Linny's sister, Sue, and her partner, Jim, had visited this part of Italy to consider moving here from Oregon. So there commentaries and photos got us interested. However, I can't recall why we settled on Spoleto and a tiny nearby village, Bazzano Inferiore, as our destination and base. All we knew about Spoleto was that it was the home and host of the huge music and arts celebration: Festival of the Two Worlds – Spoleto. The location proved perfect for touring the region and we enjoyed wonderful access to this bigger town because the festival was well over. Weather was promising. Rates were down. We would start in Spoleto and retreat to Bazzano, a short drive away, when Eric and Carolyn, friends from Cleveland, got there and when we would rent a car to get deeper into the countryside together. Perhaps we could have caught busses for many of our day trips, but we wanted to explore more without a schedule.
Linny and I had three full days to case Spoleto before our friends arrived. We put a lot of cobbled climbs under our feet. Good for us. Of course, there's almost always a modern mall within driving distance, and probably most Italians hit the big boxes, if they can, but Spoleto is a pretty busy place even off-season, which meant that most, though certainly not all, restaurants and shops were open, but it was all mellow and neighbors could be seen chatting without having to get out of a rushing torrent of tourists. We tried not to be that stream. Watching. Trying to not make photos into thefts.
Spoleto had a lot to offer. And we nearly missed it. We'd made our reservations from Portland with a cheap hotel that advertised being in the town, implying the center. But it was two kilometers out of town on a fast, bermless, two-lane with only a ditch to retreat to, and no lights at night. The local taxis didn't run after 7pm. Think about that one. There was another way, certainly safer, that would take about 40 minutes on back streets, but we didn't know that until the next day. Just about nothing worked in the room and we'd gotten in late. Since no cabs were running, we walked to the town and took advantage of the last of the daylight to see a little of the ancient place and find an open restaurant. Of course, that meant walking back on that dangerous road in the dark.
In the morning, after a lousy sleep, we complained, got a refund for all but that night, and in the morning dragged our wheeled travel bags down the tarmac to the town, where we found the Hotel Clarisi and renteda room overlooking the park, with a newsstand carrying the International Herald Tribune, and all this just across the the lovely park from the gate to the old city and the place where the various weekly markets were staged.
Once we got sorted out at the new hotel, our Spoleto adventure began in earnest with a walk through the city gate and up the narrow main street of small shops. Basic Italian tourist junk line our way. Then we took a steep narrow lane up the hill and found the shops the locals used. Except that it would probably kill me, I could tour the world eating sausages. This place was boss. Itally was boss. Plus the prosciutto. And the truffles. The devine porchetta. Oh, my!
We had a list of things to see. And menus to test. But first we decided to wander and orient ourselves. We got pointed in the right direction using our hotel's helpful free map.
The duomo, naturally—the big daddy of the city's churches, with its huge plaza, was one of the music sites during the festival. I'm fascinated by these monuments to men in the name of god(s). Most are unsurprisingly monumental. Most are yeomanly in function and design. A few are elegant works of art and engineering, of architecture. A lot, like Spoleto's duomo, were built piecemeal and show it. This one certainly dominates its space. But that only made me want to tear it down and build something elegant and powerful to bring people together without the proscriptive oversight of primitive religions.
The nearby reconstruction of the Roman arena/theater sounded interesting, and it turned out that a play was being staged there that evening after dinner. So late and later. But not so late as it would be in Paris or Barcelona. No way. We made reservations and explored with a mind toward dinner away from the hotels.
After we'd looked at the duomo, we had sought out the Roman houses that had been excavated and preserved. They were a short walk up the steep hill toward the fortress castle on top. We were again surprised that in Europe, antiquities that we'd put behind glass and guards are meant to be touched, walked on, and visited. Outside of formal museum exhibits, that is. With hesitation, we did so, as we would eventually do over and over across Europe. These Romoan homes were impressive artifacts.
And there were lots more artifacts in the museum behind the arena. A record of household life and personal ornamentation. Information about the history on which we stood. Not all trips connect quite as easily and elegantly as this one. That evening was about eating, but we were clueless. What we had was what was open in the evening in this quiet time, so website recommendations from our planning back in Oregon were mostly useless. We walked through the winding, cobbled, narrow streets with their elegant lanterns bringing out the shadowed textures of all the stone walls and the cobbles under foot.
We found another pasta place open and inviting. I don't recall what we ordered, but I recall that it was very good—satisfying.. We also began to better understand the eating habits and sequences that the menu offered. We were hungry, so we ordered from two menu sections and got so much food that we thought we'd need to move in to finish it all. It was good, but we realized we'd have to order more carefully.. However, on that evening it was worth the lessons.
From our Hotel Clarici Room.
From our Hotel Clarici Room.
The old main drag.
Time as window treatment.
These were the common stairways on the long hills.
It was more humid when it wasn't raining, so rain was a relief until it ended..
A local man explained this history.
Great doorways and Linny.
A lot of photos could have been sketches.
Toward dinner.
A pedestrian street.
The duomo.
Inside the duomo.
Duomo.
On the street to the duomo.
The stairs to the duomo.
You are here.
Postcard.
Teatro Romano
At the museum.
Museum of Etruscan history.
Teatro Romano
La Lanterne, where we at twice.
The old men gather in the park.
Yes! Porchetta! Very, very good porchetta. Oh my,
An interesting market.
A fountain in a wall.
Casa Roman tile floor.
The water cistern in Casa Romana in Spoleto naer Piazza del Mercato
The valley below Spoleto.
The castle and former prison on the top of the hill.
