Here’s watcha wanna do, watcha wanna do is this:
This week, after a series of picnic spots out in the country, I’m going to mix things up a bit and point you to a sanctuary in the middle of the bustling Umbrian city of Perugia. This cosmopolitan provincial capital is stuffed with wonderful restaurants and pizzerias, but in a day of touring its fabulous museums and churches you may find your soul yearns for a bit of green after all that stone. But first, provisions!
All three of the places I’m going to point you to are within a couple of blocks of the main Corso Vannucci, so with a pretty basic tourist map of the historic center of town you’ll be good to go. You’re going to pick up your food in reverse order of how you will be consuming it, because cold pizza is only good for breakfast. So first, head to one of my favorite spots in Perugia, if not the universe: Pasticceria Sandri (Corso Vannucci, 32). This historic pastry shop opened in 1860 and has been serving up cakes, pastries, and confections to Perugians since. Before you head inside, stop for a moment to look in their shop window—the ever-changing display, stuffed with their dramatic edible works of art, is themed around local events and holidays. Once inside, make sure you take the time to admire the lovely antique frescoes and wooden display cases before your attention is absorbed in choosing some sweets for your meal. If you need to think it over, try a glass of their cool almond milk in the summer or sumptuous hot chocolate in the cooler seasons while you ponder.
The historic inside of Pasticceria Sandri
Once you have dessert taken care of, get some fruit. Bananas, that is. Head around the corner and down a block to Piazza Matteotti, where on the west side of the piazza next to the post office you will see an old Perugian institution: a brightly painted stand from which the eccentric owner hawks nothing but bananas. If you are in Perugia and have a banana craving, he’s the go-to man for you.
Now that you’re set for the end of your meal, rewind for the main course: pizza. In nearby Piazza Piccinino, 11/12 you can order a take-away pie from the Pizzeria Mediterranea. This Neapolitan-style pizza is so good we will actually drive all the way from Assisi (where pizzerias are second only to churches in density) to eat one. If you want the quintissential Italian pizza, go for the margherita. Otherwise, any of their toppings are highly recommended. Order it to go, and ask if they will slice it for you before you leave, so you can eat it more manageably al fresco.
San Bernardino's famous dictum: "Make it clear, make it short, and keep to the point" earned him the post of Patron Saint of Advertising
Time for your picnic! Start walking down Corso Vannucci and turn into Via dei Priori, which you will follow until it ends in the inviting green Piazza San Francesco. If you are there at lunchtime on a sunny day you will join the numerous students and office workers who spread out on the grass to enjoy the relatively tranquil lawn to sunbathe and relax. While you eat, enjoy the view of the facade of the fifteenth century Oratorio di San Bernardino which–adorned with pink and green marble reliefs by Agostino–is one of the finest examples of Renaissance art in Umbria and the majestic San Francesco al Prato which—despite ongoing restoration work—has one of the most graphically elegant pink and white stone facades in the city.
San Francesco al Prato is finally getting the restoration it's badly needed for the past 300 years.
In a city which can be hectic in its rhythm and austere in its architecture, this spot is a haven of both peace and exquisite art.
Buon appetito!
It may be the dog days of summer, but no reason you should be living a dog’s life in the heat. Here are some suggestions to keep your temperature down on even the hottest summer days.
Retreat to the Hills
Mountain tops abound in Umbria, where the air is cooler, the breeze is constant, and the view itself is worth the trip. Pack a picnic, plenty of water, and a camera…by the time you’re ready to head back down towards the valley you’ll be refreshed and relaxed (and have a pretty good tan, to boot). My favorite places up high are Mount Subasio, Mount Cucco, and—my favorite—the Piano Grande in the Mount Sibilline National Park where, if you’re lucky and spring comes late, you can see the last of the wildflowers into July.
Up through the atmosphere, up where the air is clear!
Go Underground
If there’s one thing humans understood soon after climbing out of the primordial soup, it’s that if you want to keep cool, the lower you go, the better. In guided underground tours of Narni and Orvieto you can check out how subterranean passages and cells, cisterns, crypts, and catecombs have been used by the local populations for hundreds—in some cases, thousands–of years…and cool off while you do. Still not ready to come back up to the surface? How about some cool caves? The Grotte di Frasassi (right over the border in Le Marche) is one of the most spectacular caves open to the public in the world, and is easily visited by a walkway. If you’re feeling more adventurous (and are over 11 years old) you can try your hand at real spelunking with professional guides in the Mount Cucco caves. Once you come out, you’ll both feel and be cool!
Water, water, everywhere
Umbria is known as the green heart of Italy, and much of that vegetation is the result of the ample annual precipitation which falls in this region…so there’s no lack of water to cool you off when the temperature starts rising. You can head to tranquil Lake Trasimeno for a cool dip or to the Mount Sibilline National Park to spend the day at one of my favorite lakes in the area, Lake Fiastra.
Okay, not exactly what I meant.
To cool off with a natural shower, visit the beautiful Marmore Waterfall in the south of Umbria…the sound of rushing water is refreshing, even before the first mist hits you.
Praise the Lord
Or, at least, stop by His house for a little natural air conditioning. With their thick stone walls, marble or terracotta floors, and small windows, the historic churches in Umbria provide a respite from the heat with their cool interiors. Choose one where there is something interesting to look at to keep you occupied long enough to really cool down: The Basilica di San Francesco in Assisi is, of course, a front runner as the entire interior of both the upper and lower church are covered in frescoes by some of the greatest painters of that time, including Giotto and Cimabue. Perugia’s Duomo di San Lorenzo, though the city’s cathedral, doesn’t offer much eye candy to keep you interested…head instead to San Pietro, which is chock-full of frescoes and paintings inside. For a city cathedral which will keep you inside long enough to cool off, visit Orvieto’s Duomo di Santa Maria Assunta. It will take you awhile to tear yourself away from gazing at its glorious facade, but once you get inside the simple grace of the striped stone walls is as soothing as the temperature. When you are feeling up to being overwhelmed again, stop by the chapel of San Brizio, richly frescoed by Signorelli.
Take advantage of the natural a/c while you take advantage of the art in Orvieto's Duomo
Do as the Romans Do (and the Umbrians, too)
One of the hardest things to get accustomed to your first time in Italy is the mediterranean schedule, as the entire country grinds to a halt for roughly the same hours during which the Anglo-Saxon world is at its most productive. There are lots of explanations for this cultural difference (which, by the way, is becoming less and less the norm—especially in larger cities), but principal among them is that it is simply a pragmatic way to avoid being outdoors during the hottest hours of the day. So as long as you’re in Italy, do as the Romans do (and the rest of the Italians, for that matter) and try the siesta on for size. Get yourself out and about at a decent hour of the morning (when the temperature is still amenable to touring), enjoy Italian cuisine to its fullest at lunch, and retreat to base camp afterwards. Rest for a couple of hours: nap, read a book, have yourself a little afternoon delight, map out your next day of traveling, write in that travel journal that you vow with every trip you will keep, vacate (after all, you are on vacation). By the time you are back out on the streets, the grueling summer sun will have left but the rest of the Italians, who have disappeared indoors along with you, will have returned.
There are some things you hate as a child, as a grown-up continue hating, and in all probability will die hating. In my case, math and being called Becky.
There are some things you hate as a child, but as a grown-up realize that in the hands of a competent professional they can actually be quite rewarding. Take, for example, a perm and french kissing.
And there are some things you hate as a child, but as grown-up come to love them so deeply they become your raison d’etre and you fervently wish you could travel back in time and inform your child self about their virtues, thus avoiding missing out on 20 years of pleasure. Opera, for example. Non-fiction books. And, of course, artichokes.
A basket of artichokes from the garden, about to meet their maker.
I love artichokes with a passion one can only feel for vegetables and men whose spiny, tough exteriors harbor a soft heart within. This was not always true (either for the artichokes or the men, but let’s talk artichokes); I spent the first 15 years of my life loathing them for reasons I can no longer recall. Then, at 15, I got my first job at an Italian deli called Gino’s (all the books on writing tell you not to foreshadow too heavily, but sometimes life is stranger than fiction) where they sold a few genuine Italian products and lots of pseudo-Italian products (it was the ‘80s before the whole foodie movement began, so mozzarella curds from Wisconsin were considered Italian). The place was owned by an Italian husband/Irish wife team whose domestic squalls were legendary and often involved flourishes like hurling pots of boiling coffee at each other or locking each other in the cold storage in the back. I was never privy to one of these, but I sure heard about them the next day.
At Gino’s they made a sandwich which is one of my touchstone life foods…you know, those ten-ish dishes which flavours you can conjure up precisely in your mind for years afterwards and are inexorably tied to a specific person, place, or moment in your past. Also on the list are my aunt Anthula’s baklava, graham crackers dipped in milk (my favorite Saturday morning cartoon breakfast), the brick burger at the Laurel Tavern in Madison, WI, the Turtle Sundae at Creamy Delight in Chicago, beef stew made in the Crock Pot (we had that every Sunday for lunch), Fannie May’s Trinidads (before the company was sold…they don’t taste the same now), spanakopita from Cross Rhodes in Chicago, Shasta, and…. Gino’s Vegetarian Special (another example of foreshadowing) which was basically a cheese sandwich with a kind of chopped spread made with spicy green peppers, olives, and artichoke hearts. Except I didn’t know it was artichoke hearts until I had already gotten hooked on the sandwich, and the discovery of what I had been eating for lunch for months was a shock.
Now, as an adult, I absolutely adore artichokes prepared in almost every way imaginable. When my mother-in-law has been particularly obnoxious and knows she’s in the doghouse she makes me stuffed hearts for lunch and all is forgiven. I have been known to take the train to Rome exclusively to eat carciofi alla giudea– whole deep fried artichokes–which you can’t find in Umbria, or stick close to home to eat carciofi alla romana—stewed hearts with garlic and either parsley or mint—which, despite their name, you can find in Umbria. I’ll also take them batter-fried (mmmm, batter fried artichoke hearts…I just need a moment here…okay, I’m back), roasted, or raw (sliced paper-thin with shaved parmeggiano and balsamic vinegar…but they have to be right-from-the-backyard-garden tender).
But my favorite artichoke dish is simple marinated artichokes preserved in olive oil. I always have a jar going in the fridge, so when I get a hankering I can just pluck a tender heart out with a fork and pop it in my mouth. They are wonderful added to a tossed salad, chopped into a sandwich spread, diced into a cold pasta or rice salad, or simply served as part of an antipasto platter.
Some of this year's harvest.
Cleaning artichokes and reducing them to the heart is a test of perserverance and sang-froid…the weak-willed often fail to completely remove all the tough outer leaves and are forever picking artichoke fibers out from between their teeth. It is also a test of forethought, for if you forget to wear your rubber gloves your blackened hands will remind you of your morning spent trimming artichokes for weeks.
If you've been sufficiently heartless, your cleaned artichokes should look like this.
Once you’ve trimmed them, boil the hearts in 1 ½ liter of white wine vinegar mixed with ½ liter of water, a sliced lemon, a tablespoon of salt, 3 whole cloves, 3 peppercorns, and 3 fresh bay leaves for about 15 minutes, or until they are fork-tender. Drain the hearts and arrange them in a single layer on a clean kitchen towel, lay another clean towel over the top, and leave them to dry from 6 to24 hours.
When they’re dry, pop them into glass jars and cover with good quality olive oil. You may need to check on the jars after a couple of days and top off the oil if the level has fallen. The important thing is to have your hearts completely immersed in the oil.
All snug in their jars just waiting to be snarfed.
Enjoy your hearts for as long as they last…which, in my experience, ain’t that long. Sometimes–just sometimes–it’s really great to be a grown-up!
Osteria Rosso di Sera
V. Fratelli Papini, 79
San Feliciano (Magione)
075 8476277
closed Tuesday
serves dinner and lunch on Sunday
The score: It’s so womantic. But while you’re gazing into each other’s eyes, try not to forget to enjoy your food.
I’m a sucker for a meal with a view. I’m especially a sucker for a meal with a view of the sunset. I’m particularly a sucker for a meal with a view of the sunset over water. I’m decidedly a sucker for a meal with a view of the sunset over water sans mosquitos. So much of a sucker that I have even been known to close a blind eye to a mediocre meal just because it was consumed in view of the sunset over water and I came home with no welts on my ankles.
The good news is that if you’re a sucker like me, there is a meal with a sunset-over-water-view waiting for you (which is kind of a tall order for Umbria, one of the few completely landlocked Italian regions). And the even better news is that your dinner will be anything but mediocre.
Rosso di Sera (the name is a riff on a popular Italian aphorism: Rosso di sera, bel tempo si spera–or “a red sunset promises fair weather”) is set right on the shore of Lake Trasimeno which, like most mud-bottomed lakes, is more lovely to gaze at from afar than to swim in. Located in the small town of San Feliciano, the restaurant is perfectly placed to soak up every minute of the crimson sun setting over the lake and surrounding rolling Umbrian/Tuscan countryside and they know it. A few years ago they fitted out a charming wooden verandah (with screened windows!) so now pretty much every table has a view.
The menu is not extensive—no more than five or six offerings for every course—but reflects a balanced mix of traditional local food (the osteria is part of the Slow Food movement, so pays homage to the local olive oil, lake fish, and heirloom legumes) and edgy contemporary interpretations that seems to be their style. Despite the restrained menu, there were vegetarian, fish, and meat options for each course.
We began with two sformati—ricotta herb and tuna potato—which were both honest and well turned out, if a little too generous in the portion size. Our pasta—whole wheat egg pasta (tagliatelle) tossed in a creamed squash sauce with diced summer vegetables—was a perfect foil of side-sticking rough pasta and delicate veggies. I did get a look when I asked for more cheese, which is kind of a pet peeve of mine. I can’t abide parmeggiano moralists. Sheesh, it’s not like my pasta was with seafood.
At this point we were forced to skip our second course, what with the honking big sformati and mound of pasta—but it turned out to be fortuitous, given the dessert menu. (I’m a big dessert person…see my review of Perbacco in Cannara to understand this thing I have about the sacred station of the dessert menu). Let me just say that I had a dark chocolate torte with pear-anise sauce. Probably the only moment I was distracted from the view.
They have a solid wine list…we went with the suggestion of the proprietor, which initially hit me like a triple sucker punch. White! Chardonnay! Sicily! Two things I don’t particularly enjoy in wine, and a third which was the punch line to the game of “One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn’t belong.” But, I’ll be damned, it was good. It fit the food and the place and the moment. Just like a wine should.
The service was a little spotty when we were there, but I got the feeling it was a problem of staffing and not attitude. Besides, what with that romantic sunset, who wants a waiter breathing down your neck?
Our bill came to about 50 Euros (with our bottle of Sicilian Chardonnay).
Full Disclosure: The proprietor once had a restaurant just down the road from me (which I didn’t particularly like), but we didn’t figure out it was the same guy until after we’d paid the bill.
Here’s watcha wanna do, watcha wanna do is this:
I’m upping the ante a little bit this week by taking you to a spot where you can barbecue! Umbria has a long and proud tradition of great pork (the beef ain’t bad, either), so with a tad more organization and accoutrements, you can enjoy your meal hot off the grill while looking out over the rolling green hills of Mount Subasio Park.
The spot up at San Leonardo has a small pavilion with a fireplace—along with picnic tables—so you’re going to have to bring up some firewood (or charcoal, but try to get firewood if you can) and a grilling rack (you can get them cheap at any household store, the bigger supermarkets, or the weekly outdoor markets) along with your sundry picnic gear.
The fireplace and pavillion at San Leonardo
To stock up on your grillin’ meat, head to Assisi’s Macelleria Passeri on Via S.Gabriele Dell’Addolorata (right next to the greengrocer at n. 4) where pretty much anything you have a hankering for passes over their butcher’s block, but I suggest the fresh sausages and chops. They also have a small rosticceria section (pre-prepared dishes) which are generally pretty good, so take a look and see if there are any pastas or sides you can warm up as well.
Round out your meal with any other groceries by simply walking across the street to the small local market Bottega del Bongustaio (known locally as Gambacorta) at n. 17, where they have a fabulous gourmet deli section, fresh bread, wine, and chocolate. I suggest picking up some truffle patè you can spread on crackers to tide you over while your meat is cooking.
Now, get yourself on the ring road around Assisi (SP 444–this road eventually goes to a town called Gualdo Tadino, so follow those signs) and when you get to the top of Assisi, follow the road as it leads you under a city gate called Porta Perlici so narrow that only one car can fit through at a time. Once you pass under this city gate you will suddenly find yourself in the mountains…continue about six kilometers until you pass by a row of houses on your right (Pian della Pieve) and come to an arrow pointing the way towards Madonna dei Tre Fossi on your right. Turn here.
Madonna dei Tre Fossi Sanctuary. Photo by Giampiero Nottiani
You are going to follow this road for about 5 kilometers, passing the small sanctuary of Madonna dei Tre Fossi on your right. (Make a brief stop here if you’re lucky and find it open. The painting of the Madonna inside this charming stone church is said to work miracles for the faithful.) After you pass the Boston Fire Watch Guards community to your right, continue on the main road following the signs towards an agriturismo called La Tavola dei Cavalieri.
The tiny chapel of Satriano
Once you reach this agriturismo, you can continue past it following the road as it curves left for another kilometer and reach San Leonardo at the peak of the hill, but I suggest you take a tiny detour to the right. After about 10 meters, turn left and follow the road downhill to the Satriano sanctuary, where the dying Saint Francis briefly rested during his final journey home from Nocera Umbra. This famous journey is commemorated every September with a historic reenactment by the Fraternal Knights of Assisi on horseback.
The view from San Leonardo on the hilltop
Back at San Leonardo, get your fire started and then take a quick walk up the road to enjoy some of the most beautiful views in Umbria over Mount Subasio and surrounding foothills. And later, while enjoying your perfectly cooked pork, ponder the simple country chapel of San Leonardo which dominates this spot. The story goes that years ago a local farmer, Rufinetto, would pass by the chapel every day on his way to town and ask the saint, “Leonardo, can I take a penny for my cigar?” Hearing no response, according to the principle of silent consent, the farmer would take his coin from the offerings left by the faithful and use it to purchase his daily smoke. As time went on, the story spread until one day one of Rufinetto’s neighbors hid behind the church. Upon hearing the farmer ask, “Leonardo, can I take a penny for my cigar?” the neighbor called out “NO!” and poor Rufinetto responded “Oh, Lord, Leonardo is ornery today!” and high-tailed it out of there. History does not record if Rufinetto quit smoking, but I would toss a coin in through the door just in case his ghost still hankers for a good cigar.
The humble San Leonardo chapel…toss in a coin for Rufinetto!
Buon appetito!
Italians have an inexplicable penchant for bitter digestive liqueurs made with infusions of either curious vegetables (i.e. Cynar, made with artichokes) or a complex mix of herbs and spices (i.e. Fernet Branca, with its top-secret recipe of 27 ingredients). All are guaranteed to put hair on your chest (bartender Logan B. describes drinking Fernet Branca like this: “You shoot it, immediately getting a strong hit of mouthwash – drying the mouth out, stinging the tongue. It’s kind of like getting hit in the nose. Your brain hurts, your eyes sting and water, you cough a bit.” Yum.), but the king of them all is Nocino.
Green walnuts ready to be harvested for Nocino
The primary ingredient of this traditional liqueur is unripe green walnuts, infused in alcohol with various other flavourings depending upon the recipe and the region where it is made. Nocino is found all over Italy—made either industrially or at home–but is most popular in the center and north of Italy.
Make sure you wear gloves when chopping...this innocuous looking fruit will turn your hands black for weeks. Take my word for it.
Of all the liqueurs we make at home, Nocino is my favorite, mostly because of the quirky family recipe which has been passed down through the generations:
20 chopped green walnuts, picked from the tree at dawn on the Feast day of St. John the Baptist (24 June) before the dew dries (What’s up with the dew? you ask. See here.)
30 petals of a scarlet rose, dried in the shade
6 whole cloves, crushed
¾ of a cinnamon stick, broken into pieces
the zest of one lemon cut into strips, not grated
Add these all to 1 liter of alchol in a large glass jug, seal it, and place it in the sun for 40 days, making sure to shake it every day.
After 40 days, prepare a sugar syrup with 500 g of sugar and 500 g of water. Add this syrup to the infusion and strain through filter paper.
We think that Nocino improves with age, so tend to keep it bottled for 6 months to a year before drinking it, but that’s the young whippersnapper technique. Our older relatives start drinking it the day after it’s filtered.
And they all have very hairy chests. Cin-cin!
The last few vintages of our Nocino
The same sorry scene repeats itself 364 days a year at my house. My children do not want to bathe. They beg, they plead, they cry, they bargain. They act as if they are being denied a basic human right to choose filth. (For any scientists out there still searching for the missing link between the animal kingdom and homo erectus, I’m here to tell you that it is little boys. Roughly between the ages of 3 and 30.) But one day a year, that magical 365th day, they literally can’t wait to hop in the tub– the feast day of John the Baptist. For this reason alone I would have voted for his canonization.
The feast day of John the Baptist—La Festa di San Giovanni Battista—falls on June 24th, and on the eve of this holy day we spend an hour walking the fields and meadows around our house along with our Umbrian neighbors gathering petals of wildflowers, snippets of herbs, and scented leaves (tradition holds that there should be one hundred varieties gathered, but we start to fudge our numbers about an hour into the project) which we then soak in water in a small tub overnight to prepare the traditional acqua di San Giovanni. Our assortment includes flowers in season (broom, rose, lavender, chamomile), herbs from our garden (rosemary, mint, thyme, sage), and aromatic plants along the country roads (bay, walnut, wild fennel).
Our flower and herb mix soaking in water
The important ingredient–and the one which often seems to be the most wily, almost always involving wading through thorny brambles in shorts to get at it–is, of course, l’erba di San Giovanni or St. John’s Wort.
The elusive St. John’s wort
The soaking flowers and herbs are left outside during the entire night preceding the feast day for two important reasons. First, tradition holds that during the night the Madonna and Saint John pass to leave their benediction on the profumed water, the power of which can stay curses, envy, and harmful charms—especially those directed towards children—and ward off demons and witches. And, second, it is imperitive that the infusion be moistened by the first dew the next morning. The guazza, or dew, which settles during the night of Saint John has long been thought to have mystical powers. Surely tied to ancient pagan beliefs surrounding the summer solstice and the increased potency of the four elements (earth, wind, fire and water) during that night, even today you hear the aforism: La guazza di Santo Gioanno fa guarì da ogni malanno or “St. John’s dew cures all ills”.
There are numerous traditions tied to the supposed powers of St. John’s dew, which represents the tears of Salome crying over the death of John the Baptist. In various parts of Italy cloths were once laid out overnight to soak up the dew, which was then wrung out and used for its curative powers. It is also said that there is no better night to make a wish than the night of St. John…you simply have to sleep outdoors with an object which symbolizes your heart’s desire. The object will be moistened by the dew come morning, and your wish is sure to come true.
Smiling faces ready for their bath. A miracle!
And so, the morning of the 24th, we all gather around our small basin of profumed acqua di San Giovanni. I go first, rinsing my face and hands (sure, I may not be a believer, but the powers of the water are supposed to be especially beneficial to the skin and anything that can stave off wrinkles is worth a go, in my book). Then the rest is poured into the tub and mixed with warm water from the tap and my sons hop in, happily splashing each other, tossing petals on the floor, and generally making a big mess.
Fun in the tub with l’acqua di San Giovanni
But they come out smelling of flowers and herbs, tradition and belief, blessings and health. And the fact that there was no kicking and screaming about washing is proof enough that l’acqua di San Giovanni works miracles! All this water worship has made me realize that the water back home is nowhere near ready for worship, I picked up the watersoftenerguide.com to inform myself on what I should do about it.
So remember that boyfriend you briefly dated your sophomore year at college, the one who seemed to drop out of nowhere one day, spent a few months listening to you pine after the campus heartthrob, and then seemed to vanish into the ether again? And all these years later you stumble upon some love notes he wrote you during those months and you realize that you probably should have paid a little more attention to the guy, because he was actually really interesting and funny and smart and it’s not really that fair that the campus heartthrob was always getting all the attention.
Well, my friends, that’s pretty much the story of the Etruscans. This mysterious ancient people surfaced in central Italy sometime after about 800 BC, from whence we still don’t really know, stuck around for a few centuries building a far flung and mighty confederation of city states spanning from near modern Venice to south of modern Naples dotted with walled towns and rich necropolises and trading with most of the Mediterranean, left us with with some of the most astoundingly beautiful bronze and goldwork, terracotta sculpture, and frescoes produced in the history of Italy and then, during the first century AD, vanished—completely absorbed by their conquering neighbors. And what do they get for it? Millenia of being ignored and underrated, and having to hear everyone harp on constantly about the Romans, whom, as history has taught us, have quite a bit to thank the Etruscans for, including laying the foundations for the city of Rome itself.
IN TVSCORVM IVRE PENE OMNIS ITALIA FVERAT (Nearly the whole of Italy was once under Etruscan Rule) – Cato 2nd century BC
Ipogeo dei Volumni
A visit to the Hypogeum of the Volumnii (Ipogeo dei Volumni) inside the Palazzone necropolis right outside of Perugia is to see all this in the microcosm of one archaeological site. This ancient subterranean burial chamber—one of the most significant examples of Etruscan funerary architecture–was discovered by construction workers in 1840 who were building a road cutting right through the necropolis which is thickly covered with almost 200 modest chamber tombs…and, in keeping with a long and proud history of distain towards this ancient populace, just kept right on building the road. In fact, a visit to the site now is punctuated with noise of traffic from the highway running above it and the trains passing on the railroad tracks adjacent.
The 19th century entrance to the archaeological site...note the highway overhead and the railway crossing to the right. No respect. (Photo by Cantalamessa)
The tomb itself is accessed through a 19th century “antiquarium”, crowded with row upon row of ornately carved travertine urns inside of which the ashes of the deceased were laid, wrapped in cloth. These stone boxes with roof-shaped lids show how strongly Etruscan art and architecture were influenced by Greece in this period; the sculptures of the reclining deceased on the lids look like they could have come straight from Athens. The front faces of the urns are often decorated with ornate reliefs depicting mythical scenes, referencing Greek mythology, or sea monsters, recalling one of the more dominant theories as to the origins of this people: a sea crossing from Troy.
An elegant reclining image of the deceased
A mythological sea monster relief
From there, the steep descent into the cool and dark tomb is captivating. The burial site dates back to 3rd century BC and imitates the architecture and layout of a house, with faux wooden roof beams carved into the stone, an entrance hall, and bedrooms and antechambers. At the end of the entrance hall is the “tablinum”, or chamber where urns containing the remains of members of the Velimna family remain still. The urn from the last member of the family, from the 1st century AD, is the only example in marble, in the shape of a Roman temple, and inscribed in both Etruscan and Latin. By this point, the ruling classes in Perugia were integrated into Roman culture, and the Etruscan culture which had dominated the area for centuries had disappeared completely.
The house-shaped tomb preserving ornately decorated family urns
There is a small museum on the necropolis grounds which displays some of the artifacts found in the surrounding tombs and burial chambers, but if you’ve caught the Etruscan bug (which I certainly did after a visit to the hypogeum) it’s more than worth your time to stop in at the newly renovated National Archaeological Museum in Perugia.
Museo Archeologico Nazionale dell’Umbria
The entrance to the museum through the San Domenico cloister (Photo by G. Dall'Orto)
Housed in the former convent of San Domenico—the entrance is through the elegant cloister—the museum has on display a variety of Etruscan artifacts found in excavations in the necropolises in and around Perugia. Two of the most interesting of these are a travertine block used as a boundary marker and incribed with one of the longest examples of the Etruscan language, and the remains of a bronze chariot. There are also breathtaking examples of glass and gold-work from the Etruscan period.
The Cippo Perugino, example of the Etruscan language (Photo by Louis Garden)
Etruscan bronzework taken from a chariot (Photo by G. Dall'Orto)
My only beef with the museum is that the incredibly interesting printed explanations of the displays still haven’t been translated into English, which is a crying shame. They said they’re working on it…and they had better be. After all these years, it’s time the Etruscans get the attention and respect they deserve.
For more information about Etruscan history and culture, you can take a look here.
I recently had the honor of writing a guest post for the fabulous At Home in Tuscany blog by friend and colleague Gloria Cappelli, proprietor of Casina di Rosa in Tuscany.
Mine was the fourth post in a guest series in which writers are asked to share what the expression to “feel at home” means to them.
You can read my take here.
The beauty of many grande dames of a certain age is only enhanced by low lighting, and the Basilica of Saint Francis in Assisi—amongst the Grandest Dames of them all—is no exception.
Occasionally the doors of the Upper Church are opened to the public for “after hours” classical music concerts and when I get wind of one of these—there seems to be no rhyme or reason in the scheduling—I always try to seize the opportunity to visit one of the most beautiful buildings on earth at her finest.
As evening progresses and darkness deepens, the richly frescoed interior becomes both more majestic and more intimate. Giotto’s famous frescoes soften in the twilight and the famed “giotto blue” ceilings seem to richen in color.
The concert is an excuse to sit and contemplate the art and architecture with more care…there are no noisy crowds to distract you from the humble beauty of Saint Francis’ life as told through the fresco cycle. On the contrary, the echoing cathedral acoustic—surely a bane to the musicians who perform there—only make the music seem more etheral and otherworldly and lends itself to reflecting on the lessons of the Assisi’s “Poverello”.
The whole effect is both uplifting and simultaneously calming…certainly the intention of the artist when he first put his brush to palette over 700 years ago.
