Mythical Beasts of italy

It's hard not to love Italy.

I could talk about the Roman Empire, the influence of Christianity, the Renaissance, and how the world has been shaped by Greco-Roman history. But I don't think that's why anyone is here, and it isn't something that could be eloquently summed up in a short piece of writing. Instead, I wanted to share some of my experiences of this wonderful country before we dive into what I am actually qualified to talk about - Mythical Beasts. Italy, as you would expect with all it's history, has a staggering amount of myths and folklore and we can only scrape the surface here. Hopefully, it can point you towards your own discoveries.

My first trip to Italy was when I was a young street artist, making a tiny bit of a reputation for myself on the live art circuit. Back in the mid-naughties and early 2010s, organisations had artists come and create large murals in clubs, at brand launches, etc., and it was considered quite novel. Seeing a street artist perform now is absolutely commonplace, both safe and sanitised. It's arguable whether this is a good thing or not; I can see both sides, but it is undeniably a different beast than it was. But anyway, one of my first "business trips," and I use inverted commas because a 20-year-old me getting flown to an exciting historic city with a good buddy, sponsored by a rum brand, and getting to paint a mural did not seem like work at the time, but rather some kind of rum-induced fever dream. When we weren't painting, we had the time to indulge in the food, the culture, the history, the art, and boy did we feast on it. It was such a wonderful formative experience, and I fell a bit in love with Rome, as so many do.

Another of my favourite trips was further south for a family wedding in Naples. We stayed in Sorrento, and it was a little slice of paradise, with warm balmy evenings drinking wine, watching the little lizards run around the fruit trees, days swimming in beautiful water off the coast of Amalfi, marvelling at Pompeii, eating glorious food, and drinking orange juice so tasty I crave it to this day. But the thing that stood out for me was the wedding. After a sweltering walk in a stuffy polyester shirt through an Italian heatwave, reducing me to something resembling a lasagne in cling film fished from the bottom of a swimming pool, a few of the previously mentioned orange juices helped me to reconstitute myself into something resembling a human, and from there the day became truly special. I believe it's a great honour to experience the traditions of another culture as a welcomed guest, and given 90 per cent of an Italian wedding seemed to be seeing just how much delicious food they can get you to eat, I was a happy man. Everything was going well, and I was tucking into a mozzarella the size of a small melon when the singer who was serenading us as we ate decided it was time for the ever-popular crowd participation section. Inevitably, a microphone appears next to my face for a "fun" rendition of the Neapolitan classic "Funiculì, Funiculà." Being a socially awkward person, whose few attempts at singing in life were met with immediate remarks of "you should never do that again," and having a mouthful of cheese, I wasn't quite prepared for this level of social trauma. I tried every awkward English gesture for "I don't know the words," and tried to signal through desperate telepathy to *please God find someone else*, but unfortunately, he was a "helpful" soul who had decided I would absolutely sing "Funiculì, Funiculà" and all of it, not just one call and response. I think this went on for 10 days; it felt like it at least, but eventually, I was released from the bard's dark magic and was able to engage in something I am way more familiar with—comfort eating.

So there we have two of my favourite ever trips. It feels strange to write so much about my own experience rather than focusing on Italy itself. What stands out for me when I think about Italy is its everyday wonderfulness—the joy its cuisine brings the world, its impact on art and society, and how many people have their own wonderful stories to tell from their time there. It’s extremely difficult to have a bad trip to Italy.

So let me share with you a few stories from this glorious land.

As ever, thanks to everyone who has supported the project! You guys are awesome, and we couldn't keep it going without you! If you would like to support us, the maps and other goodies are available in our store, or you could buy us a coffee, alternatively, you could share us (with links).

We appreciate you greatly.

Visit our store

Buy me a coffee

Update- I’m working on book proposals at the moment, so I’ve kept some stories offline to save them for the books (and to stop anyone pinching all the hard work before they’re published!). If you’d like to know when the books are ready, just pop your name on the mailing list.

In the meantime, here are a few of my favourite beasties and legends -

Augurielli

Italy is jam-packed with little house spirits — every province has at least one, and usually quite a few more. In Calabria, there is the Augurielli, a small chap who wears the ubiquitous red cap that is the must-have accessory for any diminutive being wishing to take up residence in someone else's house.

"Honey, there's some small hairy, hoofed fella at the door."

"Send him away then."

"But he has this adorable little red hat on."

"Fair play, that is a very cute hat, makes him look trustworthy. Go on then, come on in, fella."

He is described as short and fat, with curly hair, the aforementioned cap, and horse feet, so he's quite the charmer. Maybe my only regret in making this map is not illustrating him with a gold chain poking out of a mess of greasy chest hair.

The Augurielli could bring great luck to a house and others fortunate enough to meet them. They grow fiercely attached to their adopted family, so if the house acquires new tenants, they will be subjected to a whole array of pranks and mishaps. Fortunately, the Augurielli are a bit like a magpie or small child, attracted to anything glittery, and can be appeased with pretty much any shiny bit of rubbish, which they will immediately add to their hidden stash. If you ever discover this stash, it is worth looking to see if you’ve found anything of tremendous value or if you've just got some bits of glass and tin foil stuffed in your wall cavities.

Scylla and charybdis

The famous Greek double act of "Scylla and Charybdis," but we'll do them individually to give them equal credit - in this case, we'll let Charybdis go first since we’re going alphabetically. "Finally, it’s old Charybdis' time to shine."

This deadly duo is where we get the saying "between Scylla and Charybdis" (obviously), which refers to being stuck between two equally terrible options, like renting or mortgages, the working week or starving to death in a gutter - and if you want to relate this to the state of choices in recent elections, you go right ahead. Other forms of this saying that have developed are "between a rock and a hard place" or "between the devil and the deep blue sea." I don't know which came first, but if I were a betting man, I'd guess the ancient Greek one. Interestingly, the other two both contain visual themes of Scylla and Charybdis (rock and sea).

There are a few origins for Charybdis, but they all agree she was a woman who incurred the wrath of Zeus - Which isn't the hardest thing to do, Zeus being well known for being a super reasonable chap. The stories say that she either assisted her dad (Poseidon) in his feud with Zeus by flooding the lands, or that she was always a bit peckish and her appetites crossed a line when she stole an ox from Hercules. Either way, Zeus, who's never been one for turning the other cheek, or for proportionate responses, hurls a lightning bolt at her, sending her to the bottom of the sea. From her more aquatic environment, she either becomes a sea monster or stays human(ish). But she does conjure mighty whirlpools to wreck ships.

As for the second half of our famous duo Scylla. If you had decided to avoid the deadly whirlpools of Charybdis, you would now have to sail dangerously close to Scylla. This is exactly what Circe suggested that Odysseus do on his famous jaunt, saying it is far better to lose a few men to Scylla than to have the entire ship and crew go down trying to get past Charybdis. Certainly a hard decision for upper management.

Scylla was once a beautiful naiad who drew the attention of a god and ultimately incurred the jealous wrath of one of their suitors (either Poseidon and Amphitrite or Glaucus and Circe). In either case, the jealous partner decided to poison the waters where Scylla bathed, transforming her into a man-eating monster.

She is described in all manner of ways in different texts, so you can likely do a pick-and-mix approach and draw something quite horrible. Here are some of the descriptions of Scylla: crab-like shell, twelve feet, six necks with menacing heads, three rows of teeth, twelve tentacles for her legs, six dog heads on her waist, and a cat tail. So, lots of fun to be had piecing together your version of Scylla.

They are mentioned in all the Greek top hits: The Odyssey, Jason and the Argonauts, The Aeneid, and Aesop. Bangers.

Doñas de fuera

I try to stay away from anything witch-like on the maps, as we all know they were just persecuted women, and that is a tragic part of human history. Despite the Doñas de fuera playing a part in the Italian witch trials, and being labeled as witches, they are appear more closely associated with what we would call faeries. Doñas de fuera roughly translates as "ladies from the outside," which I think is a terrific term for some of the fair folk.

They would abduct people with "sweet blood" (super creepy) and fly them on the backs of magical goats (it had to be magical goats; the unmagical ones barely got a few feet from the cliff) to Benevento, a magical and, more importantly, witchy/demonic area that pops up in various Italian folklore. Interestingly, Benevento is an actual place with a long and perfectly normal history. Usually, these magical places in folklore are more of an uttainable, unreachable space- They certainly don’t have train stations and tourist information points.

Landoro

At a time before boats existed, there lived a girl known as Lada, who dreamed of being able to fly over the vast sea. One day, rather surprisingly, she got her dream and sprouted wings. Not questioning the sudden appearance of wings too hard, she takes to the skies, flying over the shimmering sea. She felt deep elation and joy, that is right until she saw Landoro. Landoro was a gigantic fire-breathing sea serpent, with gigantic yellow eyes that seemed to hypnotise her and pull her in. She was both terrified and intrigued, but her good sense prevailed, and resisting she managed to fly back to the beach, her day completely ruined.

As she sat on the beach, she lamented that she would never safely cross the sea. This is when a strange boy arrives and says “Don’t cry”, to which she must have thought "I’m sad; I’m allowed emotions. And I am going to feel and experience them fully if that’s quite OK with you, you invalidating git", but probably out loud said something like "hi". After the initial emotion-belittling gambit, he introduced himself as Geri and, in fantasy book styling, added in his parental lineage: “son of Oak and Wind.” Sounds like a boat; I think he might metaphorically be a boat. He said, “Gee, if only I had wings, I reckon I could kick that dragon’s ass, maybe knife it up a bit with this here knife. Go on let us have a go on your wings.”

Lada lent her wings to Geri, because apparently, they are detachable, and she doesn't hold a grudge. But anyway, after a while Geri appears victorious. That weird fella really did just manage to stab a sea monster to death. Brutal.

Their victory was extremely short-lived, as the blood pouring from the serpent killed all the fish in the area, and then the poisonous gases released from its stanking corpse kill everyone and everything along the coast, including Geri and Lada. Nice one, Geri.

Lupumanare

Italy has many werewolf myths with different regional spellings; I have chosen this one as I feel its setting is a bit more intriguing. There is a village in Italy where people won't speak its name, like an architectural Voldemort. Neighbouring villages and towns simply refer to the place as "that village," and if they hear its name, they will rub wood to cancel out the bad juju. Get your piece of wood ready, Italians, because I think some people will want to look this up. Got your wood? Good. Right, the village is called Colobraro, and it is reported to be one of the most unlucky places on the planet.

It is said that it has been cursed since its very first day, but a lot of stories seem to come to life following an incident in the 1950s when an undefeated lawyer baldly said in court, "If I'm lying, may the chandelier fall down." And because in all stories, lawyers are fundamentally untrustworthy, the chandelier inevitably came crashing down, sealing the town's fate and amplifying the hex. Since then, the village has been said to be under the control of dark wizards, witches, werewolves, and other non-desirables beginning with "w" - generally just bad vibes galore.

The Lupumanare is similar to many werewolves, with the whole turning into a wolf under the full moon thing; however, his curse is caused by having the sheer audacity to be born on Christmas at midnight - that's Jesus's night! You stay damn well where you are till the morrow! This seems massively unfair to punish a poor kid for the rest of his life for something he had no control over. Mercifully, the curse can be lifted by pricking him with a pin; releasing a small amount of blood allows the man to transform back. I couldn't find out if this breaks the curse for good or if this is an every-full-moon type deal. I think finding someone crazy enough to square up to a werewolf with the contents of a sewing kit is going to be a lucky find (in a place not known for luck), and getting someone to do it on a monthly basis is unlikely.

Marmotte Bellino

An absolutely absurd one, which I had to include even though it is a bit "off-brand," and people may have preferred to see a beast with a little more pedigree in that area. Still, I like a bit of silliness, and I hope you do too, because these are basically straight out of a comic book- but the type of comic book where the writer had a terrible fever and had drunk a bit too much medicinal syrup and nodded off watching caddyshack, or groundhog day- BIll Murray does seem to have co stared with marmots a disproportionate amount. Anyway...

In 1576, a meteorite crashed in Bellino, showering fragments all over the region. Understandably, this was a startling event for locals, but life went on, except they realised that over time t the marmots were acting a little bit strange. They had begun to act friendlier, inviting themselves into people's houses, but they had also grown cheekier and took to stealing goods (particularly the wine). The really weird thing was that they had somehow learned how to fly.

It sounds mad, but the area did draw interest from professionals who would come to study them and collect testimonies from the locals. So, were the marmots some kind of extraterrestrial squirrels? Or had the meteorite granted them some Marvel-like origin story? Either way, it's gloriously daft, and I'm here for it.

Torro Rosso di Torino

Things get very confusing when looking into the bull folklore of Turin. For one, there are several of them, and they appear in different colours and sizes. My favourite is the story of the bull and the wine. The story starts with a populace being terrorised by a dragon who, in dragon society, could rightly be called *basic* - engaging in cliché dragon behaviour such as eating cattle, burning stuff, and munching the occasional villager.

The villagers ultimately realised this did nothing for the property values, so they decided to do something about it. This is the point where a knight usually rocks up, or a burgeoning saint would appear, but despite staring at their watches, kicking the dirt, and making awkward eye-rolling glances at each other, none had shown up. They realised they were going to have to sort this problem themselves. And that's what they did. Working as individuals or as teams, they embarked on employing every tactic at their disposal to defeat the beast. I like to imagine this as a Wile E. Coyote / Road Runner series of sketches, resulting in boulders falling in the wrong place squishing villagers, cave entrances being painted on solid rocks, and ultimately villagers holding up little wooden signs saying things like "yikes". - Please, someone make this cartoon.

Having been thwarted at every step, they retired back to town, and I like to envision the next part playing out like this: they head to the bar, and whilst stood outside in the designated smoking area, nursing the day's wounds, they have a chat.

"Man, I think we nearly had him today!"

"Nah man, not close. I dunno, I'm a bit over this; I think I’ll give in."

"Give in? Give in! What are you talking about? You're one of the best schemers I know; you can't give up! We can do this, mate!"

"I dunno man, we've been trying for months now, we're all knackered and bruised. Flavio lost an arm last week, and old man Rossi has to be carried about in a wheelbarrow now, look at the state of him"

"I hear you, I hear you. But... But......What's all that noise about?!"

"Oh, it's Farmer Greco's bull on the loose again."

"Man, he's a horrid jerk of a thing, isn't he? Just kicking the heck out of those crates and smashing up fences."

"Aye, I think I'd rather fight the dragon."

At that point, two other men fall out of a neighbouring bar, fighting.

"Good lord, drink can be a terrible thing sometimes. Look at those two kicking the heck out of each other; they're such lovely men when they aren't drinking."

"Let's hope Farmer Greco's bull never gets on the drink."

They laugh heartily until the laughter stops and they slowly turn to look at each other, mouths wide open, and a brand new plan in both their heads.

The men deposit the bull in the woods near the dragon's cave and fill troughs with wine. When the dragon emerges, thinking his Deliveroo order has turned up (other grease delivery systems are available), he is surprised to see that the heavily drunk bull is in the mood for a fight. So the two go at it until ultimately the dragon lies dead. The bull gets no chance to celebrate with another drink as he follows suit and dies from injuries sustained during the fight. Which is sad for the heroic bovine session head, but ultimately two problems are solved in one plan for the villagers.

Some say Turin is named for this bull, but there seem to be multiple bull stories with different coloured bulls, as well as a people called the "Taurini" who lived in the area. I am no expert, and I could not say which is true, but I did enjoy the story.

Also featured on the map:

Anguane

Badalischio

Borda

Caddos Birdes

Drago di Atessa

Eismandl

Erchitu

Giosalpino

Janas

Leucasia

Lupa

Manteillons

Monaciello

Mostro del Acque Nere

Mostro del Lago Fucino

Mostro di Pentolina

Nanni Orcu

Polpo di Tellaro

Sibilla Appenninica

Sirena

Tanna e Crodères

Tarantasio

Tummà

Typhon

U Sugghiù

Varvuole