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The Leventina is formed by the Ticino River, carving a valley some 40 kilometers
long, from Airolo and the St. Gotthard upstream to Biasca.
Baedeker's decribes a train ride through the valley in the 1889
guidebook. Below Airolo, "the Ticino has forced its passage through the barrier of the Monte Piottino, descending in a series
of falls through a wild rocky gorge to a lower region of the valley." After passing Faido, "the train now carries us through
beautiful scenery, richly wooded with walnut and chestnut trees, on the left bank of the Ticino; the numerous campanili
in the Italian style, crowing the hills, have a very picturesque effect. From the cliffs on both sides fall several cascades,
the veil-like fall of the Cribiasca on the right, near Lavorgo, being the finest. Huge masses of rock lie scattered about,
interspersed with fine chestnut trees." Below Giornico, the valley expands until it joins the Moesa.
Recollections
of the Val Leventina in Alps & Sanctuaries by Samuel Butler
Descending Into the Valley
After leaving Airolo the road descends rapidly for a few hundred feet and then more slowly for four or five kilometres
to Piotta. Here the first signs of the Italian spirit appear in the wood carving of some of the houses. Then come Ronco on
the mountain side to the left, and Quinto; all the way the pastures are thickly covered with cowslips, even finer than those
that grow on the Salisbury Plain. A few kilometres farther on and sight is caught of a beautiful green hill with a few natural
terraces upon it and a flat top--rising from amid pastures, and backed by higher hills as green as itself. On the top of this
hill there stands a white church left unwhitewashed. The whole forms a lovely little bit of landscape such as some old Venetian
painter might have chosen as a background for a Madonna. This place is called Prato.
Approaching Faido
After
it is passed the road enters at once upon the Monte Piottino gorge, which is better than the Devil's Bridge [at the St. Gothard],
but not so much to my taste as the auriculas and rhododendrons which grow upon the rocks that flank it. The peep, however,
at the hamlet of Vigera, caught through the opening of the gorge, is very nice. Soon after crossing the second of the Monte
Piottino bridges the first chestnuts are reached, or rather were so till a year ago, when they were all cut down to make room
for some construction in connection with the railway. A couple of kilometres farther on and mulberries and occasional fig-trees
begin to appear. On this we find ourselves at Faido, the first place upon the Italian side which can be called a town, but
which after all is hardly more than a village.
The Village of Faido
Faido is a picturesque old place. It
has several houses dating from the middle of the sixteenth century; and there is one, formerly a convent, close to the Hotel
dell'Angelo, which must be older still. There is a brewery where excellent beer is made, as good as that of Chiavenna-and
a monastery where a few monks still continue to reside. The town is 2365 feet above the sea, and is never too hot even in
the height of summer.
Villages of the Val Leventina
Years ago, in travelling by the St. Gothard road, I
had noticed the many little villages perched high up on the sides of the mountain, from one to two thousand feet above the
river, and had wondered what sort of places they would be. I resolved, therefore, after a time to make a stay at Faido and
go up to all of them.
I carried out my intention, and there is not a village nor fraction of a village in the Val
Leventina from Airolo to Biasca which I have not inspected. I never tire of them, and the only regret I feel concerning them
is, that the greater number are inaccessible except on foot, so that I do not see how I shall be able to reach them if I live
to be old. These are the places of which I do find myself continually thinking when I am away from them. I may add that the
Val Leventina is much the same as every other subalpine valley on the Italian side of the Alps that I have yet seen.
Drying
Barley
The first place I tried from Faido was Mairengo-where there is the oldest church in the valley-a church older
even than the church of St. Nicolao of Giornico. Mairengo is full of good bits, and nestles among magnificant chestnut trees.
From hence I went to Osco, about 3800 feet above the sea, and 1430 above Faido.
It was here I first came to understand
the purpose of certain high poles with cross bars to them which I had already seen elsewhere. They are for drying the barley
on; as soon as it is cut it is hung up on the cross bars and secured in this way from the rain, but it is obvious this can
only be done when cultivation is on a small scale. These rascane, as they are called, are a feature of the Val Leventina,
and look very well when they are full of barley.
Viewing Dalpe Across the Valley
From Osco I tried to coast
along to Calpiognia, but was warned that the path was dangerous, and found it to be so. I therefore again descended to Mairengo,
and reascended by a path which went straight up behind the village. After a time I got up to the level of Calpiognia, or nearly
so, and found a path through pine woods which led me across a torrent in a ravine to Calpiognia itself.
This path
is very beautiful. While on it I caught sight of a lovely village nestling on a plateau that now showed itself high up on
the other side of the valley of the Ticino, perhaps a couple of miles off as the cross flies.
This I found upon inquiry
to be Dalpe; above Dalpe rose pine woods and pastures; then the loftier alpi, then rugged precipices, and above all
the Dalpe glacier roseate in the sunset. I was enchanted, and it was only because night was coming on, and I had a long way
to descend before getting back to Faido, that I could get myself away.
The Churchyard at Calpiognia
I passed
through Calpiognia, and though the dusk was deepening, I could not forbear from pausing at the Campo Santo just outside the
village. When I saw it first it was in the month of June, and the rank dandelions were in seed. Wild roses in full bloom,
great daisies, and the never-failing salvia ran riot among the graves. Looking over the churchyard itself there were the purple
mountains of Biasca and the valley of the Ticino some couple of thousand feet below. There was no sound save the subdued but
ceaseless roar of the Ticino, and the Piumogna.
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