I believe there is not a region so dense in culture and history anywhere on earth as is the Plain of the Po River in northern Italy. Except perhaps its southerly neighbour of Tuscany. And of course I shouldn’t disenfranchise Rome. Nor Naples and its sun-kissed bay, stretching to Sorrento and Capri past Pompeii. Ok, I get it, and you get it, don’t you? Italy is nice. But there’s too much to see, too much to do. Today, I’ll stick to the Valley of the Po.
Any Italian will happily tell you that a day spent in Milan is a day wasted. The city has none of the charm and elegance of its less sprawling siblings, those that dot the lakes of the Italian Alps like pearls on a necklace, or the wealthy merchant towns that grew where Roman roads intersected the waterways of the fertile plain.
Take for example Mantova, near the centre of this region. Ruled by dukes for centuries, it’s also the proud home of Vergil, one of Rome’s greatest poets. To defend their city and its massive fortress, tall clocktowers, and bustling market, the Gonzaga family had part of the surrounding fields cut with canals and dykes, creating three long, thin lakes that to this day surround most of the city like a shallow moat. On a misty morning, it seems to float in the fiery dawn.
Travel south and you’ll find the competitive twins of Modena and Bologna. The latter sounds more familiar to most of us now, but history didn’t always favour her strongest. Especially if you like cars, the former will interest you more. Because, despite what you might expect, Ferrari is not based in the city of Ferrara, but instead in Modena. Its headquarters share the neighbourhood with those of Lamborghini, Maserati, and Pagani. I wonder if the four of them go to the same bars and order the same drinks.
Back to the fourteenth century, when Modena and Bologna got into a deadly conflict while arguing over whether the Pope or the Emperor made for a better ruler. Armies clashed in the fields before Bologna’s city wall, and after only a short bout of fighting, both sides agreed to disagree, and most importantly, that the outcome should be regarded as a tie. But, returning home, the Modenese robbed one of the Bolognese wells of its bucket, claiming it as a prize for their eternal victory. The War of the Bucket ended in a day, but almost seven hundred years later, the Duomo of Modena still proudly displays this proof of its might.
Follow the rivers downstream and soon enough you’ll reach the Adriatic. Beyond description and therefore out of this post’s scope, is the beauty of Venice. Instead, consider Ravenna. Capital of the Western Roman Empire during its last decades, the city is filled with elegant basilicas and wonderfully gilt mosaics. Ravenna, too, keeps an old trophy. Banished from Firenze in 1302, Dante furiously condemned the elites of the city to eternal damnation in his Divine Comedy, a piece of literature that would grow to become the basis of the modern Italian language. Dante’s wandering eventually led him to Ravenna, where he wielded his sharp pen until he passed away. Every year, the city of Firenze formally requests his remains to be transferred back to the city of his birth. Every year, the city of Ravenna formally refuses, deciding to keep the great poet buried in its own dirt.
At the feet of the Apennines, Parma has long ago been overshadowed by the cheese its countryside produces. Parmigiano has become a symbol of good taste, although perhaps a little pricey. Yearly, a quarter million cows put their heads together, creating about three million wheels of the delicious cheese; one of the world’s most popular. The value created by parmigiano means some North Italian banks accept it as collateral for loans. This almost led to the country’s worst financial crisis since the unfortunate stabbing of Caesar, when a magnitude 6.0 earthquake in 2012 sent almost half a million wheels crashing to the earth, causing over $100 million in damages.
After all my ramblings I haven’t gotten to Verona yet, or its neighbour Vicenza, or the centuries old brotherly vendetta between Bergamo and Brescia. Nor have I told you about the lake cities of Como or Garda. Plenty of material for a part two; another story for every rock, another anecdote for every oak.
