The Saga of the Sagra!

Announcement posters are plastered across public walls all over Italy, typically along parking areas or highly trafficked pedestrian paths. They’ve always reminded me of the old movie scenes….”Read all about it!”…as they alert to concerts, festivals, meetings, exhibitions, and sagras.

What’s a sagra? They are joyful events that center around food. Seasonal, fresh, celebrated food – and generally one specific food. We’ve been lucky enough to attend – intentional or unintentional – artichoke, tartufo, chestnut, and now…polenta celebrations.

This one wasn’t unintentional, though. It all started with one of those posters. Marty! Let’s go! Luckily, we were within a nearby area and the dates aligned. Often these events don’t coincide with our schedules, so long term stays are definitely helpful in that way. It’s so wonderful to be here for a long stretch! We took a photo of the poster and made note to attend the upcoming Friday.

Not begin familiar with all of the multitude of fraziones and villages that reside within one zone, place names can get confusing. For example, we are based in Spoleto, yet the zone of Spoleto includes many small communities. Spoleto itself is within the precinct, per se, of Perugia, which is the capital city of the region of Umbria. Yep, it can get confusing.

We saw the name Massa Martana on the poster — okay, that must be the town, and landlord Danilo confirmed it when he stopped by. Whatever that other name…Viepri…was, we had no clue and figured it must be something worth printing on the poster, but yeah… who knows.

This saga plays out over about 10 days, but the event doesn’t open until 7:00 pm. We took advantage of the time to do catch up on email, social media, the blog, and all of those other laptop things. Evening caught us a little off guard, so our launch was not as early as we’d intended, but so be it. With Daylight Savings Time beginning here last weekend, there was enough light to make the trip.

Massa Matana is tucked rather high in the mountains; the 11 mile drive took about 40 minutes through never-ending undulations of asphalt on mountain sides. It was beautiful, though, at least for me as passenger who could enjoy the view. Massa Matana is a beautiful ancient town, a combination of the stunning old center encircled not by a wall but by 3 to 4 story buildings buttressed to withstand about anything or anyone. It, plus the outer portion, appeared lived in and vibrant. Several children played a raucous game of soccer while we wandered wide-eyed trying to find this sagra. It didn’t take long to figure we’d struck out somehow. We pulled up the sagra info online. Well, okay – that “other name” was actually the name of a tiny village a ways up the road where the sagra was being held. We’ve come this far, let’s keep going.

*A side note on Massa Matana: I’m always coming across cats in Italy and always trying to engage them. There was a black and white cutie tucked under the bushes; I slowly advanced and she let me pet her a moment. As I scoped her area, it became clear a community cat sanctuary had been set up here with a sign to announce it. How kind and respectful to all the strays and unhomed kitties!

Darkness was coming quickly. Just about 5 miles and we’d arrive at Viepri. We could see the lights from a small hilltop town – perhaps that was it. A turn off onto a very narrow barely paved road took us through farm houses and cultivated land, but no town. The road, truly only big enough for one car or a couple of donkey carts, took several bends until we reached the sharp right curve that seemed to lead up to maybe a cow pasture, or… I checked the map again. No Marty, it says this is right…let’s keep going a little further. We were both thinking the same thing, though — we’re hosed and this was all for naught.

But alas…just ahead and up a small incline we begin to see cars parked end to end, people walking towards what came into view: several large structural tents. The sagra! We’d arrived.

We were shocked at the number of cars. These couldn’t all be locals, but as we’d seen the posters all the way over in Spoleto, no doubt they are plastered on walls in every community in the region. We finally found a big enough piece of grassy margin a little ways down to park, set the parking brake, and began walking back to what we had no idea about other than we’d find polenta for dinner. The austere clock tower was silhouetted against the last pink light of day; we both said we’d love to come back and explore this area in daylight.

When in doubt, follow the people in front of you. That’s worked so many times, and it worked again. We followed several people into the tent, rounded a corner, and looked out on a huge table-filled room lined with posters of various singers and bands. There was a booth set up with several places to buy what seemed to be tickets, plus a couple more for beverages. We must’ve looked like deer in Italian headlights: making sense of all of this was taking some time. A very long line of folks originated from the booth. Everyone was holding a large sheet of paper; oh…must be a menu. Okay, now what?

We decided to wander the room just a little and see if we could make the pieces fit. Some tables seemed reserved, each had a number. There were tables full of people who obviously knew each other, others were eating with just a few people, and a handful were alone. We each made a couple of solo reconnaissance missions and finally, along with asking a person or two, put it all together. Figure out a table that’s not reserved and has enough room, then notate the number. Have one person from you party plop down and stake your claim. Figure out what you want to eat and drink from the paper menu, which you get at the beverage pick up area…and hope there’s a pen in your purse or pocket. When you get up to the booth, pay after placing your order, pick up your placemat, cutlery and beverage, then sit at your table. A very spry waitstaff of local citizens of all ages eventually comes around and takes the receipt to know what to bring. It’s a very loud, happy, joyful, noisy, crowded gathering of every single age…all squeezed together in one big happy tent.

The food arrived. It was so very good. One plate of polenta with the local sauce of tomatoes, peperoncini, maybe a little sausage, and I’m not sure what else, along with another plate under a cinghiale…wild boar…sauce. Local Umbrian red wine and we ate like kings. We also ordered a secondo of stewed cinghiale slow cooked in tomato sauce with juniper berries, bay leaf, and a few other spices. As already full as we were, this was so incredibly worth it. Maybe the best we’d ever had, and we’ve had a lot of stewed cinghiale.

Even though it was getting close to 10:00, the room seemed to become even fuller. We cleared the table for a group of guys, then made way to the next big tent where the night’s concert and dance were being held. Each night of this sagra included a band or singer and a dance. The room was just starting to fill when we entered. Ten minutes later, the band opened. A pretty young woman who reminded me just a wee bit of Madonna belted out an enthusiastic welcome while behind her a band composed of a drummer, sax player, accordionist, keyboard player, bass guitar, and some instrument that looked like a keyboard/guitar hybrid backed her up with energetic vigor. Every age gathered, from the barely able to walk toddlers to the barely able to walk elders. Couples began to dance, babies unabashedly moved to the music, children swirled and laughed – there was all-generational joy filling this room.

We stood to the side initially, taking it in, marveling at the community in place here. Do we have these things in America? Probably in smaller ethic rich communities, but Marty and I both had not experienced it. Eventually we moved in closer to the stage, me swaying and moving to music while Marty enjoyed the sounds. At one point, everyone backed away…what was up? We turned and the whole room had joined to begin line dancing! We cleared quickly and watched.

So this is a noteworthy thing. Marty said he would actually like to learn to line dance while we’re in Italy. I nearly fell over!! So yes, stay tuned.

We left about 11:15, the return trip about 10 miles but a journey of 30 minutes. At least we routed through lower roadways and avoided snaking through tiny mountain roads in the dark. The night was lovely, though. A half moon overhead blotted out full stars, but enough shone through to marvel at. What a fun, fulfilling evening. And how special to be apart of it. My guess is we were probably the only Texans, or even Americans, there!