Easter comes exceptionally late in 2014, which means it’s a great year to take off for the week and head to Umbria where spring is in full swing.
If you are planning an Easter visit, I wrote a few tips about what to expect regarding events and food related to this important holiday for About.com’s GoItaly this week.
Want more information on what to pig out on during your Easter break in Umbria? Say no more.
What’s the funnest part of Easter in Umbria? Read on.
Have any more tips for visiting Umbria at Eastertime? Leave a comment below!
It’s that season when it feels like it has been raining for roughly, oh, seventeen years.
Why is Umbria Italy’s “green heart”? Well, because we get an incredible amount of precipitation during the winter, which usually (though we have been hit with drought in this crazy new global climate, as well) sees us through the summer. But, boy, can it be a bummer during January and February, when it starts feeling like we may never see the sun again.
In my California dreaming, I was reminded of a little guide to beach resort towns in Le Marche I wrote recently. Umbria is landlocked, so visitors who want to day trip to the seaside either need to head over the Appennine mountains to the east, or across Tuscany to the west. The Adriatic coast to the east is slightly closer, so most choose Le Marche for a quick jaunt.
Here are a few suggestions of seaside resorts close enough to day trip for those seeking the sun:
The other option (Tuscany) is doable for a day trip from Umbria, as well. I’ll be writing up a guide to some of my favorite Tuscan resort towns soon. But right now I need to go have some hot cocoa by the fire…
I have to fess up and admit that it took me years to finally work up the courage to check out what turned out to be one of my favorite festivals in Umbria.
My only other contact with anything resembling a medieval fair was the now defunct King Richard’s Faire outside Chicago, which is an event roughly 1/3 kitsch, 1/3 tacky, and 1/3 fat, badly dressed midwesterners (I feel I can say this with impunity, being myself a fat, badly dressed midwesterner). Actors wandered around the fairgrounds in costumes which can be described only as flower child 1980s Shakespearean, chitchatting in ye olde English, and selling “jars of mead” (Budweiser) and “sweet water” (Coke) from handbaskets. The food was whole turkey legs, eaten with one’s hands, and funnel cakes. The crafts were dried flower arrangements and toy swords. I loved it, to be fair. But I was 8, to be honest. When I was 8, the height of cuisine was chili-mac, the height of fine wine was Lancers (Grandma drank it), the height of music was K-Tel’s Disco Nights, and the height of culture was King Richard’s Faire.
So it was with much trepidation that I approached the Mercato delle Gaite in Bevagna, imagining obnoxious jesters, marauding costumed concessionary hawkers, and just simply too much bad taste for my grownup self to handle. Instead, this ten day long festival set in the 1300s is the antithesis to all of that, and a damned good time for both adults and kids, to boot.
One of the principal differences is that the annual event—founded in 1983–is not simply entertainment but instead a competition between the four traditional gaite, or quarters, of the town of Bevagna: San Giorgio, San Pietro, San Giovanni, and Santa Maria. Each quarter earns points primarily based on their historical accuracy during each of the four competitions held during the festival; continuous and quite rigorous accademic research goes on behind the scenes and the festival’s jury is largely made up of historians and experts on fourteenth century Italy. Like I said, there ain’t no ye olde English-esque stuff going on.
The coat of arms for San Giorgio
San Giovanni's coat of arms
San Pietro flies these colors
The crest of Santa Maria
Another difference between the two festivals is, of course, the venue. Bevagna is an absolute jewel in the Umbrian plain, listed among the most beautiful villages in Italy. The festival’s four competitions all take place in the lovely main piazza, and the medieval streets, buildings, and courtyards which surround it. A charming place to visit all year round, this town really shines when all decked out for their annual festival.
The most important difference is, of course, the events themselves, four in all, which make up the competition between the gaite—first among them the mestieri, or artisan workshops. Each quarter has the task of organizing two different workshops which use both the techniques and technology of the 1300s to actually produce wares—which makes the Mercato delle Gaite unique in a region where medieval festivals come a dime a dozen.
The bell foundry...one of the "mestieri"
Over the years some of the less successful workshops have been replaced, others enlarged (this slow but constant evolution means that the trades have become more elaborate and spectacular with time), and now all are marvelous and fascinating.
The immense replica silk thread making machine
From the silk workshop–which raises silkworms, unravels the cocoons, and spins fine thread on a manual wooden contraption which fills an entire room and looks as if it jumped right out of one of da Vinci’s sketchpads of marvelous machines—to the paper workshop—which produces fine handcrafted paper by pounding rags with an enormous pulper powered by a waterwheel—to the bell foundry—which casts bronze bells on commission from churches and historical societies all over Italy—each workshop is manned by artisans in period garb who explain their trade as practiced 700 years ago. There are ten mestieri in all (two are permanent and non-competing) open to the public every night from 9-12 pm and Saturday and Sunday from 5-7 pm and again from 9-12 pm.
The apothecary's workshop
As long as you are headed into town to see the workshops, plan to have dinner at one of the four taverne (outdoor restaurants) organized by each gaita. The second competition which takes place during the festival–and figures into calculating the victor–is gastronomic. Each quarter of the city researches recipes and ingredients used in fourteenth century cuisine and offers the public a chance to taste the fruits of this research by creating a menu exclusively made up of historical dishes. The fare is heavy on meat (especially game), spices (this year I had a spice lasagna which was fabulous), and egg pasta and bread. You won’t find tomatoes (no tomato sauce on your tagliatelle), potatoes (no gnocchi), corn (no polenta), or any other ingredients which were brought back from the New World 200 years after the time of the gaite.
A banquet with period food and costumes
After dinner and before making the rounds of the workshops, you can stop in the central Piazza Silvestri and watch a series of theatrical and musical events in costume, or the archery contest (the third of the four competitions during the festival). Especially interesting is the Notte Medievale, a dusk to dawn medieval festival-within-a-festival with a full night of art, music, dance, and food.
Archers from the four Gaite prepare to compete in the piazza
The highpoint of the festivities, and the origin of the name Mercato delle Gaite, is the medieval market which takes place during the afternoons of the final weekend. Each quarter organizes a working market, where locals play artists, artisans, tradespeople, and farmers displaying their wares—the competition consists in trying to create the most interesting, artistic, and historically accurate market square. The feel of these markets really is a step back in time…each teems with customers weaving their way through the market booths, the din of the tradespeople hawking their wares and the live animals protesting their confinement, the smell of fresh flowers and herbs, cheeses, and dried sausages, the colorful garb of the costumed sellers and their stalls heaped with wares.
A market scene
I suppose the one thing the Mercato delle Gaite and King Richard’s Faire have in common is that you will find yourself inevitably bringing something home from both…what you end up bringing away with you from Bevagna, however, will never be a source of buyer’s remorse.
These photos were reproduced with permission of the Associazione Mercato delle Gaite.
If there’s one thing my mother taught me, it’s this: If you don’t have something nice to say, say nothing at all. (Second only to: Always wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident. A life lesson slightly less useful but still memorable.). Which is why there are certain areas in Umbria that I don’t talk about much; I just don’t have very many nice things to say.
I admit that Lake Trasimeno and environs has been, for many years, one of those areas for me. Not that the Trasimeno basin isn’t lovely…it certainly is, in a bucolic, softly rolling hills, postcard-y sort of way. I am a more dramatic, craggy, sturm-und-drang school sort of gal (see my lauding ad nauseam of the Valnerina), however, and the resort town atmosphere around the lake feels somehow staged.
It took a recent impromptu fishing excursion to rethink my blanket dismissal of Trasimeno. (Let me preface this by saying that I do not like fishing. Patience is—ahem—not a virtue for which I am particularly known, and if you want to see an otherwise competent, mature, and self-possessed woman morph instantly into a squealing mess of a girl, have her unhook a writhing carp from a fishing line.) But it was a cloudless day in May and perfect weather to be on a boat, so I went. And discovered that underneath the beaches and nightclubs and boutiques ringing the lake, there are real people who have lived and worked in symbiosis with its waters for generations.
The traditional fishing boat is flat-bottomed and wooden.
We met up with our fishman/guide/capitano (Who sized us up rather skeptically. He was apparently familiar with the morphing issue.) at the Trasimeno Fishing Cooperative in the unassuming town of San Feliciano and immediately set out in a traditional flat-bottomed wooden boat.
Our pensive captain. He knows what he's dealing with here.
After motoring to the nearby fishing grounds, our captain cut the engine and stood in the center of the boat rowing in the traditional style–criss-crossing the handles while alternating pulls on the right and left oars–and somehow managed to keep a straight course. Like the Venetian “voga” rowing style, it looks damned easy until you try it and find yourself going nowhere fast.
The traditional rowing style looks easy. It ain't.
We cut slowly through the placid waters, casting long nets and hauling in the cone-shaped traps for eel, pike, tench, and carp. (And crayfish from the Southern US, who somehow inexplicably have ended up in the Bel Paese.)
Hauling in a cone-shaped trap.
While we fished we chatted with the friendly-yet-taciturn captain (have you ever met a chatty fisherman?) as he told his story of following in his father’s footsteps, and about the history and culture of the local fishing town. As he talked passionately about the lake and his life there, I felt myself warm to Trasimeno…which suddenly seemed less like a movie set and more like a community.
Letting out the nets.
We only had time for a quick trip out on the water, but excursions usually include a turn around the lake with a stop on the Polvese Island where your catch is grilled up on the beach (something I certainly plan on doing with my kids this summer). Alternatively, your haul is weighed and sold at the Cooperative, which supplies the area restaurants. The local landmark “Ristorante Da Settimio” is half a block from the Cooperative and docks and features fish caught by the Cooperative, if you are curious to sample the lake’s bounty.
A real fisherman repairing real nets on real Lake Trasimeno.
To reserve a fishing excursion with the Cooperative, I suggest actually stopping by the office in San Feliciano. They may know where the fish are biting, but they’re not so good with the answering emails and phone calls thing.
If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million (or, at least, seven) times…there’s no better time to visit an Umbrian town than during their annual festival.
Umbria is chock full of great ones (almost every village has their own), but I was recently asked by the wonderful European travel guide, blog, and community Europe Up Close to pick my five favorites…and it wasn’t easy.
Take a look here to see which made the cut, and consider working in at least one on your next trip to Umbria!
If I were given two choices, and the choices were a) rip my beating heart from my chest with my bare hands or b) spend an evening in a children’s theme restaurant wearing a silly hat and participating in a “guess how many beans are in the jar” competition at the prodding of a microphone-wielding MC dressed as a cricket, I would, of course, choose b).
But only after thinking about it long and hard.
Which is why, when my dear friend Barbara, a bubbly blond mother-of-two-up-for-anything-anytime Aussie (That’s how they are Down Under. Mostly because eight of the ten most lethal animals on the planet call Australia home, and you get very Carpe Diem and No Worries, Mate when you know a simple trip up the walk to retrieve the morning paper may end in meeting your Maker.) called me up to say, “Hey, did you hear about the new Pinocchio restaurant for kids in Perugia?!? They wear costumes! They have games for the kids! Let’s take the boys on Saturday!” (At least, that’s what I think she said. I’ve known her since 1993 and I still find myself struggling with that strange language she claims is English on the phone. We often revert to Italian.), she was greeted with a long silence. So she gave me a tongue lashing, which she is wont to do when I act like a bludger, need to get off my fat date, stop being a dill and/or drongo and/or knocker, because really, sometimes I make her spit the dummy. Since I don’t really understand any of that, but none of it sounds very good, I offered to call and reserve before she called me a whacker for good measure.
This is how it went:
Hello, this is the Talking Cricket. Can you please hold?
Uh, ok. (I hold.)
Hello, sorry about that. How can I help you?
Um, did you just say that you’re the Talking Cricket?
Uh, ok. I need to reserve for Saturday night. Four adults and four kids.
And will the children be eating on Pleasure Island?
I was beginning to rethink my choice of b).
Osteria di Pinocchio
Via Tazio Nuvolari (Pian di Massiano)
But here I am, a few months later, not only about to endorse this place as one of the funnest evenings to be had for a family with kids under about 8, but openly admitting to becoming a bit of a regular. To explain why, let me tell you what Osteria di Pinocchio isn’t.
It isn’t garish
I had formed a mental picture of an aesthetic which hovered in that nightmarish land between Disneyland ca. 1972 and Chuck E. Cheese ca. 1987. Lots of formica in primary colors, industrial stain-camouflaging carpet, neon lights, and those swivel chairs that are hooked directly onto the table so that both fat people and children can’t use them (which, as fate would have it, comprises about 92% of Disneyland and Chuck E. Cheese’s combined customer demographic.).
I had forgotten that Pinocchio did not, in fact, originate from a mid-western strip mall, but instead from Tuscany. Lovely, understated, natural wood and period details Tuscany. Really, if you ignore the immense wooden Pinocchio suspended above your head along the length of the ceiling, you could imagine yourself being in any warmly furnished large restaurant in central Italy. Well, you have to ignore the maitre-d’ with the cricket antennae headband, as well, but we’ll get to him.
Where the interior decorating takes it up a notch is in the separate children’s dining room, where the walls are covered with lovely Pinocchio-related reliefs in stained wood and matching child-sized stained wooden tables and chairs. But the effect is both fun and tasteful.
It isn’t video-game loud
Okay, I admit that if you are looking for a quiet candle-lit bistrot to stare into each other’s eyes for a romantic tête–à–tête, this may not be the place. It’s a relatively big restaurant, and most nights the place is hopping.
However, conversation loud is one thing—screaming children and flashing and buzzing arcade game loud is another. As I mentioned above, there is a separate dining room for children (they can choose to eat there or in the main dining room…my kids love the separate dining room, though some shyer types might balk at you being out of sight during dinner), which cuts out the lion’s share of screaming and running children, a common sight at most other children-themed places. Also, in keeping with the muted decor, there are no video games in sight. Kids are kept busy by the staff in the children’s dining room, who organize sing-alongs, games, story-telling, dancing, and all sorts of stuff to keep them engaged and entertained for the evening. Which means that you are free to enjoy the Holy Grail of any parent’s dining experience: an uninterrupted conversation.
The only distraction that can border on annoying is the roughly five minutes of game playing (see bean game above…we have also witnessed trivia quizzes and riddle-solving) led by a loudly mic-ed Pinocchio in the main dining room. But even he grew on me after I actually won the competition one night and took home a nice bottle of Sagrantino di Montefalco for my effort. My hipster smugness goes right out the window when prizes are involved.
It isn’t crap food
Your average 6 year old is no gourmand, and most restaurants catering to kids know that. Timeless favorites like greasy pizza, hot dogs, tater tots, and soft-serve ice cream feature prominently on the menu. Your average 6 year old is also no credit card holder and likely won’t be footing the bill, however, and–since I am–I would like to eat something resembling something edible (and, to be frank, have my kids eat something that isn’t a gateway drug into childhood obesity).
The food here is good. I mean, not life-changingly awesome, but solidly good. Fine pizza (fired in a wood-burning oven), inventive antipasti, nice primi, big honking hunks of meat roasted over wood-coals secondi. A nice selection of fixed menus (I’ve seen vegetarian, traditional Umbrian, fish and seafood, among others) if your brain has been so fried by parenting that you’d rather not ponder pages of dishes in a foreign language.
The best menu by far is over in the children’s room. The kids get a fixed menu, but whoever cooked up the piatto del giorno sure had a lot of fun (and an amazing amount of creativity). My kids have had parmeggiano boats filled with tortellini floating on a green bean sea with a corn sun and a cricket’s face made of mashed potatoes with asparagus antennae and a meatball bow-tie. Fun stuff, and they actually ate the asparagus. Makes you want to take up food styling at home.
It isn’t a money black hole
So, for your kids to have a healthy meal (ok, with an occasional french fry and some ice cream), unlimited kiddie bar access, and a good three to four hours of awesome fun, it will cost you a whopping €15. Which is pretty much the same thing a regular pizza + drink + dessert will cost you in any run-of-the-mill restaurant in Umbria, but with no entertainment. The price/quality ratio for the regular menu is more than fair: the fixed menus with four courses run €25 (I couldn’t finish my vegetarian menu the last time we went) and the alla carte is more than in line with average trattoria prices. The lack of arcade machines or tacked-on entertainment extras means that it’s easy to keep an eye on your budget for the evening.
Oh, I forgot to mention the funny hats. They’re free.
I am actually okay with death. By death I mean, of course, Death…not death. In fact, the absence of any conviction regarding the existence of an afterlife has freed me up to fully appreciate Mother Nature’s warped sense of humor, as she seeds the universe with our molecules to produce the next generation of stars and aardvarks, sequoias and spores, saints and Republicans. On the other hand, becoming a parent has made death all the more terrorizing. Though I have always admired Ayelet Waldman’s sentiments, they also somewhat perplex me. If I imagine the film of my life, my husband’s death would be followed a period of muted colors which would, over time, return to their former brilliance. The death of one of my children would mark the place where the film suddenly becomes black and white, and there would never be color again.
But the abstract concept of Death doesn’t freak me out. I don’t get the heebies at the cemetary, have any particular aversion to blood and gore, and the few times I have seen bodies have been struck more with a clinical fascination than a sense of horror. So when I headed to the Valnerina to see the mummies in the 12th century church of Santo Stefano–now the crypt of the 15th century church built on top of the original–that I had been hearing about for years, it was with the lighthearted mood of adventure (and playing hooky from the office).
The tiny village of Ferentillo tucked into a crag between two looming peaks.
As I neared Ferentillo, however, the fluffy white clouds overhead were suddenly run out of town by a black, ominous storm front. The temperature plunged several degrees in a matter of minutes, daylight faded, and the dramatic craggy peaks which loom over the town on all sides began to seem ominuous and windswept in a way that made me think of Jane Eyre and crazy ex-wives locked in attics. By the time I had parked, rain was pelting the tiny village pitilessly and the rolling thunder had become deafening. I ran to the entrance of the crypt, which is now a museum, and darted past the massive wooden door into the vaulted stone entry just as lightening struck close by and its blinding flash lit up this welcoming inscription:
This warm and fuzzy inscription welcomes all visitors to the museum.
Oggi a me, domani a te.
Io fui quel che tu sei
tu sarai quel che io sono.
Pensa mortal che il tuo fine è questo,
e pensa pur che ciò sarà ben presto.
Today me, tomorrow you.
I was what you are
and you will be what I am.
Consider, mortal, that your end is this
and consider also that it will be quite soon.
When the cheerful young guide suddenly popped out from around the corner to sell me our tickets and take us through the crypt, she pretty much scared the bejeezus out of me. My nine year old son was, by this time, trembling like a Labrador puppy at the prospect of 1) seeing mummies and 2) seeing his otherwise unflappable mother visibly rattled, so we stepped inside.
This process of mummification only takes about a year. There are two mummified birds on display, the result of more recent test runs by skeptical locals.
The crypt-turned-museum is quite small and there are probably no more than twenty mummies on display, so the visit didn’t take long. Our guide explained how the combination of a microfungus and mineral salts in the soil and a unique air flow (there are openings along one wall where the cold storm air was gusting in) resulted in the natural mummification of many of the bodies buried here over the centuries. The mummified remains were discovered at the beginning of the 19th century, when a Napoleanic edict ordered the emptying of crypts and the trasfer of remains to cemetaries outside of the town walls. This being the Valnerina—an impenetrable area which held out against Christianity, Napoleon, and a united Italy long after the rest of Umbria—they continued to inter their dead here until 1871, when the last coffin was placed in the crypt (it’s still on display, though the surviving relatives have forbidden its opening).
Some of the most intact of these mummified corpses are displayed behind glass, and the guide’s chirpy commentary—with gruesome backstories of torture and hangings (You can still see where his neck is broken!), disease and plague (Notice how the sores are still visible on her skin!), human tragedy (The baby looks as if he is merely sleeping!), and grim details (If you step closely enough you can see the whiskers, teeth, eyeballs, and hair!)—was both surreal and compelling in a Tim Burton-esque sort of way. Add to this the muffled sound of thunder and flashes of lightening that periodically made the lights flicker, and you pretty much had the making of a nine-year-old boy’s perfect excursion.
There are also neatly shelved skulls and bones on display in the dimly lit crypt.
Is it macabre? Sure, but in a fascinating way. Unlike the Egyptian mummies we are so used to viewing, these are recent enough that the details surrounding their lives and deaths resonate more and make them more human and less monstrous curiosities. Their stories are told matter-of-factly, yet with great decorum and respect. Death is, after all, a part of life.
That said, is it a little spooky? You bet.
If I only had one summer left to live and had to choose a single last sagra to attend, (Yes, I realize it’s an unlikely scenario. Humor me.) I would choose Cannara’s over-the-top-out-of-control-mother-of-all-sagras Festa della Cipolla at the beginning of September. Hands down.
There's a big sign. Just in case the smell of cooking onions doesn't clue you in.
This year I went on a Saturday night at 8 pm. If there is a night that one should not attempt to eat at the Onion Festival, it’s Saturday night. If there’s a time one should not attempt to eat at the Onion Festival, it’s 8 pm. But there are days—stretches of days, sometimes—out here in the Umbrian hills during which I do not see another human being who is not a blood relation, so I get a little starved for human contact. And if there is a place to be in Umbria if you are looking for human contact, that place is the sagra in Cannara on a Saturday night at 8 pm.
As I parked my car (so far away that the guys directing traffic spoke with Roman accents), I thought Wouldn’t it be funny to say in my blog that despite parking roughly 25 kilometers from the sagra, the smell of cooking onion hit me as soon as I opened my car door for comic effect. Then I opened my car door, and the smell of cooking onion hit me. These folks are serious about onion, and their onion gravitas stays with you for days. I speak from experience.
This is what I'm talking about.
The reason I love the onion festival so (aside from the fact that it is one of the few sagre where a vegetarian can eat to her little piggy heart’s content) it that it embodies the essence of all that a sagra should be:
At a time where sagre are multiplying like mushrooms, and disappearing with the same speed, La Festa della Cipolla is in its 30th year and still going strong. From a tiny little block party-esque communal dinner, this annual event now feeds around 60,000 people during its two week run. Just to put that in perspective, keep in mind that the population of the entire region of Umbria hovers around 900,000. This festa has put Cannara on the map, and it’s fun to be a part of it.
Sorry this picture is a little blurry. I was being jostled by roughly ten percent of the population of Umbria.
Nothing bugs me more than these young whippersnapper sagre serving foods that have absolutely no cultural value whatsoever. The Beer Sagra. The Nutella Sagra. The Seafood Sagra. In Cannara, the main food celebrated is a genuine local delicacy. Cannara’s red, yellow, and flat onions are unique to this area (their flavor influenced by the type and humidity of Cannara’s marshy soil) and have been noted by Slow Food and various famous chefs.
Onions. Consume them on site, or purchase for home. Either way, you'll be sleeping alone.
How much of the real stuff is actually used in the menu is debatable (that would be a heck of a lot of onions to serve 60,000 people for a tiny area like Cannara), but you can buy rustic braids of onions from the stands set up along the streets of the town and taste them for yourself.
The onions go like hotcakes.
I love a sagra where I get the feeling everyone and their brother (and sister, mother, father, cousin, and car mechanic) is involved…and that is definitely the vibe for two weeks in Cannara every fall. There are six “stands” set up in various courtyards and squares in the town–by stands, they mean entire piazzas crowded with long tables and benches under canvas tents—which can serve a total of 2,500 people at a sitting. Given that Cannara is home to less than 4,000 residents, to keep an event going of that size–between the planning, cooking, serving, cleaning, organizing, and entertaining—it’s pretty much a whole town affair. And then some.
The stands are hopping on a Saturday night. Or any night, for that matter.
At one end of the spectrum, there are sagre set up underneath anonymous tents in the middle of some wheatfield, then come the ones set up in a gravel and concrete paved community park, then come the ones which are in the main piazza of a town, then comes Cannara, where the town and festa exist in perfect symbiosis. Every courtyard is occupied with tables, the streets are crowded with booths hawking wares, the larger squares have main stages set up with band playing music or clowns entertaining the kids, local shops are open until after midnight. This is Cannara’s moment to shine, and it goes all out.
Onions, spices, mushrooming baskets, art, crafts, disco lights, jewelry, antiques, pet rocks. I saw them all on sale in Cannara.
There are doubtless naysayers who do not love the Onion Festival. It’s crowded (though if you hit it at 7:00ish on a weeknight the crowds are much more manageable), overblown (lots of people attend the festival. See above.), overpriced (expect to pay pretty much trattoria prices for your food), slow (hey, they’ve only got 4,000 people working there) and leaves you gassy (no denying that). But the food is delicious. Some stands are better than others (for the record, I’m a Giardino Fiorito abituè), some years are better than others. But I have never been disappointed by my dinner, and that’s a big plug for a meal that is being prepared inside camp kitchens by volunteers. Don’t miss the onion desserts. I’m not kidding.
Il Giardino Fiorito is the oldest stand and housed in the cloister of an ex-convent. It is also my stand of choice.
If you have a rare onion intollerance and have to choose just one thing to eat, get the onion pizza. Trust me.
La Festa della Cipolla is held the first two weeks of September every year in Cannara. For a complete program, list of stands and their menus, and map please see their official website.
I was thrilled to be able to contribute to the wonderful Ciao Bambino! website, a great resource for family-friendly travel, this week.
Take a look here to see my five suggestions for making your family’s trip to Umbria fun for the kids and grown-ups alike!
Sometimes blogging channels your inner philosopher and you wax poetic about the existential joy that seems to blossom effortlessly when you live in a place where every meal is an out-of-body experience, and sometimes blogging rhymes with slogging and you use the space for some nuts and bolts advice about What’s Going On. And let me tell you, after a week stuck in the house in rainy weather and two kids home sick with a stomach virus, I’m feeling pretty nutty…and yearning for some outdoor fun…so let’s talk rafting.
Wet and wild, or wild and wet. Depends.
We went rafting twice last summer with a group of friends, and I have to say the last time I had that much fun wearing skin-tight PVC attire I was definitely 20 years younger (and 20 pounds lighter). The best rafting in Umbria is on the Corna and Nera rivers in the south of the region; in fact, both the competing outfitters we used were along those waterways. Our group had kids as young as five and adults into their sixties, and everyone had a ball.
The first company we used was Rafting Umbria in a little town called Serravalle di Norcia along the Corna River. The downside of Rafting Umbria was the pretty spartan base camp; the changing rooms were tents (which were roughly the same temperature as the surface of the sun inside), there are no lockers to keep your personal belongings, so they are just kind of piled up on benches and on the floor, the showers are big plastic water containers on the roof of a camper with a hose attached. There is a picnic table where we had our packed lunch, but the ground is worn down to dirt and on the whole it’s just not that picturesque.
On the upside, however, the descent was fun, Fun, FUN! The river was calm enough to feel comfortable having little kids on the rafts, but you got enough rapids action to get a little wet and have a little fun. The group stopped a couple of times along the route at good swimming hole places (one with a fun cliff to jump off of) and at a freshwater spring along the bank of the river where you could drink. The guides were professional and affable and they take pictures along the route (and a short video) and burn a cd which you can purchase at the end of the day (€15). The length of river you descend is quite pretty, and at the end of the descent the staff had prepared some watermelon and water to pass the time while their shuttle vans took us back in shifts to the base camp. (Rates: 35 adult/25 kids under 14)
Some beautiful scenery along the descent
Our second experience was with Rafting Marmore out of Arrone near the Marmore waterfalls in the Terni Province. Here the base camp was great…they use the buildings in a public park, so real bathrooms with showers, changing rooms with benches and hooks, an equipment shed where they keep the wetsuits and rafts, and an absolutely lovely grassy park along the river to picnic lunch at and play around in before and after the descent.
The descent itself, however, just isn’t that exciting. This would be the perfect run for families with really young kids (or, perhaps, adults with physical limitations) or who have never been rafting before. The river is almost too calm, with little or no rapids, and there isn’t anything interesting enough along the route to justify stopping for. After the promise of a clean and organized base camp operation, we were disappointed by the rafting itself. The guides were professional, but a bit stand-off-ish, and the overall fun factor was unquestionably lower than our experience with Rafting Umbria. That said, you can easily work in a visit to both Arrone (a charming gem of a hilltop village) and the Marmore Waterfalls either before or after your run, which is a big plus. (Rates: 35 adults/30 kids under 16)
Getting back to the base
Both of these companies provide wetsuits (which are washed and disinfected after every use), life vests, safety helments, and all the tecnical equipment you need, plus a shuttle service back to base camp at the end of the descent.
Fun for adults and kids
For the more adventurous (and older) rafter, Rafting Marmore offers a challenging level four route which passes under the Marmore Waterfalls. It looks like loads of fun on their website…unfortunately, the minimum age requirement is 16 (maximum 55) so it will be quite a few years before we can try it out. But for travellers looking for a more vigorous, exciting, and certainly picturesque run, you can take a look here.
A more challenging descent for the 16+ age group