside of everyday life, disconnected from our telephones and computers with which we fall too easily into an addictive relationship. While we had only lived as marginal members of our contemporary world for a few days, it was first and foremost an occasion to get more in touch with nature, human beings, and our own selves, which are all too often minimized aspects of our modern societies.