Abruzzo, Central Italy by Christopher Somerville

Abruzzo, the mountainous region at the heart of central Italy, is still little-known. Here, less than two hours' drive from central Rome, are brown bears and roe deer, wolves that stalk chamois, eagles and songbirds, alpine wildflower meadows and dense beechwoods, hill villages where traditional crafts still flourish, and a scatter of medieval churches. Above all these rise the majestic high peaks of the Apennines. Here winter sporters and walkers come close to heaven, as generations of weekending Romans have discovered. But surprisingly few foreign visitors reach Abruzzo. I doubt if I spotted half a dozen during my week's exploration late in spring.

I went strolling in alpine meadows studded with anemones, buttercups and sky-blue forgetmenots, and tackled the high ridge of the Picco della Rocca, a mighty circuit. Enormous mountain views wheeled slowly by as I teetered along the knife-blade ridge at 6,000 feet, then skittered down leaf-littered tracks through the beechwoods.

In the big hill village of Pescocostanzo, a famous centre for handicrafts, I got chatting to Domenico Ranallo the woodcarver. He showed me round his house, delighted at my interest in the dragons he had carved into the eaves under the roof, into cupboard doors and wall plaques. The local craft in the nearby town of Sulmona is of the sweet and sticky sort, for here they make confetti - sugared almonds dyed in parrot-bright crimsons, yellows and blues, worked into floral shapes from single flowers to elaborate bouquets

Next day I did the sights of the Abruzzese capital, L'Aquila, in blazing sunshine: the Renaissance church of San Bernardino and the dusky rose-pink Romanesque church of Santa Maria di Collemaggio, the famous fountain with its 99 grotesque stone heads spouting water, the block-like castle which shelters rare and beautiful wooden statues salvaged from run-down churches in the city.

Dizzy with culture and sun, I made for the mountains. To the north of L'Aquila rises the formidable rock wall of the Gran Sasso, highest range of the Apennines. The road spiralled up into the green undulating wilderness of the Campo Imperatore, a hidden plain under the mountain wall. Windy, cool and empty, its vast spaces were as refreshing as a plunge into cold water.