A dragon chained to an apple tree, a witches' tower, a salami. Five villages and a single keeper.
“Welcome, wanderer. I am the Guardian of the Apples. For centuries I have watched over this fief, with a motto carved in stone: the prey is vigilant and its fruits well guarded.”The Guardian of the Apples
What the narrator asks you. The answer, and the true fact behind it, is for you to find on the spot.
Before the knights came the shoemakers. The old village was born around the middle of the thirteenth century, at the foot of the fortress, and I still remember the tinkling of little hammers on soles. An arch with a turret awaits you at the entrance: pass through, and let the old guard look at you.
One day the Malaspina left their castle up high and came down to Varzi. They brought arms, luggage and ambitions with them. The Guardian remembers the date, you look for it on the stones.
The Guardian loves chestnuts. Up there, in a stone village clinging to the hill, in autumn the fire is lit. There the castle keeps watch, silent and unhurried.
In 614 an Irish monk founded a monastery here that became a beacon of culture. The Guardian still hears the rustle of parchments.