When I first visited the Marche a dozen years ago, folk who knew about such things tapped their noses and confidently predicted that it was to be Italy’s ‘next big thing’. The British would tire of Tuscany and Umbria, they said, and would head in Boden-clad hordes further east. They said exactly the same thing when I returned five years later and yet again more recently.
The invasion has yet to happen. Few of the top travel companies push or promote the Marche and the Brits have stayed wedded to Chiantishire. I really can’t understand why.
After all, the Marche has everything that Tuscany and Umbria have. There are handsome medieval walled towns and enchanting hilltop villages complete with — so the Marchigiani like to boast — 500 squares, 106 castles, 37 fortresses and 15 strongholds; there are the remarkable Frasassi caves; there are the rugged Apennines on one side, with the cobalt-blue Adriatic on the other; there are secluded sandy beaches and the myriad islands of Croatia are only a few hours’ sail away; there is great food and great wine.
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