What Basilicata Kept Hidden
What Basilicata Kept Hidden
My journey led me straight into the depths of the Italian south. It hadn’t demonstrated an ordinary south, but one quite similar to a Bermuda triangle where everything usual, anything expected was not present. There I was surrounded by a certain Lucanian peace, a place deprived of humans, deprived of knowing, and yet I didn’t foresee this place being the master of secrets, but they were there; stuck in rocks, plastered up within churches and painted as decorations on cave walls—I did not know that this empty land was festering deep within its foundations. Somewhere at one time, this private world was vibrating like a full moon, whose existence was left absent from the apparent surface.
I‘d found my way into the land of Lucania.
I had arrived after a
After a rather short trip from Rome (of about 2 hours and 45 minutes- though traffic was minimal) we had made it all the way the land of marvels. Our program was devised for two days– knowing travelers from all over Italy would be returning home from vacation during this time, so we planned on racing back to Rome in order to miss the jam. I was traveling with a native Lucanian, a man related to the history of Acerenza, whose building was located in the plaza dedicated to his name; Plaza Glinni.
We were now in a province of Potenza. I wasn’t used to seeing panoramic views without houses, without movement and full of freshly cut wheat fields.
We climbed upwards; the height extenuated the panorama—it also enriched the town of Vaglio. We approached this quaint cultural farm the “La Dimora dei Cavalieri†(located at the top of the mountain); and they possessed some 500 goats and sheep and a few beautiful stone buildings made into an organic restaurant and inn. Everything was made by hand; the liquors, marmalades, ricotta, and scones. It was an ancient hamlet immersed into a forest of oak. They breed the animals and cultivate wheat, which explains why this region’s breads and pastas are exceptional. I was led to a small house diagonal from the restaurant which had four to five rooms with odd names like Noto and Aurora. The sound of the wind dubbed out the slightest noise; here, heaven was reigning.
It was my first time to taste Lucanian fried peppers. In the month of August and September resident’s windows and doorways are decorated with red dangling pods of peppers drying in mid-air. Plates are garnished with them after they’ve been fried for a mere few minutes, if fried a smidgeon too long; they are ruined. We ate them aside a potato specialty—fantastic. The next morning was bright and peaceful and we headed out for the day around 10 o’clock a.m.
We set out in exploration of the Vaglio area, we’d just become explorers. I was accompanied by a few local experts to a few Lucanian museums, and there I was introduced to the excavated treasures of the Lucanian people (who lived in this neck of the woods around 500 B.C.).
Helmets, spears and dolls were arranged neatly, but many of the original artifacts were placed behind glass cubicles. Greek influenced vases and jewelries—were hung or arranged accordingly and a recreated home scene was open for all to absorb and assimilate. These excavated treasures were well-preserved for 2,500 years; I’d imagined that, it was true! The one thing that impressioned me the most, was discovering this cracked light-brown vase. It was used in holding the dead bodies of infants; it was their casket so-to-speak, and they were buried in them.
As the others walked around, I continued to be swallowed up by my imagination, and there I was recreating the varies scenes of how life was when the Lucanians were flesh and bone. I was mesmerized by their ingenious possessions.
Outside the heat was smothering. Every living creature which wiggled or walked was affected by the weather. This weather was a fluke; they said it was the hottest and driest summer in some 30 years or so.
We continued and visited the historical villages where we believe the Templars had lived or were once present. We glanced down at every nook and stopped to stare at 90% of everything; family crest carvings, carvings of saints, hanging peppers, window boxes, and especially the microscopic alleyways. It was difficult to maneuver through them, even if you weren’t in a hurry. One of the residents explained to me that the walkways were made so tight in order to impedit the medieval armies from entering so easily. It was easier to bonk them on the head if they came through one by one. The time-worn family crests were difficult to read and much too consumed to be able to make out the symbols or the name of the family.
They explained later that almost all of the towns in medieval times were walled up, and had positioned two main entrances one on each opposite end of the village.
After lunch we traveled on to visit “a ghost town†of the ancient people of “Serra di Vaglio†which was a hike up a Lucanian mountain hill in a Naturalistic Archeological Park. We went on foot past the blackberry fields and past the springs, eating and drinking as we did. We were rushed back in time to the 6th century B.C.
This ancient village was once walled up by huge square boulders which created a protective wall for their kingdom and is presently being recreated and reassembled as it once existed.
Here, the walls and parts of foundations to ancient homes were resting in the sun, undisturbed by human life.
Many tracks of this village’s population were lost, making it abstruse and troublesome for anyone to reconstruct a history, but few things did remain; an inscription on a stone, bones of children and men still intact in tombs, and triangular cooked clays which were used to construct weaving machines to make garments. A Lucanian home had been replicated to give the real feel of these ancient houses and the way people once dwelt. Inside we found cool air, and walls made from a mixture of straw “paglia†and cement, which relieved them from the heat of the smoldering sun.
The following day was spent traveling from one town to the next, which were all within close proximity.
We visited the village of Melfi northwest of Acerenza. This is the home to one of the most amazing grottos uncovered to date; the Crypt of Saint Margaret.
Mayor Michelangelo Le Vite explained that this cave was used by monks and once by farmers to stash away pigs. Out of poverty and desperation, not a soul was interested in the ancient frescoes on those walls. These frescoes could have strengthened the truth about their own town’s history, even of history itself. Many told stories of saints, revealing the tragic ends of their lives. And some frescoes pointed out the presences of the Templar knights, by way of; symbols, signatures and styles. I understood how differently they related to life, and somehow couldn’t help but think, that they may have been much closer to the truth then we are. One depicted three noble figures dressed in their hunting clothes, accompanied (on the fresco) by two dancing skeletons. Life and death was combined, not feared.
There was also something quite obvious; every single person painted on those crumbling walls was blond or red headed; not a single one a brunette. It was not only the hair, but the facial features that seemed to be misplaced. They weren’t people of a southern Mediterranean origin; their faces were long and pointed, yet, they were a part of its territory; these were certainly a people from northern Europe—Normans?
A short passage to the church of San Biagio reflected a continued military-Templar presence. The odd part was that as much as theses places were similar, they possessed symbols that came from left field, as though thrown in on a whim. San Biagio church was odd in this way, not only, it was masked up (like many of the others)—(like the symbols and ancient expressions hidden in caves). Frescoes were plastered up behind false walls and cheap tasteless flooring covered the original in San Biagio Church. Maybe they never intended on having someone construct a puzzle from the pieces, and somehow I think they may have been excessively ignorant at the time.
San Biagio now has exposing holes in its cheap yellow plaster, and what did we find behind them? I saw the vague image of familiar colors; it then hit me; the colors, the style, the time period was the same—the same as the others we saw in Melfi. There was an entire wall placed over an obvious cupped out part that is now exposed—someone had smashed a hole in it. I wondered why they hid other rooms and sections in this church. The original flooring is three feet underneath the present one. And what’s even odder is the sign in the front of the church stating that the church was built in the 17th century. Glancing back at the fresco hidden behind plaster, I couldn’t envision it being built in the 17th century. The frescoes were created from the 12th or 13th century. I cannot fathom why they’d claim such nonsense, and make such an error in the date, an error of four or five centuries! It’s clear they’ve investigated; I witnessed the holes in the floor and walls. Therefore, the churches hidden parts proved a much older history, so why didn’t they change the date on the sign? The further oddities of this church are the two identical altars that face one another. This is not acceptable by Christian standards as far as I know, yet it was left in this same “eroded†state. They may have been divided at one time, because I saw large stones laid from wall to wall in the flooring which formed a wide line. This could have indicated the presence of a former structure like a wall, which could have separated the altars. It’s even stranger that they took it down, which meant now the altars would stand face to face.
We traveled back to Acerenza to investigate its cathedral, the one we had almost made famous (if only the residents would believe us).
This cathedral struck me as a castle towering over the village, or better, a church-castle, with double functions. It could have been a fort made to take on a church appearance, used for protection, or for storing valuables. Or it could have been used as a church for spiritual reasons and protection, or as a cover up for being a castle. At this point many angels are sitting on our shoulders telling us different things. There’s a complete hallway shaped into the letter C which wraps around behind the altar, a hallway around 15 feet in width and a 30 foot ceiling.
It’s here in this hallway where I was introduced to Saint Canione or rather, his “Shepard’s staff.†Underneath his statue lay a stone-carved casket with a small window, that you could peep through and partially see the tip of a cane. I saw the bottom half of this wooden stick, it was the color of a light-stained bamboo. The young Italian woman of Norman ancestry explained to me that this stick moved on its own. Moved? It rolled back and forth by itself—moving closer to the tiny window even enough to touch it, and then back again. Some people had seen this happen, while others witnessed its location change when they returned some five minutes later. Not a soul was present when it happened, and it couldn’t have been moved by an outsider–it was glassed in.
If it wasn’t for the arranged private tour, I would have sat there until; I myself saw this stick move.
The same C hallway symmetrically wraps around a tomb in the crypt downstairs. It’s directly under the other one, only smaller in size. This miniature C hallway tunnels around that tomb, only that now, it’s a solid hallway. It had been walled up by someone in the 16th century. The thought occurred that someone may have desperately needed to hide something of value here, or had stashed something during a time of invasion, but it’s never been reopened since.
There was no hiding of their strange pagan carvings in the cathedral, many of which were carved into the lower halves of columns in the crypt. To this day not one person has noticed nor questioned this opposition to the Catholic faith. They still hold masses there regularly; these faithful haven’t yet realized they praise God upstairs and down below pagan creatures lurk on dark stones. A skull and bones represented one of these I have been told that this was normal, and used in the Catholic Church to represent death, but this is the only oddity that I’ve been able to justify.
When we came to the grotto of Saint Margaret our trip to Oppido, I realized that this grotto was a “church-grotto.â€
We had just walked into another peculiar church. Similar frescoes waited behind bars still intact on the cold walls. There they stared back at us, as we marveled in their antiquity. The unusual circumstance cut our visit to a short; millions of gnats were using the frescoed walls as a refuge from the scorching August heat. The frescoes literally turned black in spots and as we stayed looking and shooing them away, we only found that our noses were engulfed with black critters, just then, we made our minds up to flee! Meanwhile, I walked out to have a look at the attached grotto while Rafaello fought the gnat clusters, struggling hard to lock the doors. I had this burning desire to fall on my knees and start digging into the soil with my bare hands— I had just wanted dig and dig, my curiosity was killing me. We could unravel more truth and discover what was underneath the first floor of that solitary structure. I stood in the cove of two rounded circular patterns; it was as if the ceiling itself possessed two huge bulging eyes. There was an entrance as a hole in the ground to the right, and surely with stairs now covered up, this meant there were other levels beneath this ground. These places desperately need to be excavated.
The entire area of Potenza was strategized into perfect escape routes, fortresses, underground residences and passages, yearning to be tampered with. I’d love to expose these, for the beginnings of a marvelous discovery.
Clues of a mysterious population came with the wind, delivering these–free of charge. A Knowledge was harboring in these areas, and we were trying to detect it. One thing is for sure; they were a secretive people. Clues were readily available as we passed by doors; some doorways had carvings around them of the saints we found inside these mysterious grottos. We descended through tight alleyways; and were standing on a mysterious clue, well I was–a piece was resting under my foot. I bent down to pick up a triangular shape, which was a thick layer of cooked clay painted on one side; a plate from a medieval time, no longer of use. But yet it sat there in obvious view, undisturbed in this place where no one crosses anymore.
The story we are working to piece together is a combined mish-mash of tiny towns within the Potenza province in the region of Lucania-Basilicata, and each one began to take on a similarity with another. We trespassed across one town and snuck into another and I sensed their uniqueness and individuality right away; each was different, yet confessed their correlations. The towns could be described as strangenesses of tastes, symbols, and hidden grottoes baring cousin decors of the same period in time.
The Lucanian people maintain an indifference to these 900 year old frescoes— which give pigment to the neglected caverns. Out of ignorance, farmers made use of them for housing pigs and livestock, burning fires inside them for warmth, and ruining vital evidence to a medieval people’s existence during the 12th and 13th centuries.
Even during my journey in Lucania, priests made jokes about Templar talk; “No, there were never any Templars here; (chuckling) maybe they crossed Acerenza’s path once.â€
“Ah, come on, this guy knows all there is to know about Acerenza’s history (priest looking at the guy to his right) and he says it’s never been trampled on by one Templar boot.â€
This was spoken to me as I sat next to this priest on a bench; we were facing the Acerenza Cathedral–whose wall was slashed with a Templar cross. Either they do know something about the Templar’s history in Acerenza and are reluctant to talk about it; or they are cunning like their ancestors, who masterfully side-stepped the facts and presented them as “unimportant,†or they are plain blinded to the obvious clues sitting right in front of them. For people that were known to pass on news like gossiping gazettes– this topic strangely ever made it past a joke. Their deeds of honor were done; they hushed it up and left it for—forgotten once again.
We walked on, and images began to click into sequence. The grottos were set away in solitary spots, frescoes positioned and styled by the same hands—the same imaginations (the time period locked into the 12th century for the most part), odd statues were found all over the place that somehow were surely connected. Pagan symbols were outrightly noticeable by eyes that can “see†them.
This concludes my first journey into the Lucanian territory. I imagine if we’d spent more time there, like a month or more, we could have unraveled more of the “unexposed†which awaits down beneath. We hope one day to link together many of the coincidences–besides the oddities that have nothing in common whatsoever. We hope to tie them all together, and create a legit story, consistent and complete.
This trip was meant for gathering useful information that we can record, to help our story grow. The experience assisted me with understanding, and each time (so they tell me) they are presented something new. This time that something new was a baphomet. In a cemetery set near Serra di Vaglio the baphomet of St. Bernard was found (the town of the ancient Lucanian village) and in my opinion and Raphael’s the other (of the strangest findings) was the figure of a Martian found in the Melfi Castle’s museum. It was a figure whose image we had to battle over to take, and difficult to persuade the employees. A Lucanian Martian stood behind glass. This Martian we saw was crafted more than 2,500 years ago, how is this possible? Maybe Martians are not relatively new after all. Mystery after mystery, Basilicata never lets its visitors down; it always has another story to share. It probably always will have more to tell.
© jjarvis 2007
