Under the Tuscan Spell

A short drive from Orvieto we discovered a wonderful example of the courage of the Etruscans, Romans, and Italians to battle the forces of nature. Perched on the top of a volcanic peak like an island surrounded by a sea of green is the town of Bagnoregio.

The site was first inhabited over 2,500 years ago. Then it was at the end of a narrow ridge over which the Etruscans and later the Romans built a stone road. Over the centuries the soft underlining volcanic tufa gradually eroded and fell into the valley below. During the Middle Ages, its 600 isolated inhabitants easily defended themselves against wandering armies.

St. Bonaventure was born in Bagnoregio in 1221. He died in Lyons, France, in 1274 and his funeral was attended by Pope Gregory X. In 1434, his remains, including his perfectly preserved head and tongue, were placed in a new church in Lyons. A hundred years later St. Bonaventure’s shrine was plundered by Huguenots. His head was saved but disappeared during the French Revolution.

By the 20th century the isthmus connecting Bagnoregio to the mainland had completely collapsed and a footbridge was built. Water, food, and fuel had to be portaged to the town. In 1965, a modern concrete footbridge was constructed. Too small for cars, too steep for the elderly, the bridge is Bagnoregio’s only link with modern Italy.

The body of a 400–year–old bishop lies in state in San Donato Church in Bagnoregio. I charged across the bridge while Linda held her breath waiting to see if I could make it. A motorized cart full of building supplies struggled ahead of me, then sputtered to a halt at the last incline. I passed it and motioned for Linda to join me.

As we entered the town gate, a small SUV maneuvered past us and made its way toward the disabled cart. While it struggled, we took a tour of the town.

From one end of the 1000–foot–long town to the other, Linda and I met residents anxious to welcome us. Anna, the caretaker of the San Donato Church, under restoration, showed us the deteriorating corpse of a 400–year old bishop. A smiling toothless lady welcomed us into her garden on a cliff overlooking the vast valley below. Several old ladies wearing scarfs over their heads waved to us as they tended their tiny vegetable plots.

An olive mill in Vittoria’s Museum in Bagnoregio. Vittoria invited us into to his olive mill museum in a cave dug into the side of the tufa. He pointed to pictures on the wall of tourists from Japan in wedding attire before explaining in broken English how extra virgin olive oil comes from the first press of selected olives. We tasted his excellent fresh bread slathered in olive oil, and Linda purchased a bottle of his extra virgin.

Our last stop in the medieval village was at Luigi’s Pizza Parlour. Luigi had just arrived. He changed out of his farm clothes and donned an apron, lit the kerosene lanterns, and threw a few logs in the fireplace. We sipped wine and watched Luigi prepare our pizza the old–fashioned way – in a pan over the fire.

Smoke from the kerosene lanterns curled around the smoke from the fireplace as both made their way out the earthen doorway. The pizzas were delicious – the cheese, the garlic, the fresh bread, basted in extra virgin – the best we had in Italy.

The village of Bagnoregio in 2005. Back at the bridge, the SUV was still maneuvering through the maze of twists and turns. The cart was still fighting gravity on the steep hill, and the workmen were sitting in a circle smoking cigars and drinking wine. Viva Italia!

(Next week: The Appian Way)

The village of Bagnoregio in 1920. From a picture in a home in the village.