Adunata Genoa 2026 · Day 1: Chiavari

Adunata Diary · Instalment 1 of 5

From Salce to Chiavari – By way of Agazzano and the Trebbia Valley

It is seven o’clock sharp on Thursday 7 May 2026, when the forecourt in front of the headquarters of the Gruppo Alpini “Gen. Pietro Zaglio” of Salce comes alive with voices, with embraces, with that hum of restrained enthusiasm that every year, as punctual as the calendar, precedes departure for the National Alpini Rally (Adunata). The minibus was loaded the evening before with camp beds, sleeping bags and assorted provisions, and “branded” with the ANA posters prepared for the 2026 Adunata. Genoa awaits us, and we are ready to reach it with the light solemnity of those who know they are taking part in an ancient rite.

As tradition dictates — and among us Alpini, traditions are not up for discussion — the first stop is at Bar da Jole, for the good-luck coffee. It is a small gesture, almost insignificant to an onlooker, but for us it is the seal that makes the departure official. Without that coffee, nobody goes anywhere. Adonella (Jole’s daughter) knows it, and welcomes us with her usual smile.

Along the motorway, between a hard-boiled egg and a glass in good company

The minibus eats up the kilometres with the patience of an old pack mule. The motorway stop is a ritual too: the hard-boiled egg, the glass of wine, a bit of a chat among comrades of one single life, the Alpine one. This year, for the first time, one of our ladies joined us as well: Mara, whom we see below caught having a taste, between a slice of salami and one of cheese. She will later be joined by 4 more “edelweiss”, whom I will tell you about further on.

There are those who tell of the Adunata twenty years ago, those who take off their hat the better to slice the “sopressa”, and those who simply look out of the window in silence, because certain emotions need no words, waiting for someone to bring them a glass of the good stuff.

Agazzano, an old acquaintance

Just after midday we are in Agazzano, in the province of Piacenza, at the Albergo Ristorante del Cervo. It is not the first time we have stopped here: we made it a fixed stage back at the Piacenza Adunata, and confirmed it on the occasion of the recent Milan Adunata. The restaurant has been run for generations by the Panizzari family, with Alberto and his sister Paola carrying on the business, together with their mother Carmen, in memory of their father, Antonio. Here, Emilian cooking has the virtue of authentic things — it does not astonish, it comforts. Pisarei e fasò, local cured meats, tortelli con la coda: the Cervo never disappoints.

Waiting for us are our friend and member Mosè Sommavilla and his wife Manuela, who joined the party – coming from Vigevano – precisely to share this moment of good food and wine. Between one course and the next, by request, the singing begins — because an Alpini lunch without singing is like a mountain without a cross. From other tables come requests, suggestions, proposals: Sul cappello, La mula de Parenzo, etc.. The voices intertwine, someone is moved, someone sings out of tune and we laugh. A lot.

This is how an Adunata is built, even before you get there.

Climbing up the Val Trebbia

Leaving the Cervo, we go to the front of the Castle of Agazzano for a pleasant exchange of gifts between the Alpini of Salce and those of Agazzano. Then the group leader takes the Val Trebbia road, the one Hemingway called the most beautiful in the world (though we, having driven it, very much doubt it!) and which, frankly, as far as the scenery goes, he was not far wrong about. But the bends! The bends tighten, the villages chase one another along the heights, the river winds below with its beds of white stone. It is the landscape of the Apennines that we are crossing, stern and gentle at once, made of chestnut trees and old mills, of Romanesque parish churches and forgotten inns.

Over a pass, down again, over another pass. The coach climbs and then lets itself be rocked down towards the sea, which announces itself from afar as a salty breath in the air. By the time Liguria opens up before us, it is already evening.

Chiavari, a home away from home

In Chiavari we are welcomed by Antonello Solari and his wife Patrizia Sacchet — respectively brother-in-law and sister of Michele, our member and committee member. They have prepared everything with the care of those who know what it means to host a group of Alpini on the march: the marquee is the one over the courts of the local Chiavari bowls club, the “back room” we already experienced at the 2001 Adunata with a fish supper that many in Salce still remember, and the air smells of salt and maritime pine.

The camp comes to life in a few minutes. We know how it is done: we have done it a hundred times, in a hundred different places in Italy. The camp beds smack of an improvised bivouac, but the bowls club offers us that bit of solid, brotherly ground which, for an Alpino away from home, is more than enough.

Fresh broad beans, cold cuts and wine from Abruzzo

Supper is in the open air, around a great stone table that has the solemn air of a secular altar.

Fresh broad beans to shell, Ligurian cold cuts, local cheeses, bread and Ligurian focaccia fresh from the oven. All washed down with the red wine of the Spinelli family of Atessa, in the province of Chieti — long-standing friends of ours, people from Abruzzo who, alongside their vines, have also cultivated a genuine friendship with our Group.

We raise our glasses, we tell stories, we laugh. Someone strikes up a couple of verses, but what a struggle to remember the words of our songs. A sign that age is advancing and, with it, memory is getting shorter. The lights of the long table blend with the first stars. Around the table there is a bit of everyone: people from Belluno, Chiavari, Verona, Treviso and Trentino, all united by the wish to be together and enjoy themselves.

It is one of those evenings that, when we are old and our grandchildren ask us what the Adunata was, we will love to recount in every detail.

The lanes of Chiavari, in defiance of ill omens

Late in the evening, not in the least worried by the rumours about the protesters reaching us from Genoa — rumours that, let us say it straight away, do not dent our serenity by a single millimetre — we set off towards the historic centre of Chiavari. It is then that the little town reveals itself to us in all its reserved beauty: the endless arcades, the narrow alleyways, the pastel-coloured palazzi, the wrought-iron shop signs, the little shops of sea and land, the sudden squares that open up like clearings after the woods.

We walk as a group, with the slow pace of those who are no longer in a hurry, chatting about everything and nothing, because the Adunata is now close and the weariness of the journey has melted away in the wine. Chiavari appears to us for what it is: a small gem of the Tigullio, generous and reserved at once, the perfect antechamber to Genoa.

See you tomorrow

We head back to the marquee with the step of those who know that tomorrow will be a great day. We all say see you tomorrow and in our thoughts we wish the Alpini, the people of Genoa, and all those who in these days will gather beneath the tricolour flags, a splendid Adunata.

It will be wonderful, as always. As it has always been, and as it always will be as long as there is one Alpino left standing to wear the hat with the feather.

— from the travel notebook of the Gruppo Alpini di Salce