Return to Castiglione and Lunch with Mussolini

Street scene in Castiglione

Since Wednesday was market day in Castiglione del Lago, I decided to go back and spend more time. The weather had turned quite mild again and I had left all my warm weather clothing back in Ireland. I thought I might find a short-sleeved shirt or two without spending too much. I also hoped to get in a nice long walk along the lakefront. I parked below the town near the lake and walked up the hill. The market was in full swing. One of the first vendors I came to had a huge pile of men’s shirts for five euros each. I picked my way through the pile, but just didn’t find anything that I wanted to take home. I walked around the rest of the market – there were definitely some different vendors than the week before. I didn’t buy anything but walked on into the town and up the main street towards the castle.

Harvested olives

When I reached the castle, I followed a road on the lakeside where there was some parking. As I began following the path, I saw a man laying down tarps under the olive trees that were growing there. Clearly, they were going to begin harvesting the olives. There were some olive trees on one side of the road closer to the castle, but there were many more growing on the hillside leading down to the lake. As I walked farther, I could see other men who were using these battery powered implements that shook the trees and made the olives fall to the ground. Modern technology! As I walked a little further, I could see plastic crates filled with olives that had been collected. Clearly, the harvest was well underway.

Lake Trasimeno

At the end of the road there was a barrier and a sign showing a footpath that led down towards the lake. Feeling adventurous, I decided to follow. By now, it was noon and the sun was high. As I walked over the grass, an herbaceous scent rose all around me. I could almost smell the heat rising off the ground. The trail wound its way down. It was fairly steep at times. Soon, however, I was nearing the bottom and the shade. I could also see that I was close to where I had parked the car. The trail ended and I was not far from the lake. I walked along a paved road for a bit until I could see that I was at the dock where the ferry sails from. There was a bit of a beach and a pavilion with chairs and tables. The café was open, but there were almost no customers, save for two older men. I began walking along a paved walkway thinking it was the start of the lakefront promenade. Before too long, however, it came to an abrupt end at a pile of rocks. Hmmm. So much for my long walk. OK. Now I was hungry. It was time to decide about lunch. Time to consult the ever-trustworthy TripAdvisor app.

Since it was still relatively early, I thought about having lunch a little further afield than Castiglione. I got to the car and began searching. I began looking along the main road that lead south from Castiglione along the lake. Some place with outside seating would be nice. Eventually I came across a place that got great reviews for its “homestyle” cooking and a little off the beaten track. It sounded just like my kind of place. It was only about 12km away, so I headed off. It took me a little while to find the place, but I did. I parked the car a few blocks away and walked through this little hamlet to the restaurant. As I got closer, I could see that it was packed. It was one of those places where, when you walked in, everyone turned and looked at you. “A real locals’ joint” I thought. I wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable, but I went inside anyway and asked whether they could take one, the guy said “All the seats are reserved. You have to call ahead”.  “OK,” I said and was preparing to leave when the waitress came in. He told her to give me a seat. They could sort it out afterwards. “Nice”, I thought. The place was very basic. There were four choices for a primi and four for the secondo. You picked one of each. Sides were extra. The meal included water and a ¼ liter of wine or soda. One price: 10 Euros! That was insane.

Trattoria "Fratelli D'Italia"

The early shift was beginning to leave, but, as soon as the tables were empty, another shift would arrive. They were almost all men and all mostly laborers or workers of some sort. There was even a table of three men in hunting gear. It was also clear that most were regulars. I was beginning to see what was going on here. In some cases, it seemed as if guys had called ahead and placed their order, because the food came out that quickly. By the time the waitress came back to take my order, I had figured out how things worked. She seemed relieved when I rattled off my order: lasagna, grilled veal chop, mixed salad, red wine and sparkling water. Va bene, she said and went off. Wine, water and bread appeared quickly. Well, this was not going to be a three–hour lunch, I thought to myself.

As I waited for my food to arrive, I did hear some English being spoken. At one table, two men and a woman were discussing what I assumed was a home renovation project. One of the men spoke with a distinct Scottish accent and, at one point, became very agitated about something that his clients? had done. I lost interest, because my lasagna had arrived. It was nicely charred and redolent with meat sauce that had just enough tomato, but not too much. It was heavenly. The veal chop was thin and perfectly grilled, served with just a slice of lemon. Salad was fresh and abundant. As I ate, I was reminded of that fact that this was how most trattoria food was when I first arrived in Italy back in 1980. It was mostly very basic, simple and good food. I was feeling very nostalgic.

The waitress cleared my plates and asked if I wanted coffee. Yes, I did. A few minutes later the coffee appeared with a sugar packet on the side. I picked up the packet and was surprised to see the words, “Io sono fascita, e me ne frego.” Which means, “I am a fascist and I give a s..t.” I took me a while to figure out that this was not a joke. I thought to myself, “This is weird.” When I got up to pay, I saw a sign posted on the wall, which said “April 25^th is not MY day of liberation”. (April 25^th is the day that Italians mark as the end of the fascist regime). Then, as I went up to pay the bill, it struck me that the padrone, with his shaved head and tight black tee-shirt kind of resembled Mussolini. The clincher, though, was the receipt.  You can see for yourself!

I drove back to the villa in a very conflicted state. On the one hand, the food was very good and the price was ridiculous, but should I be glad that I was eating in a restaurant run by neo-Fascists? I was also puzzled by the fact that I got no hint of this from TripAdvisor. I decided to correct that when I got back to my computer.