And still they believed

On our last day in Perugia we were tossing up between visiting an Etruscan tomb or heading back to Assisi to finish our tour of St Francis's town that we had cut short after we got hit by a squall the afternoon we were there. Assisi won, and though this is now our third time there over the years we still find so much that is interesting. It is a light pink and white stone, too, which makes it very light, very pretty. Almost all of it. And, today, it seemed to glow for us in the bright sun. 

Water still pours from springs ducted by the Romans to bring fresh water to the city some 2,000 odd years ago. Clusters of carved olive wood sticks on the steps of one house point up the occupation of one of the locals even today. 

We wandered downhill through medieval lanes and remnants of the elliptical Roman amphitheatre  now bordered with homes for locals, stone upon stone, until we came to the Cathedral of San Rufino. 

A rather gruesome stone sculpture at the church entrance is a reminder of those tough Roman times when Paganism and Christianity were vying for supremacy. Here, a lion is depicted eating a Christian martyr. Knowing this might be their outcome these amazing early Christian still believed. 

San Rufino was martyred here in the third century for converting to Christianity, and interestingly, is Assisi's patron saint. 

Further down the hill in the pagan Temple of Minerva which was later reconstructed as the Church of Santa Maria supra Minerva the original temple stone floors at the sides of the Christian altar, still bear the original holes used for drains when any blood sacrifices were made here. 

Francis, and Clare, are two of the most famous saints in all of Italy. Hoards of people each year are here primarily to visit this town, this church, and to remember the lives of these two locals. 

Inside San Rufino church is the actual font where Francis was held over the waters and baptised into the church by the local priest, in 1181. San Rufino was Francis's local church. Here he attended every time he went to mass. He lived just a few steps away and walked these streets most days of his short life. Just down the hill and across the valley you can see the church where he worked and where he died.

When he was just thirteen, a young Assisi girl, Clare, was baptised over the same font. When she was eighteen she happened upon the local boy, Francis, speaking eloquently of his beliefs from the pulpit of this very church. It impacted her so completely that she left her family, as did he, and became one of his most ardent followers in the little stone church down in the valley, where this daughter of a noble lived out forty more years as a barefoot vegetarian, living a most secluded life given over to prayer, abstinence and hard manual work. 

Together, they achieved the impossible. Their simple, devoted lives became a sharp lesson in humility to a very out-of-touch religion on how to appeal to the common man. 

Relics of their selfless lives survive to this day. Her tomb is just a few steps down the hill in a special church built by her order and dedicated to her, the Basilica of St Clare : a wax effigy lies in state above her remains. A snippet of her hair is kept in a silver box. The white tunic that she wore she stitched herself by hand. The simple ragged clothes and soft shoes are remnants belonging to Francis. 

The wooden crucifix that Francis knelt before in the valley church when he was terribly torn between his beliefs or his family wishes, seeking guidance, has now been hung here. Kneeling in front of this cross he heard the call to rebuild the church, then set about doing that literally and metaphorically: changing it forever. 

Assisi is one of our favourite towns in all of Italy. 

Assisi on the hill 

Excellent craftsmanship in the brickwork 

Under the arch

Fresh water springs ducted by the Romans some 2000 years ago

Carved olive wood sticks used even today

Homes are now built around the elliptical curve of the old Roman amphitheatre

Cathedral built to contain the relics of Bishop San Rufino

San Rufino martyred for converting to Christianity is Assisi's patron saint

Gruesome sculpture of lion eating a Christian martyr

Pagan temple floor had holes used as drains for blood sacrifices

The actual font where Francis and Clare were baptised  thirteen years apart

White tunic stitched and worn by St Clare

Ragged simple clothes of St Francis

Kneeling before this cross Francis heard the call to rebuild the church

Walking with the Etruscans

We approached Perugia for the first time as the Etruscans did: through the gate they built over 2500 years ago as part of their city wall fortifications. It is such a beautiful gate: abutted by twin towers; adorned with a frieze of shields then finished with a decorative arch. 

Uphill roads that they, too, would have trekked led to the main town square, built many times since those Etruscan days, with a gorgeous array of pink and white buildings in a vast space encircling a stone fountain, beautifully decorated, tho' not working today.

The cathedral, which has entrances on two adjoining squares, is quite an ugly somewhat squat building: not beautiful at all. It was never quite finished. Had the pink lozenge shapes that they began to use to colour the exterior been completed it might have appeared more interesting. 

Opposite it, are the winged griffin, the symbol of Perugia, and the bronze lion, dripping with chains that long ago had locked the neighbouring city of Sienna; but when Perugia won a victory over Sienna in the thirteen hundreds they hung the keys of Sienna in triumph, here, so that the home crowds in the square could view them as they wished, and cheer.

The main thoroughfare, Corso Vannucci, is one of the widest and loveliest we have yet seen in all these hill towns. It is made for the passeggiata, and folk wander up and down it at all times of the day. It has the usual lovely lanes and alleys leading off it, some with Etruscan remnants such as a well they built to contain the water they needed for the city. Amazing that something so old still survives. Others are lined with soft peach and lemon coloured buildings that glow in the sun. 

Old elaborate light fittings adorn many of the buildings. Interesting shop notices are hung stylishly. Whole pigs, hot, rolled and crispy edged from a street food van, are sliced to fill sandwiches for the passersby. We spent a long time chatting with folk around this street stall which was a big draw card for all. Appetising and decorative shop windows and gorgeous sculptures enticed us to the belvederes where there were stunning views over the Umbrian countryside. 

The villages, homes, convents and monasteries that dot all these hills light up after dark and later from the patio of our Umbrian farmhouse look like something out of a fairytale, dressed in twinkling lights. 

No wonder the Etruscans chose this as one of their twelve major locales in this area. They must have felt as if they had the whole world at their feet. A charming hill top town, where we had another lovely day under the sun, that, amazingly, lasted all day for once, and brought out the crowds. Though, Perugia is pretty enough to be crowded every day. 

Etruscan Arch built over 2500 years ago to enter Perugia

Pink and white buildings overlook a gorgeous stone fountain

Pretty tympanum 

A squat, square Cathedral was never quite finished

The pink lozenge decor adds a layer of interest

Winged griffin and bronze lion dripping with the chains that locked the keys to vanquished cities

Perugia's pretty Corso Vannucci is made for the passeggiata

The lanes and alleys are so picturesque

Soft peach and lemon glow in the sun

Charming light fittings adorn many buildings

Stylish shop notices

Whole crisp pig in a street food sandwich van

Decorative shop windows 

Leading to the Belvedere

Pink tiles tumble down the hills

Sculptures in the park

Stunning views of Umbria 

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. 

Prize winning salumi

Some of the towns sit gently on the hills

Other towns nestle into the hills

Orvieto rises vertically out of the baked mesa beneath

Early spring in Orvieto

Medieval pedestrian lanes

Mama Angela's home made soup

Each fraternity had its own place of worship

Tuff tunnels started back in Etruscan times

Duomo with magnificent green and black basalt bands with white travertine contrast

Gilded mosaics of the Duomo exterior would sparkle under the sun

Athena's gift

For the second time--as the museum we were keen to visit was not opened on Monday when we called ib--we returned to Torgiana: a neat little town surrounded by vineyards belonging to the Lungarotti family. The family actually live in Perugia, but in Torgiana they have set up two museums about their products: one on the history of olives, the other on wine making.

Always running late we skipped our coffee this morning to try to get time to squeeze in both venues, but, as usual, with the siesta break falling flat bang in the major part of our day we were curtailed by the limited opening hours while we are out and about, so spent too much time in one, and not enough in the other. 

Maps charted the biology of olives, and how olives were spread around the Mediterranean like wildfire as shipping took hold: most likely the plants originally coming from Asia Minor, it is thought. 

But, way back before shipping, man used oil for light. Containers have been found in caves showing that cave dwellers, too, often sought light by oil. The museum has rooms for the collections of oil containers that man has used over time, from the rough hewn stone disks used for millennia, to simple clay built vessels, to rusty recycled tin cans in emergencies, to exquisite silver oil chalices hanging on chains for the wealthy. 

Olives, the Greeks believed were a gift from the goddess, Athena, who won a competition against Poseidon over which of them gave mankind the best gift. Poseidon gave water, the myth goes, but lost out as the sample he provided was a tiny bit salty to taste. Athena's olives, though, were perfection: so she was declared the winner.

Many of the tools used in the planting and harvesting of olives were on display in the museum. We have seen variations on these in other trips to Italy, particularly in Bari, where we saw old men and women climbing the trees using small hand rakes to harvest the thin branches free of olives. We have also seen families lay rough nets below the tree, then bang the trunk with a long metal pole and shake the leaves until the olives fall free onto the net.

When it comes to collection, many folk used small woven baskets, that were tied at the waist or hung from their person as they climbed ladders to harvest.

Olives are sometimes left--on the advice of Pliny--to rest on the ground covered with leaves, or on the floor of a covered room, for a full three days before they are salted. 

In days long past, olives were often moved in sacks on animal backs; or transported by tregge: a sledge-like cart with log runners instead of wheels, rounded in front for ease of movement. 

The simple process to extract the oil is the same today as it ever was-- albeit the technology uses different materials--and involves crushing the olive to release the seed, and the oil. Pressing until the oil flows, then separating the water from the oil by centrifuge, leaving the prized product in its pure form.

Wealthy Romans would have spaces set aside in their villas, pars agricola, for the storage of provisions from their land: their grapes, their olives, their grains. 

If they sent these off in their galleys for trade they would be stored in pottery amphorae, their pointed ends solidly set in sand in the hold of the vessel, for stability. 

Their boats would also have carried cultivars of grape and vines, thus spreading the growth of olives and grapes in the region. 

We had time only for a quick wine talk and taste at the wine museum before, it too, closed for hours. But, the lady who attended us was a delight. She had taught herself to be functional with clients in about six different languages by working in the wine museum for over 40 years. Retired now, but still working for the family because she loves her job, she is a boon for tourists like us. So informative about the grapes growing on the hills outside Torgiano, and now also in Montefalco: the reserve reds and the prestigious white grapes growing higher on the hills, the ones producing young crisp wines lower. 

So, missing our coffee and now overdue for lunch we chose to eat, for a second time, at a fast food place a couple of villages east of the museums. This place has a winning formula for success in Italy, styled after an American roadhouse, but offering a variety of fare that travellers just love at lunch time. Delicious hot pasta. Pulse dishes. Hot triangles of toasted bread filled with fresh fillings of your choice. And fast charred grilled meats with a serving of charred rings of hot charred potato for all of €5. Crazy prices. The doors are constantly swinging with newcomers and there are queues for seats on a daily basis. 

You sit at recycled tables originally built to hold electrical cables, in a large room, with a buzzing crowd already seated. You are given a paper table mat that has the menu printed on it. The top right hand corner is your order section: you tear this off and hand it in to the cashier as you carry your drink order back to your table: while you wait for the char maestros around the roaring fires to prepare your grill. 

Delicious. With so much energy, warmth, and atmosphere. Eating is such a joy to Italians. And nary a mobile phone in sight at the tables. Such fun then.

Tower Bridge, Torgiana

Beautiful entrance in Torgiana

How olives were spread around the Mediterranean

Vessels for oil used over time

Olive oil was used for burning in ingenious ways

Small woven baskets for  collection

Oives drying out on a covered roof floor

Museum model of traditional tregge

Crushing until the oil flows

Art depicting the cultivation 

Urns for transportation and storage

A horse put to the deadly chore

Ancient presses

Villas designed to separate and store grapes, olives and grain 

Stored in pottery amphorae for trade

Included in the shipping were cultivars to spread the grape and olive growth around the Mediterranean

Testone fast food was wonderful