At Arlecchino's Farm - A Journey to Casal Cermelli

The pastel green of the wheat fields in early summer, the pink of the flowers that smile at us from every garden, the blue of the lake for fans of sport fishing, the red of the bricks of the oldest buildings in the centre, the white of the wall of a chapel: arriving in Casal Cermelli is like meeting Harlequin, you are immediately wrapped in a cheerful and colourful world, with a rural flavour. The gaze can fly freely for miles and miles, meeting farmhouses that from a distance seem to have come out of a child's drawing, while you are distracted only by a few self-assured magpies crossing the road in front of our car.

We arrived in Casal Cermelli, a village of the Alessandria plain, the last one on the left bank of the Orba stream, after about an hour's drive from Milan. For a few days we decided to stay here to "detox" from the city by immersing ourselves in the purest countryside. We wanted to hear the roosters, the jackdaws and the crickets, but not only: the men in the group also wanted to see the fish of the Lago Blu, the artificial pond where the sport-fishing association of the same name has its headquarters. Before going to visit the lake and our agriturismo, we stopped in the village to take a walk and get our bearings.

As soon as we start our walk along the village's main street, we are captivated by the beauty of a votive shrine, set into the stone that forms a natural wall right alongside the Church of the Beata Assunta: a blue Madonna, surrounded by many flowers, whose serene and kindly gaze fills us with joy. We take a walk in the square where the Town Hall stands, built on the ruins of an ancient castle, and admire with a touch of healthy envy the many little balconies overflowing with flowers: these houses, mostly old but tastefully restored, have a soul.

The history of Casal Cermelli is intertwined with that of the Orba river: indeed certain place names, such as Mezzanella, Villa Franca, Torre d'Orba, Casal Vecchio, still leave scholars in doubt as to whether they referred to different ancient hamlets of the village, formed thanks to the migration of the Orba stream, or whether it was the same locality. We are a few kilometres from Novi Ligure, the city to which Fausto Coppi's career is indissolubly linked, but Casal Cermelli too boasts of having raised an important rider: Giancarlo Martini, an Italian national-team cyclist born in 1936, who represented Italy at the Cycling World Championships in Waregem in 1957 and in Reims the following year.

The people we ask for information in the square tell us to go to Portanova, a small but important hamlet of the village, which was the last of the ten Porte that around 1168 contributed to the founding of the city of Alessandria, built to prevent a possible new barbarian invasion following that of Frederick Barbarossa. In Portanova we also admire a splendid parish church, built at the end of the nineteenth century, dedicated to Sant'Antonio da Padova. Inside it is kept a late-sixteenth-century painting of the Holy Family, from the workshop of Maraglione, coming from the old church.

After this long cultural walk the time has come to rest and think about the pleasures of good food, so we head towards the Lago Blu, and shortly afterwards we reach the Agriturismo Arlecchino. We settle into the rooms and take our places on the terrace, next to the pool. The cheerful colours we noticed in the village accompany us here too: a pink wall, a yellow one, blue glasses. "We were inspired by Harlequin, my wife wanted to create a slightly different, more imaginative environment," Mr Alfredo explains to us as he brings us some excellent focaccine and pizzette, fresh from the wood-fired oven. When we ask about the local specialities he offers us a series of Piedmontese and Ligurian dishes, adding that they, however, do the so-called "could we?" cuisine.

"We often have creative guests who ask if they could add an ingredient or prepare a dish different from the usual, and we always say yes," he tells us, amused. We, on the other hand, let ourselves be guided by his suggestions, and opt for a nice plate of agnolotti, which we follow with various roasts and porchetta, all washed down with Dolcetto d'Ovada and the local Barbera, and to finish, a lovely tart with homemade jam. As we enjoy these dishes, the lady tells us that this is a farmhouse of fully eight hundred square metres, and it also hosts an educational farm, with little goats, sheep and calves. "The children adore them," she adds. After lunch we too go to meet the animals, and we are happy to feel like children for a few days: it feels as if we have landed in a brightly coloured fairy tale.

Francesca Bertha