The memory of this harsh and wild territory tells the legendary stories of smuggling: stories and adventures of tough men who, with their backs bent under the weight of their sacks, challenged the law and hostile nature. Risk was their most faithful companion.
They stuffed the goods into rough canvas sacks, put on their heavy boots and set off. In order not to be discovered by the guards, they walked silently on moonless nights, along secret paths, hidden among the needles of the mountain pines and the juniper bushes that stain the pastures.
For some it was a real job, for others a sporadic activity and, for all, it was a dangerous and tiring job, made of risks, cunning and heavy loads on the back. Imagine a group of men who lived a long time ago, walking silently, careful not to be seen, with the bricolla (a special backpack made of juta) on their shoulders and heavy boots on their feet.
It was very difficult to see them, as they crossed the valleys and climbed the mountains wrapped in darkness, carrying a load of coffee, sugar, cigarettes and bottles of alcohol. They knew every corner, every stone, every bush.
Who knows how many juniper bushes they must have encountered on their way. In the silence of the valleys, they crossed the invisible borders drawn by man, deposited the load and then returned home, with light shoulders and a rough smile drawn on their mouths