It makes for a lovely walk, little houses nestled up against each other and cradled by the remaining walls. One of the members of my family was born in this tiny place and speaks (even today, some 50 years after moving down to the ‘big smoke’) a rough dialect that takes all my concentration to understand.
The people from this town are loyal to their ways. They know the history of the area, they know who was born and who is a relative. I suspect that knowing the geneology is a good thing, considering how few of them there actually were 50 years ago… never good to marry your brother. Sometimes, I hear the guitar riff from Deliverance in my head when I am walking around the castle walls…..
Entry to the town is either through a steep uphill, hairpin drive (terrifying in winter) or from the other side…but then there is the stone wall entrance, which is tiny, suitable only for Fiat Pandas or Smart Cars. It would be hopeless to try and bring in any heavy machinery. So everything is handled through small loads.