The heat built fast in Roma. Ten days prior we were putting on our fleece jackets in the morning because it was cold in the apartment, but by the time my brother and sister-in-law arrived June 1, that was no longer a problem: it was getting warm. Luckily for us – if not for our cat sitters – we were leaving Roma. We also left behind the tourist hoards.
Heading to Emilia-Romagna on June 2 (the Festival of the Republic which celebrates the election in 1946 when the monarchy was rejected in favor of a republic), we left behind the Roma tourists only to find throngs of Italians. At least they were at lunch when we arrived at Agriturismo Corte d’Aibo. But that was the holiday and the last day of the Italian four-day weekend. Continuing on to our mountain destination of Montese, we found ourselves the only tourists at the very pleasant Hotel Belvedere .

This is not your average balsamico. This is Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena, another thing entirely.
I found Hotel Belvedere and Corte d’Aibo thanks to Riccardo of Trekking Emilia-Romagna. Somehow my SIL Jane and I hit on going to E-R and hiking, and I was fortunate to stumble upon Riccardo’s company. He put together a great itinerary for us including a tasting and tour at an acetaio called Ca’ dal Non, lunch at the agriturismo, and a guided hike through the mountains, which saw significant action in World War II. The arrangements also included our hotel, breakfasts and dinners. All we had to do was show up and sweat a little on the hike.

Stefano, foreground, explains a fountain in the mountains to Jane, Rick and Ric. Multiple basins allowed people to use one for drinking water, the next for washing, and a final one for watering livestock.
During our hike, we learned about the flora, fauna and history of the area. The Gothic Line was here, a place where Germany was making a last stance in the north of Italy as the Allied Armies, having fought their way north through the boot, bombed the heck out of them, and unfortunately, also bombed the Italian villages.
We met an older man – he said he was 80 – who upon learning we were Americans said, “The Germans went away, the Americans left, and now there are no porcini.” He was jesting, but memories are long: although we “liberated” the area, the old growth forest was destroyed by both the German occupiers and the liberating armies, so the treasured porcini no longer grow there. We chatted in Italian for a while and when we commented on his good health and energy (after all he was taking the same long hike that was wearing out us 60-somethings) he said “They gave me an organ donor card and I told them ‘take anything you want; none of it works anyway!’”

Ric in our woodsy picnic spot, an area frequented by families on Sundays. This one surrounded a church that commemorated the civilians killed in the area.