In Molise you discover an unusual and still authentic Italy, far from the large urban agglomerations, where on clear nights the sky is still starry. It is a territory made of transhumance and green pastures where the sound of hooves is superimposed on the tenacious and incessant sound of spring water that gushes impetuously and very cold from the mountain and has quenched men and animals for millennia.
The presence of man has left the oldest traces of his passage right here, where the narrow valleys dig out of the rushing streams, go back harshly towards the mountains of Mainarde and Matese. For millennia cultures have followed over time, modeling themselves along in archaic tractors: prehistoric men, in marshy areas hunting for wild animals, the Samnites with bright weapons, between the high peaks of Italian temples and the rock walls in the heights, then the Romans, in their cities of white stones and colored marbles, the feudal lords in the turreted castles, surrounded by their cohort.
Molise is the concrete proof of a full and still archaic life, of an area which is at times intense, of dormant villages between the Apennine mountains and the gentle green hills, of archaeological sites, frescoed castles and sculpted churches. It is a place of smiles and handshakes, of homemade pasta and ancestral traditions. It is a place of colorful parties, ancient olive groves, ritual dishes.
It is a place, Molise, which comes to life in the story, in the narrow sunny alleys, in the trabucchi on the August sea, in the red glasses of Tintilia wine drunk in the shade of the pergolas of the old houses.