This morning I woke up pain-free and determined not to miss breakfast. A cappuccino and a creme-filled cornetto later (2€) I felt ready to tackle the road.
The forty-minute drive to Civita di Bagnoregio was idyllic. The air was crisp and scented with woodsmoke, and the birds were singing. I passed chestnut groves, hedgerows of wild berries, and fields of grazing sheep. The drive through the countryside made me smile.
Photos of Civita di Bagnoregio are shared so often on the web that I wondered if I was going to be moved upon seeing it in person. My question was answered at first glance. No photo could have prepared me for the vista stretched out before me: The white summits of serrated canyons embrace a striated mesa of reddish-brown stone that rises proud and alone in a wind-swept valley. Atop of this proverbial island, stands a magnificent Medieval city blessed and doomed by its geology. I don’t know how long I stood there in that blustery wind, staring, imagining, dreaming.
Was this place real or a mirage?
What possessed the Etruscan people to build on such inhospitable terrain? What were they running from? How did they even manage it?
The ancient Etruscan city of Civita had five gates, but today only the Porta Santa Maria remains. The others along with entire districts (such as Ponte and Carcere) have succumbed to landslides, earthquakes, and erosion. Every year, seven centimeters of land tumbles into the ravines below.
Dubbed “The Dying Town,” by writer Bonaventura Tecchi, the village was first settled 4,000 years ago. In the middle ages, the plateau was three times its current size (now only 300′ x 500′) and housed more than 3,000 people, but the river surrounding Civita has slowly disintegrated the town from the bottom up. Ironically, as word of the town’s imminent demise grew, so did the number of people who wanted to see it. Now Civita receives up to 10,000 visitors a day. A whopping one million visitors visited Civita in 2019. The foot traffic has enriched Civita’s coffers and renewed geologists’ hopes for saving the town, but it has also sped up erosion. In just five years, visitors walking on Civita’s unpaved central square eroded a foot of soil. Before the popularity, the square had been stable for a thousand years.
On the day of my visit, I was one of only a handful of foreigners enjoying the Medieval splendor. I had every nook and cranny of Civita to myself and I made sure to savor the moment. I took my time, explored, lingered, learned.
I paused often to take in a bird’s eye view from the edge where ruined walls with hollow windows are the only hint of long-toppled buildings. I pondered the difficulty of everyday life in Civita while observing a construction crew assemble a scaffold. At the Giardino del Poeta, the only private garden open to the public, I asked the shop owner about daily life. “Molto difficile,” he quipped. All of the supplies for residents, hoteliers, and restaurateurs are brought in on foot, motorcycles, or 3-wheeled Api’s, from the resident parking lot located at the base of the pedestrian bridge.
The vertigo-inducing bridge is in itself a wonder. The current concrete bridge was built in 1965 to replace the wooden one that was bombed by the Germans in 1944. For 21 years Civita was inaccessible save for the most daring souls on donkeys. Is it any wonder that the permanent population is less than ten?
At around 1:30, I paused for lunch at La Cantina di Arianna where I enjoyed a delectable primi of ravioli, a passion fruit creme brulee, and some vino. The day was cold, but I chose to eat outside under the shelter of a gothic arch. Heavenly–truly.
The serene peace of Civita that I experienced must be impossible in the summer months when every inch of the city is crawling with tourists. Perhaps the time to visit is on a chilly Monday in March.
Bonaventura Tecchi’s ancestral home has long vanished, but his words still ring true:
“La fiaba del paese che muore – del paese che sta attaccato alla vita in mezzo a un coro lunare di calanchi silenziosi e splendenti, e ha dietro le spalle la catena dei monti azzurri dell’Umbria – durerà ancora”.
[The fairy tale of the dying town – of the town that is attached to life in the midst of a lunar chorus of silent and splendid ravines with the chain of blue mountains in Umbria behind its shoulder – will last]
Bonaventura Tecchi
During your next trip to Italy, I encourage you to stop at this jewel before it disappears. If you’re one to challenge the gods, you can add +1 to the town’s population by purchasing a home here. Here’s an imposing palazzo for sale that will give living on the edge a whole new meaning. Here’s a tip: Haggle hard on the price of this one, because it won’t be standing for long.
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