Stone upon stone: an Italian sojourn: Orvieto in orange tuff stone

Many hill towns seem to nestle into the curves on which they sit: seem to flow with it, curve with it, move with it. Orvieto doesn't. It erupts harshly out of a mesa of scorched baked earth from a great height; its sharp steep tufa sides jag steeply downwards. Built of the same baked red-earth tufa stone, Orvieto seems to stand fierce guard over the surrounding land. Glowering. Impenetrable.

Which is probably why the Etruscans chose to live here: the natural tufa rock acted just like a fortress, giving them a massive strategic advantage. Followed by the Romans, who used it as a major stopping point enroute north from Rome. Then the popes, who, when all this area of Umbria was comprised of small city-states run by church nobility, built many papal palaces in the region and as they toured their domain with their entourages, as politicians do today and monarchs of days long ago, Orvieto became a stopover high on their landed gentry agenda.

We pierced Orvieto's defences by way of a funicular. We found a park below town and just took the few steps needed to the funicular which, for about ten minutes, gave us a spectacular view, on what was then a blindingly sunny day, deep across Umbrian territory: all potential enemies revealed.

We then hopped straight on to one of the busses that most people seemed to be boarding and went for a wild ride around the city lanes for free. Which was just as well, as later in the afternoon when we would have walked much of this section, the weather had turned mountain-nasty and we were not able to.

The back lanes are tiny: from Medieval times. I doubt a pedestrian and a vehicle could fit together in most of them. The little van-bus, however, just scooted through without missing even a single beat or turn, all the while chatting to an offsider behind him, not even paying much attention to the route. My heart was in my mouth all the while. Just about every turn had earth coloured tufa stone knocked off each and every intersection building edge. We shaved some so closely, and at such speed, that I could not see how we would not collect one, sometime soon. So, we hopped off as soon as we approached what appeared to be the centro, and started wandering lanes that had been made wider.

Most were filled with churches and palazzos and boutique shops of the most elegant and stylish kind, along with the usual tat for tourists. We were chatting with a deli owner about his smart packaged food goods from the region, and when he recommended Mama Angela's for lunch, off a side piazza not too far away, we made a bee-line there for her home-made soup and pasta, which was beautifully prepared and served, then had the most delicious chopped chocolate tiramisu, a dessert we usually never order as it is so commercial and industrial-tasting these days. This one was to die for. Again, a ricotta mix was the bulk of the creamy filling, but the amazing chocolate chunks and liberal lacings of a delicious liqueur made the dessert utterly delectable.

These towns have so many churches because each fraternity at the time would have had its own place of worship. They must not have been into sharing in the olden days. These days I have seen different religions using parts of the same church, in places. But, not yet in Italy.

So protective and so guarded were so many of the folk who lived here that they even built their own escape routes deep beneath their palazzos and churches. Underneath Orvieto is a complete network of tuff tunnels and caves that started back in the Etruscan days, and has expanded over the ages. Times were such that folk felt the need for these secondary defensive strategies in case their location failed them. So beneath us, all day, has been this warren of tunnels that we could not access until 4.30pm: that being the afternoon tour time: too late for us, as we, along with so many day visitors, had to be gone by then.

Being such a papal town Orvieto has built itself quite the most magnificent duomo. The interior is all narrow bands of green-black basalt and white travertine. A lot of money has been spent on the exterior: the towers, the tympanum, the portals, the carvings, the glorious gold fill of the mosaics. It literally sparkles in the sun.

Though we did not see the duomo drenched in sun today. By this time the afternoon weather had deteriorated into drenching rain showers and wind gusts, chilled by the height of the mountain.

So, as it was getting late and the roads were bad on our drive over, we headed for home: dumping the cheap umbrellas we had finally bought in a nearby trash can. They had been turned inside out and rendered useless in one afternoon wind gust. Orvieto is not a place to be when the weather turns bad: unless you are in one of the tunnels, mayhap. And they were still not yet open.

As it was, the roads home were thick with traffic, so that, along with the desperate state of Italian roads these days, made for a long two-hour bumpy journey home: most of which we spent avoiding pot-holes, some the size of sink-holes at times.

Italy's infrastructure is failing, I fear. It is a long time since roads around here have seen any maintenance. Occasionally, we see a municipal truck out with a load of concrete mix that they dump in a hole on the road: barely packing it down. The next day that same load has usually been displaced by car or truck tyres, sprayed all over the road: so it is lose-lose no matter what. Even the motorways are in a state: they all need so much repair and maintenance that clearly is not happening.

Folk are frustrated. The manager of our farmhouse B & B left to find a job in Belgium just as we arrived, though he had set in place two wonderful ladies who bend over backwards to meet our needs. Though they live in Perugia, not on-site, so this arrangement cannot be convenient for them long term.

But, he is Italian. A lover of Italy. Yet he has come to the sad conclusion that he can no longer bear 'the politics' of the place. He left his home country the day of the elections. He left with his hands in the air, praying for the young anti-establishment Eurosceptic party to succeed. And they did. Hugely. Amazingly.

But not enough to form government on their own.

And, still, Berlusconi grins in the wings, waiting.