What are Italian bars? Well, that depends on the time of day. In the morning, they will be cafés. For many people, breakfast is an espresso and a cornetto (croissant) or other pastry consumed quickly while standing at the counter.
Bar Cavo in Genoa, Fujifilm X-Pro3 Camera, 35mm lens (click to enlarge).
Perhaps you might run into a neighbour and briefly agree on what a terrible job the comune is doing managing the traffic, or the rubbish collection, before hurrying on your way.
Bar Stefano in Arezzo. Fujifilm X-Pro3 Camera, 35mm lens (click to enlarge).Arezzo, Bar Stefano, continuing the conversation in the street. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 35mm lens (click to enlarge).
A bit later, people with more time on their hands will sit at a table and spend some time over a coffee and the newspaper. They might have paid only €1.50 for their espresso, but no-one will object to how long they spend there.
A morning coffee and newspaper in Todi, Umbria. Fujifilm GFX-50R camera, 32-64mm lens (click to enlarge). A nice cup of tea, Bar Baribaldi, Genoa. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge).
It is now, in the mornings, that it is still acceptable to drink milky coffees. Note to Americans and Australians: if you ask for a “latte”, you have ordered a glass of milk, and if you are not in a tourist area, that is probably what you will get. A milky coffee is a caffè latte or of course, a cappuccino. Note that the stress on caffè is on the last syllable, and the double consonant needs to be emphasised. Here is an article on how to order a coffee in Italy.
And you think your barista is cool because they can draw a heart in the foam. Nuova Dolceria, Siracusa, Sicily. Google Pixel phone camera (click to enlarge).
Later in the morning (around 11am, but it varies with region and season) consuming milky coffee ceases to be appropriate and becomes a threat to the digestion that no Italian would risk. But at that time (again, it varies) alcoholic drinks start to appear, and there will be a transitional period when the two coexist, although of course a short black espresso can be had at any time of day. I believe, although I have not researched it personally, that a caffè corretto (espresso with a dash of spirits) is considered acceptable at any time, no matter how early.
When entering a bar for the first time, it pays to hang back and observe. Do they do table service, or does one order at the counter? Do you pay beforehand, or when your order arrives, or when you actually leave? This can be complicated – if you pay first, you will need to know what you want beforehand, and when the bar is also a pasticceria (pastry bakery), the choice can be a bit overwhelming.
Spoiled for choice. Caffeteria Torretta, Castellabate, Campania. The notice at the end of the counter gives instructions on how to pay, depending on your choice. Google Pixel phone camera (click to enlarge).
It used to be common for there to be an extra charge if you had your coffee at a table rather than standing at the counter. We don’t notice this so much any more, but don’t be surprised if you encounter it.
Solving the problems of the world over coffee in the university quarter of Bologna. Fujifilm GFX-50R camera, 32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).A morning chat in Caffè Elena, Turin. Fujifilm GFX-50R camera, 32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).
At around 1.30pm, some bars become trattorie and start serving meals, then in late afternoon they will revert to serving aperitivi. It is common to serve snacks with drinks at this time of day, which may or may not be an extra cost. The snacks might be nothing more than a bowl of potato crisps, but some of these snacks are so generous as to have led to the coining of a portmanteau word – apericena – from aperitivo and cena (dinner), meaning something generous enough to serve as a light meal. Some places even offer an apericena buffet. Useful if you have had a big lunch and don’t feel like you could fit much more in.
Apericena in a bar in the Darsena (canal) district of MIlan. A sudden summer storm did not prevent the intrepid staff from bringing out the drinks. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge).Happy crowds enjoying a summer evening in Foligno, Umbria. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge).
In the evening, bars turn into something even more magical. How late do bars stay open? Very late, and sometimes even all night. This latter is something which we understand started in Naples, but which you sometimes see further north. After a night on the town, rather than get a kebab as people in England or Australia might, your Italian night owl might fancy a coffee and sweet pastry. Since many bars are also pasticcerie, the staff would be starting work on the baking very early themselves, so some stay open all night. Late-night revellers might find themselves rubbing shoulders with council garbage collectors about to start the early shift. Look for signs saying cornetti di notte.
Via Manzoni, Bologna. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge).
Bars change with the seasons, too. On a cold foggy winter morning, a bar throws a shaft of yellow light into the street, with the promise of a warm and cheerful refuge within. The only people who might sit outside are smokers, who now (thank goodness) may not light up indoors. Then, in March or April, those bars with outside tables which catch the sun might see a few hardy souls (still warmly wrapped up) venturing outside.
Hardy souls at the Bacio di Todi bar, Todi, Umbria. Google Pixel phone camera (click to enlarge).
When summer arrives, those bars that can spread gloriously outwards into the street, some located on the most beautiful piazzas in the country. By August, the aim is to find shade rather than sun.
Outdoor seating in the shade, Piazza Grande, Arezzo. Fujifilm GFX-50R camera, 32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).
The smaller neighbourhood bars are absolutely part of their local community, a bit like maybe a village pub might be in England. All the regulars know each other and the barista will know how they like their coffee. But if you actually live in a place and want to be accepted there, then be aware that there is an element of reciprocal obligation – you are expected to be faithful to your bar di fiducia. You might just get away with having one bar for your morning coffee and another for your afternoon gelato, but to flit between multiple bars is just not done (non si fa) – a serious admonishment in a society of unwritten rules like Italy.
Watching the world go by in Pienza, Tuscany. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge).
Italian bars vary considerably on the scale of pretentiousness. At the top end there are places like Florian’s in Venice, Rosati in Rome, or Baratti e Milano in Turin, where the waiters wear uniforms and a glass of prosecco will cost you substantially more than a whole bottle of the same stuff would in a supermarket.
Baratti & Milano, Turin. Fujifilm GFX-50R camera, 32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).Bar Mulassano in Turin, which sell its own brand of Vermouth. Fujifilm GFX-50R camera, 32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).Paszkowski’s in Florence. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge).Another view of Paszkowski’s. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge).
At the other end of the scale are humble little places that are only known in the immediate neighbourhood. But do not be fooled – even the little places are very serious indeed about the effect they are trying to create, and the care that should go into presenting the place.
Caffè Sandy in Arezzo. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge).Caffè Mokita, Turin. Fujifilm GFX-50R camera, 32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).
Here’s a useful tip for visitors: bars in Italy are not supposed to restrict use of their toilets only to customers; any passer-by should be able to use the facilities. This is a rule that is often broken in tourist cities like Rome, either blatantly or on the pretext that the toilet is fuori servizio, but nonetheless it is worth knowing.
A final thought – bars are often busy places, so it can be quite easy to grab some candid photographs in them without being noticed. But every now and then you are going to get busted…
Busted in Florence. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, 16mm lens (click to enlarge)
In late September 2023 we visited the region of the Langhe, southeast of Turin, famous for its wine, truffles and other produce, but also in large part for its beauty. We had planned this trip for a few years, but various obstacles – including COVID – got in the way. I took a large number of photographs, from which I have selected a few taken in and around the towns of La Morra and Barolo.
It was a trip of several hours by car from Umbria, made longer by heavy traffic around Genoa, as often happens. After crossing the mountains behind Genoa we found ourselves in the flat lands of the upper Po Valley – nothing like the hilly country we had been expecting, but in due course the hills of Langhe popped up quite abruptly near Asti, and it started to look a lot more like the brochures.
Piedmont
We were in the Region of Piedmont (Italian Piemonte) – meaning literally “at the foot of the mountains”. Before Italian unification it was part of the “Kingdom of Sardinia” – but despite the name the seat of the ruling House of Savoy was not in Sardinia but in Turin. The history of Savoy is a long one, and originally not particularly Italian. It was a county, and then a duchy, centred in what is now southeastern France, and the general culture of the court, including the language, was more French than Italian. You can still see the influence in the place-names, especially in the mountains on the French border, but the French language does not have special status as it does in the officially-bilingual Valle d’Aosta next door, and with the decline of regional dialects most Piemontese these days speak standard Italian.
The map below shows the area south of Turin, with the Langhe rather approximately indicated.
Piedmont and the Langhe (source: Google Maps, click to open in Google Maps).
As we approached our destination the slopes began to be covered in vines – harvest was just starting and the black grapes were hanging heavily. Since we were staying near the town of Barolo, I assumed that most of these grapes were the Nebbiolo variety, which goes into the famous – and expensive – Barolo wine, and a bit further north, its softer cousin Barbaresco.
Nebbiolo grapes near La Morra. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm R LM OIS WR lens (click to enlarge).
It is strange that such a dark-coloured grape produces a comparatively light-coloured red wine, but there is a lot of acid and tannin and the flavour is intense. Because of its colour I’ve seen Barolo compared to Pinot Noir, but it doesn’t taste or smell anything like Pinot to me. A related variety called Freisa produces similar but simpler wines which are a bit cheaper.
Nebbiolo grapes near La Morra, Piedmont. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)
There were also plantations of lots of rather scrubby-looking trees. These turned out to be hazelnut trees. It seems that many of the hazelnuts for Nutella, as well as for the fancier gianduia, come from around here. There isn’t much you can do to make these trees very photogenic, except to take them at first light on a misty Autumn morning, which would make almost anything look good.
Dawn at La Morra. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, Fujifilm XF 100-400mm lens (click to enlarge).
Looking about, one sees a landscape of rolling hills covered in vines and plantations of hazelnut trees. On the hilltops are little towns, and a few castles, showing that being part of a unitary Savoyard state didn’t mean everything was necessarily peaceful. But some of the towns are in the valleys, which suggests that defensive situations were not as critically important as they were further south. And of course this far north there would not have been the risk of malaria that drove people to higher ground in central and southern parts of Italy.
The town of Diano d’Alba taken from near La Morra, surrounded by vines and hazelnut trees. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm R LM OIS WR lens (click to enlarge).The town of Roddi, taken from near La Morra. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm R LM OIS WR lens (click to enlarge).
Away to the west on the horizon is the line of the Alps, where they curve down from the north and mark the modern boundary between France and Italy (in France the mountains are called the Alpes-Maritimes). It would be very beautiful here in spring, when the vines were starting to leaf and the snow was still on the mountains.
Looking west from La Morra towards the distant Alps. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm R LM OIS WR lens (click to enlarge).Looking south-west from near La Morra, with the mountains dimly visible. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm R LM OIS WR lens (click to enlarge).
These days the area makes much of its reputation for wine and gastronomy and it no doubt attracts a lot of day trippers from Turin, which must generate a fair bit of income on top of that from primary production. Most of the promotional material tends to speak of the antiquity of the food and wine traditions of the Langhe, but while that may be so, I have read that the area was quite impoverished up to the 1960s.
Dawn near La Morra. Fujifilm X-Pro3 camera, Fujifilm XF 100-400mm lens (click to enlarge)
La Morra
La Morra is quite a small town, on a hilltop and with wonderful views.
A distant view of La Morra, taken from near the town of Barolo. The castle in the foreground has been converted to a winery. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm lens (click to enlarge).Looking south-west from La Morra, towards the Alps. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).
Not surprisingly, most of the shops in the historic centre are restaurants or sell wine and food. But La Morra hasn’t lost its living soul – right on the top of the hill is a school from which children spill noisily between classes, and the locals stop and chat in the streets.
The school in La Morra. The sign above the door says “classi maschili”, dating from the days when boys and girls went to school in different buildings. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).La Morra, locals chatting in the street. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).La Morra, the main piazza. Under the vine in front of the yellow building is the trattoria in which I had fresh white truffle. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).
While in the restaurant in the photograph above, I decided that, despite the expense, it would be a missed opportunity to be in the Langhe during white truffle season, and not try some. The white truffle is rarer, more delicately-flavoured, and more expensive than the black truffle, and around here, especially near the town of Alba, they are famous. So I ordered a soft-boiled egg with fresh white truffle. There was a bit of theatre associated with it – I was presented with a glass bowl containing several truffles which looked a bit like things that might have been surgically removed from someone. I chose the smallest, which they weighed on a miniature set of scales which had a readout in grams to two decimal places. That was then put in a smaller bowl and left on my table, presumably to avoid substitution.
The truffle. Google Pixel phone camera (click to enlarge).
When the egg arrived, the waiter produced a special shaver and shaved the truffle over it with some ceremony. I wouldn’t say that it was the most memorable gustatory experience of my life, but it was certainly very nice, and I can at least say that I have had it.
The truffle and the egg. Google Pixel phone camera (click to enlarge).
Barolo
Near to La Morra is the town of Barolo, no larger but more famous because it gave its name to the wine variety.
Grapevines around Barolo. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm lens (click to enlarge).
While La Morra is on a hilltop, Barolo is lower down the side of the valley, but still on a bit of a defensible outcrop on which a castle has stood since the 10th Century.
Barolo from the hillside above. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm lens (click to enlarge).
The castle was rebuilt in the 16th Century but these days it looks nothing like anything from either the 10th or the 16th centuries, despite there no doubt being remants of the original somewhere beneath. Instead the exterior looks distinctly Victorian, like something imagined by a Pre-Raphaelite painter. This is because it was heavily renovated from 1864 in the course of passing from private ownership to being the home of a charitable institution.
The castle of Barolo. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).
Even more so than La Morra, Barolo is now dedicated to wine and gastronomy. The winery of one of the major producers – Borgogno – is in the middle of town, and there are many enoteche, cantine and restaurants. Some enterprising, or optimistic, individual has even established a museum of corkscrews.
Barolo, Museo dei Cavatappi. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).Barolo. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).Barolo. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).Barolo, bakery sign. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).
Like many such places in Italy, there are regular food festivals celebrating typical local dishes. Missing out on the tripe festival later in the month was a disappointment we could live with, though.
Barolo. The banner is advertising a forthcoming tripe festival. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm lens (click to enlarge).
Nativity Scenes, or presepi, are as central to an Italian Christmas as panettone. While pictorial versions of the Nativity go back to the earliest Christian period, the first nativity scene with human actors is said to have been created by St Francis in the 13th Century, and quickly spread throughout western Christendom. Did the tradition of building model presepi arise from that? I have not found anything definitive, although this Wikipedia article seems to imply that it might have.
Including a nativity scene – presepe in Italian, the word for manger – among the other decorations is now firmly embedded in Italian Christmas tradition. The proper day to set it up is the 8th of December, and some people take it further by leaving the crib empty until Christmas night, when they add the infant Jesus. Sticklers for tradition wait until the 6th of January (Epiphany or Twelfth Night) to add the Three Kings.
Despite its notionally Umbrian origin courtesy of St Francis, it is in Naples where the tradition has taken root most strongly and indeed exuberantly.
Here the canonical cast – the Holy Family, the angels, the shepherds, the Magi – has been augmented with characters that not even a close reading of St Luke will reveal. Butchers, innkeepers, shopkeepers, peasants and others can be found, often not even taking part in the main Christmas story but appearing in unrelated scenes, like a butcher chasing a dog who has stolen some sausages, or an innkeeper tossing an unruly customer out into the street. And of course there is always Pulcinella, the masked jester from the Commedia dell’Arte.
Bit players in a nativity scene, Via San Gregorio Armeno, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
Meanwhile, at the site of the Nativity itself, the stable might have become a Roman ruin, or a shop in a town.
Presepe, Via San Gregorio Armeno, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
At this time of year Christmas markets all over Italy will sell the figurines for presepi, but in Naples there is a street where they sell them all year round – Via San Gregorio Armeno. Some shops and stalls also sell non-Christmas figurines and the ubiquitous painted tambourines, but if you are after material for your presepe, this is the place to come.
Naples, Via San Gregorio Armeno. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
Going by what is on sale some people feel moved to add even more characters: if you want to, the supporting cast in your presepe could feature Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, various popes and the entire Italian football team.
Via San Gregorio Armeno, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
You will also see a chap in a black suit and bowler hat who looks a bit like Stan Laurel. This is a much-loved comic actor from the 40s and 50s called Totò, whose mixture of naivete and guile is felt to be particularly Neapolitan – a bit like Pulcinella I suppose. And of course there is always Diego Maradona, Naples’s favourite Argentinian and a secular saint even before his recent death.
Via San Gregorio Armeno, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).Via San Gregorio Armeno, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
One of the most elaborate presepi we saw in Naples was in the Cloister of Santa Chiara which I wrote about previously. Unfortunately I had to photograph it through glass and at a very high ISO setting, both of which reduced the image quality, but you will get the general idea.
Presepe in the Cloister of Santa Chiara, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
As you can see, while the actual nativity is central to the arrangement, there are plenty of other things going on. Below are some enlarged details.
Presepe in the Cloister of Santa Chiara, Naples (detail). Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).Presepe in the Cloister of Santa Chiara, Naples (detail). Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).Presepe in the Cloister of Santa Chiara, Naples (detail). Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).Presepe in the Cloister of Santa Chiara (detail), Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
It’s all very Italian – a venerable and pious tradition, faithfully observed, but with a dash of knowing humour mixed into the reverence.
Here is another instalment of photographs of Italian shops. In March 2020, as the COVID-19 pandemic took hold and all shops were closed in Italy, I published an elegaic photo essay celebrating the shopfronts and the shopkeepers of Italy. It was a worrying time and I published it as much to cheer myself up as for anyone else, although I hope it may have cheered others up as well.
Now, two and a half years later, the pandemic has eased, although the hoofbeats of another horseman of the apocalypse can be heard to the northeast. So in slightly happier but still nervous times, here is another chapter.
As I said in the earlier post, Italians have a flair for design and presentation which in the case of shops manifests itself both in the design of the shopfront and in the care which goes into the displays of merchandise.
Let us start with a very elegant butcher’s shop in Arezzo, a Norcineria (delicatessen) in Orvieto, and a Gastronomia in the Naples suburb of Vomero.
Macelleria Alfredo, Arezzo. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)Norcineria Roticiani, Orvieto. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)Gastronomia San Martino, Vomero, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)
Still on the subject of food – a very important subject in Italy – here are a gastronomia from the town of Bevagna with an impressive delivery bike outside, and an osteria in Todi, the interior of which promises a warm welcome as the evening draws in.
Alimentari, Bevagna. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)Osteria Valle, Todi. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)
Bars occupy a special place in Italian life. In the mornings they serve coffee and pastries for breakfast – often eaten standing up at the counter by people on their way to work. This is the only time of day when milky coffees like cappucini are ordered by Italians. A strong black espresso is of course acceptable at any hour of the day or night. Then in late morning people stop ordering cappucini and it becomes acceptable to order a pre-lunch aperitivo – a glass of wine or a spritz, or a beer if it is hot. Snacks, often quite substantial, may be offered – and outside the main tourist areas may even be included in the price of the drinks. Bars may double as pasticcerie and gelaterie, and many cheaper restaurants and trattorie double as bars before mealtimes.
In the warmer months a bar’s tables and chairs may spill out into sunny piazzas, and in winter a bar offers a bright, warm and steamy refuge on a dark and cold morning.
Bars can be huge and swanky with uniformed waiters, or tiny and utilitarian with a single person serving. An example of the former is Caffè Paszkowski in Florence, and there are literally thousands of examples of the latter. Below the picture of Caffè Paszkowski is one of a tiny and anonymous bar in Corso Cavour in Todi.
Caffè Paszkowski, Florence. Hasselblad 501C/M camera, Zeiss Planar C 80mm lens, 6x6cm film back, Fujichrome Velvia 50 film (click to enlarge).Anonymous bar, Corso Cavour, Todi. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
But Italians all have their favourite, and are faithful to them. There is a phrase – di fiducia, literally “of trust” – which tells you a lot about Italian behaviour. Your bar – or greengrocer’s, or butcher’s – di fiducia is the one you are faithful to, where they recognise you and greet you. And if the proprietor saw you going into another establishment they would feel slighted. As people who are obviously not Italian and are therefore usually assumed to be tourists, it means a lot to us to have a bar and shops di fiducia in our adopted town.
Here are two more examples of neighbourhood bars – the Bar Viviani in Arezzo and the Bar Loreti in the little town of Acquasparta in Umbria.
Bar Viviani, Arezzo. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).Bar Loreti, Acquasparta. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
Of course where else but in Rome could you actually find shops that specialise in liturgical vestments?
Arredamento Liturgico, Rome. Hasselblad 501C/M camera, Zeiss Planar C 80mm lens, 6x6cm film back, Fujichrome Velvia 50 film (click to enlarge).
The gritty streets of downtown Naples must be one of the most challenging environments for the proud shopkeeper. Theft and vandalism are equal threats, and the response is armoured steel doors that when closed look as if they would withstand anything short of assault with an anti-tank weapon. But when they are opened they reveal display windows and shelves on the insides of the doors, whether for the beautifully boxed chocolates of Gay-Odin, or the books of the d’Ambrosio bookshop, both below.
Gay-Odin Chocolate Shop, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).Libreria d’Ambrosio, Naples. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
After hours, when the doors are closed again, you would walk past them without a second look, unaware of the treasures within.
I will finish with what must be one of the most elegant barbershops anywhere. Mr Bertini’s establishment in Todi is rightly famous for its ornately carved shopfront, which has been seen in many online travelogues and even featured in a television advertisement for Moretti Beer. Mr Bertini is also a real artist with scissors and razor.
Barbiere Bertini, Todi. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)
During the holiday week of Ferragosto, we visited a semi-deserted Rome to see the Milvian Bridge, site of a crucial battle in 312 AD.
In August, accommodation in many parts of Italy changes from having been comparatively inexpensive to being breathtakingly expensive. And that is because in August there falls the holiday of Ferragosto, where everything closes down and everyone heads out of town.
Ferragosto has its origin in something in Ancient Rome called Feriae Augusti – the holiday of Augustus. When Octavius Caesar took over as emperor he renamed himself Augustus. He also renamed the month of Quintilis in the newly-reformed calendar after his predecessor Julius Caesar, so it became July, and he renamed the month of Sextilis after himself, so it became August. And because the hottest weather was in August and no-one felt like working, according to the popularly accepted story he decided to give all the working people of Rome a few days off, and gave himself the credit. It would have been marked by chariot races, and various religious festivals to honour harvest deities and the like. Needless to say there is debate about how accurate this account really is.
These days the 15th of August is Ferragosto and for a week or two on either side, factories close, public administration grinds to a halt and four out of five shops have signs in their windows saying chiuso per ferie (closed for holidays). Vast numbers of Italians head away, mostly to the coast but also to the mountains, and often to exactly the same place they have been going all their lives. It may be an urban myth, but there have even been stories of wanted criminals being captured in August because the police staked out the places they had been going to for holidays since they were children.
It would have been truly remarkable if the modern Ferragosto was an uninterrupted survival from antiquity – and it isn’t, of course. Or not much. What actually happened is that at first, like all other pre-Christian holidays, Feriae Augusti was incorporated into the Christian calendar, in this case being allocated to the Feast of the Assumption of the Virgin. No doubt under the new administration the festival retained some of the characteristics of the original, if for no other reason than that it was hot, no-one felt like working, and in any case the harvest was in.
Then, in the 1930s, the Fascist government decided to revive Feriae Augusti as a secular holiday. Like authoritarian social movements elsewhere they liked the idea of organised leisure for factory and farm workers, and thus many working class people experienced trips to mountains and the seaside for the first time. The Fascists were also enthusiastic about any links, actual or imagined, with ancient Rome, so the Feast of the Assumption got turned back into Feriae Augusti, or Ferragosto in modern Italian. Of course the religious festival is still observed, so it wasn’t an actual reversion to paganism.
After the war, the Italians had got rid of the Fascists but they found they liked the idea of shutting the whole country down for a holiday, so they kept it. And every year the cities empty, the roads clog and the beaches fill up with thousands of identical beach umbrellas, precisely arranged, where people can come back to the same position, next to the same people, every year. Most decent beaches in Italy are private property and are run as businesses, handed down through generations of the same families.
Beach Umbrellas, Cefalù, Sicily. Hasselblad 501C/M Camera, Zeiss Planar C 80mm lens, 6x6cm film back, Fujichrome Velvia 50 film (click to enlarge).
It slowly dawned on us that Rome was one of the few places in Italy where accommodation might actually get cheaper during August. And thus it proved.
We had read about how Rome is deserted during Ferragosto. Not the historic centre, because that is still full of foreign tourists, but everywhere else. We took that to be a bit implausible – after all, who could imagine Rome not being busy? But it really isn’t. The traffic was light on the Ring Road, and as we arrived in the inner northern area of Nomentano there was almost no-one on the roads. The photo below was taken from the middle of a road, the crossing of which would have been suicidal when we were last there in June.
A Roman street at Ferragosto. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)
All our favourite restaurants were closed, of course, but the hotel directed us to one which was open and which proved to be a decent little Roman trattoria. And a Sicilian cafe on the corner was open for breakfast pastries and evening aperitivi, so the necessities of life were available.
The Via Giulia, Rome. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
A visit to Central Rome was a bit of a contrast. While the back streets might be quiet, in the Trevi Fountain – Pantheon – Piazza Navona triangle there was a full load of tourists surging back and forth like the tides. And because this was the time of the northern hemisphere summer holidays, a high proportion of the crowd was made up of junior bogans of all nations. And they were making full use of the greatest menace in Rome this year – electric bikes and scooters. The scooter riders were the worst. They tore along both the streets and the pavements at stupid speeds, and when they had got where they were going they abandoned the blasted things wherever they felt like it.
None of them were wearing protection for heads, elbows or knees, so I wonder how busy Rome’s hospital casualty departments are this summer. Italian local governments don’t have much patience for this sort of thing so I hope to read before long that e-scooters and e-bikes are being better regulated, and stupid behaviour thereon is attracting fines. After all, you can get fined for sitting on the Spanish Steps.
The photo below shows the Porta del Popolo, with a statue of St Peter vainly pointing out the part of the city by-laws dealing with electric scooters.
The Porta del Popolo, Rome. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
The next day we decided to take advantage of the lack of crowds to do our own tour of Rome on public transport. The hop-on-hop-off Rome tourist buses cost €15-20 or more, but we paid €7 each for a 24 hour ticket and had many more options than the tourist bus. We started by taking the number 61 bus which took us around the old Aurelian Walls of Rome for a bit, then entered the central city through the Porta Pia, the gate where Italian troops forced entry to Rome to defeat Papal forces in one of the later episodes of Italian unification in 1870. The bus then bounced along some rather potholed downtown streets before taking us through the Borghese Gardens and depositing us in the “Viale Giorgio Washington” just outside the Porta del Popolo.
That is where the old Roman military road, the Via Flaminia, left the city on its way north. Its dead straight path out of Rome is followed by the modern road, which still bears its name. The number 2 tram goes along it, so we jumped on board.
The start of the Via Flaminia, looking north from the Porta del Popolo in Rome. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
The tram took us past some grandiose buildings housing government ministries, and some seedy low-cost housing. Out here the Ferragosto effect was very much in force and pretty much every shop and bar was closed and shuttered. A bit like Canberra in the first week of January.
But the main reason we had gone there was because I wanted to see the bridge where the Via Flaminia crosses the Tiber. It is called the “Milvian Bridge”, or the Ponte Milvio in modern Italian. It is much repaired and remodelled since antiquity, and no longer carries vehicular traffic. Some time in the Middle Ages it was partially destroyed by one of the leading Roman families, to force traffic to use the Ponte Sant’Angelo which was in territory they controlled. Nonetheless some of the stonework around the arches looks as if it might be original.
The Ponte Milvio. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
The old bridge has seen a lot. This was where the legions marched away to conquer Europe, or rebel troops like those of Julius Caesar entered Rome in defiance of the Senate.
The Ponte Milvio from the southern end. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
As a defensible entry point to Rome it was the site of military actions over the centuries, and the most famous battle was in 312 AD between two rival emperors, Constantine and Maxentius. Constantine won and later claimed to have been inspired by a vision of the Christian cross. He then revoked the remaining restrictions on Christianity and started it on its way to becoming the established religion. As a result the “Battle of the Milvian Bridge” is much celebrated in religious art. Some paintings show Maxentius’s troops seeing the vision of the cross as well, throwing down their weapons and running away. Which is a bit unfair on them.
According to some accounts I have read, Maxentius had actually demolished part of the stone bridge and replaced it with a wooden pontoon bridge, which collapsed when he tried to bring his army back across it. You can see a discussion of the battle in a YouTube video here.
The Ponte Milvio and the Via Flaminia leading north from the Piazza del Popolo (source: Google Maps).
Since his defeat, Maxentius’s reputation was systematically dismantled with a Soviet-style rewriting of history. Some modern historians are trying to rescue his reputation, pointing out that the edict of toleration for Christianity, long attributed to Constantine, was very likely issued by Maxentius. You can see a very interesting discussion of this subject in a YouTube video here.
In addition, Constantine’s personal commitment to Christianity is debated. It may well just have been political pragmatism on his part, since Christianity was well on its way to becoming the dominant religion anyway, at least in terms of the number of adherents. At a time when his legitimacy might have been in question, getting a substantial part of the population on his side would have been a smart move.
The Ponte Milvio from the northern end. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge)
There is no doubt though that his mother and daughters were enthusiastic Christians – his mother, the Empress Helena (Saint Helena to the church) paid a visit to the Holy Land and, without any obvious evidence, pronounced that manky old bit of wood to be the True Cross, and that scrubby old hill to be the site of Golgotha, here the Last Supper, there the Holy Sepulchre, and so forth. Most of her topological identifications are still observed by tradition, so she was pretty influential too. One of Constantine’s daughters was Costanza, and one can still visit her beautiful mausoleum in the Via Nomentana. I shall include that in a separate post on Paleochristian sites in Rome.
The other thing that Constantine did was to move the imperial capital away from Rome to Byzantium, which he renamed Constantinople, after himself.
Looking down from the bridge at the Tiber now it seems hard to imagine two armies engaging on the steep banks, but those are artificial, the river having been embanked some time in the 19th Century.
The Tiber from the Ponte Milvio. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
Another military engagement is commemorated on a plaque at the northern end of the bridge. In 1849, when France and Austria came to the aid of the Papacy to snuff out the self-proclaimed and short-lived Roman Republic, a party of Garibaldi’s troops sabotaged the bridge to prevent enemy troops crossing the river.
Commemorative Inscription on the Ponte Milvio. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
Once we had caught the tram back we passed through the gate into Piazza del Popolo and suddenly we were back into a Rome that was heaving with tourists. There are a couple of ritzy cafes beside the Piazza – the sort of places where the waiters wear uniforms and you pay more for a glass of prosecco than you would pay for the whole bottle in a supermarket. I was reminded of the travel writer H.V. Morton’s observation that at Florian’s Cafe in St Mark’s Square in Venice, the waiter serves your coffee “with the air of some grandee doing it for a wager”. This place had the same sort of feeling.
Piazza del Popolo. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF100-200mm R LM OIS WR lens (click to enlarge).
Despite the prices it was nice to sit looking out on the Piazza del Popolo with a drink and a sandwich. We were watching a couple of immigrants trying to sell roses to female tourists. They weren’t getting many takers. Then a sudden storm broke and for a moment all was confusion as the tourists rushed for shelter. Although we had only been distracted for a moment, by some conjuring trick the immigrants’ roses had magically been replaced by umbrellas.
Piazza del Popolo after rain. Fujifilm GFX 50R camera, Fujifilm GF32-64mm R LM WR lens (click to enlarge).
Finally, after two and a half years of COVID exile, we are back in Umbria.
This is not meant to be a travel blog, or a current affairs blog, but sometimes the present does rather impose itself. I read and write about history partly because I like the sense of perspective one gets from looking at distant events like pestilence and war, but those things have crept rather closer recently.
It is a strange feeling being back. On the one hand, things are familiar – like the Saturday morning porchetta van in the piazza. Yet on the other hand, things are subtly different. Instead of the former devil-take-the-hindmost scrum at the porchetta van, there was the sight of a group of Italians voluntarily forming a queue.
One reads that Italy and the Italians have been changed in other ways by COVID. Government services have supposedly been simplified and made available online. This may be true for the central government, and for regional and local governments in Rome and Milan, but not here in Umbria. Going by the experience of trying to renew my parking permit for the centro storico, the processes are as old-fashioned and unnecessarily complicated as ever.
Old friends no longer greet one with a kiss on both cheeks, this is true, but instead of a distant Anglo-Saxon nod, we get big hugs.
There are sad undertones too. Where are the charming old couple who lived up the street? We haven’t seen them. Did they survive? We note that a familiar shop is closed, and friends tell us that the proprietress committed suicide.
But the sun is shining gloriously down on the Tiber Valley, people are smiling and turning out to community events like the Bersaglieri band concert on Liberation Day, and the swallows have returned, swooping and darting all day as they feed up after the long flight from Africa.
Morning on the Martani Hills in Central Umbria (Hasselblad 501 C/M, CFV-50c digital back, Zeiss Sonnar C 250mm lens, two images stiched in Photoshop (click to enlarge)
During the long gloomy Melbourne winter lockdowns I produced fewer posts, but longer and somewhat more didactic ones. My plan now is to write more briefly, and more often. I have a project in mind to explore parts of one of the local Roman roads – not the Via Flaminia, but the Via Amerina, which in one of its urban manifestations is the road we take to the supermarket.
Watching one of the countless Italian events where people
get dressed up in historical costume is great fun for tourists. But here’s the
thing – most of the time they aren’t really doing it for you, they’re doing it
for themselves.
Yes of course, events like the Palio in Siena are big tourist drawcards, but by all accounts the
municipal rivalries on display are no less intense for that. And for every big
event there are dozens if not scores of smaller local ones. Few are genuine
survivals from antiquity, but many have been bolted on to things that are, such
as the commemoration of a town’s patron saint, or a Good Friday recreation of
the Passion.
Moreover, there seems to be a difference between the way
these things are approached in Italy and in English-speaking countries. While
living in England several years ago we saw an historical re-enactment which was
clearly exemplary in its attention to historical detail – in costumes, weapons
and military tactics. In Italy things can sometimes be a bit more approximate –
the costumes worn by participants in a “medieval” festival might range from the
13th to the 17th Centuries.
But, with great respect to the English lot, they do seem to come from a more narrowly-defined (dare I say nerdy?) group than do their equivalents in Italy. In Italy you might find your neighbour – a carpenter during the week – walking solemnly along dressed in a monk’s cowl. Or the chap who wins the archery contest is the accountant who helps you work out your annual property tax. Or the gonfaloniere (banner carrier) in the parade is your plumber. Or the beautiful damsel in the flowing dress is the girl who serves your morning coffee at your favourite bar in the piazza. In other words, in Italy you get the sense that a broader section of the local community is involved. And thoroughly enjoying itself, to boot.
Here are four vignettes of this – one from Como in Lombardy,
one from Rome, and two from Todi in Umbria.
Como, 2017
We had been staying in Cadenabbia, halfway up the lake, and
had caught the hydrofoil down to Como for the day. The main object of the visit
was the 11th-Century Lombard-Romanesque Basilica of Sant’ Abbondio,
which involved a pleasant walk through the length of the historic centre of
Como.
On the way back to the ferry terminal we heard the
characteristic sound of a group of drummers some way off, and before long we came
across a group of drummers and sbandieratori
– those people who do the complicated displays with flags, including tossing
them into the air and catching them.
Sbandieratori in Como. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Distagon 60mm lens, CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
They were accompanied by a leather-lunged individual who, in
breaks between drumming and flag-tossing, announced the forthcoming highlights
of the medieval fair that was on that weekend. He in turn was accompanied by a
small serious-looking child in a white smock and skullcap, and large
spectacles. The effect (hopefully intended) was of some sort of miniature Doctor of Physick.
Drummers and friends, Como. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Distagon 60mm lens, CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
The flag-tossers were not the most expert, and a couple of
times had to run into the crowd to catch the flags before they landed on spectators,
but no-one seemed to mind very much.
Sbandieratori in Como. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Distagon 60mm lens, CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
Buon Compleanno, Roma, 2015
We were making our way into the city from our digs in Trastevere, intending to visit the Aventine Hill (one of the Seven Hills of Rometm). On the way, near the church of Santa Maria in Cosmadin, I pointed to a crowd in the distance and observed that there seemed to be an awful lot of tourists down there. Lou’s eyesight was better than mine in those days and she thought that it looked more like some kind of political demonstration.
At that point we realised that it was at least seventy years since political demonstrations in Rome involved people marching in ranks wearing polished helmets, carrying weapons, and axe-heads in bundles of sticks. In fact, what we had stumbled on was the annual celebration of Rome’s traditional birthday. By tradition, Rome was founded on the 21st of April, 753 BC. That made the following Tuesday the 2768th birthday of the city. So instead of fascists (OK, some of them were being fascists but in the ancient sense) what we were seeing was a large number of historical re-enactment societies from all over Italy – and there are a LOT of them – descending on Rome to take part in a parade.
A centurion. Google Nexus phone camera (click to enlarge).
Several of the societies clearly took it very seriously
indeed. They had adopted the legion that was raised in their own area and had
put enormous effort into authentic recreation of the armour and weapons of the
era. Others were a bit – well – cardboard, but everyone was having a jolly good
time.
Light infantry. Google Nexus phone camera (click to enlarge).
There were lots of legionaries, chanting the Latin version
of the Romans, united, will never be defeated, a fair few gladiators, a
handful of foederati (barbarian allies), and lots of vestal virgins.
I’m sure I saw this chap in an Asterix book. Google Nexus phone camera (click to enlarge).
A group of senators dressed in their scarlet-trimmed white
togas came past. I gave them an “ave” which they solemnly returned.
Senators. Google Nexus phone camera (click to enlarge).
Festa di San Fortunato, Todi, Umbria, 2018
Saint Fortunatus is the patron saint of Todi. He seems to have been an historical figure, as he was a bishop of the town in the 6th Century who is said to have persuaded the invading Goths not to attack. On the other hand it is possible that they were just put off by the prospect of the long steep climb up from the Tiber Valley below, which is challenging enough for a Fiat Panda.
A falconry demonstration. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Sonnar 150mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
His saint’s day continues to be marked by religious observance in Todi, and there is no reason not to believe that the tradition has continued without interruption since antiquity. In recent times, the tradition has been augmented by a weekend of medieval high jinks including falconry demonstrations and an archery competition between the rioni or town districts, culminating in a grand parade.
Todi, Festa di San Fortunato. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Sonnar 150mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
Many of the groups in the parade were from other towns in the region, and as I said before, the definition of “medieval” was elastic enough to include costumes from eras up to the 17th Century.
Todi, Festa di San Fortunato. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Sonnar 150mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
Some groups, in costumes that could have been painted by Rembrandt, looked so fine that I was prepared to forgive them the anachronism.
Todi, Festa di San Fortunato. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Sonnar 150mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
Several of the young women of Todi had obviously decided to
go with a general medieval vibe over strict authenticity and rather than
wearing long dresses, had opted for long tights and short tunics. After careful
consideration, I was prepared to forgive them that as well.
Archery
Competition and Sbandieratori, Todi, Umbria,
2019
Medieval archery has become quite a thing in Todi and in April there is a competition which attracts teams from all over Italy. Contestants move between various locations in the town, where they take part in different events – shooting at conventional targets, shooting at targets that move, shooting from moving saddles that mimic the movement of horses, and so on. You can see a video of the 2018 tournament here.
That little girl has just decided what she wants to be when she grows up. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Sonnar 150mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
There is a medieval-themed market, some of which is just stalls selling the usual local produce with the stallholders in period dress, but some of which are selling “medieval” wares of varying degrees of authenticity.
Todi, Festa di San Fortunato. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Sonnar 150mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
A group of drummers and sbandieratori is associated with the Todi archery group and they are very good.
Todi Sbandieratori. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Sonnar 150mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
The crowd favourites were three small girls who took part with special lightweight flags, and who took it all very seriously indeed. Each did a session with an adult (maybe her dad) in which they followed his movements with great concentration.
Todi Sbandieratori. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Distagon 60mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge). Todi Sbandieratori. Hasselblad 501 C/M with Zeiss Sonnar 150mm CF lens , CFV-50c digital back (click to enlarge).
A year ago, after agonising for years about buying a property in Italy, we took the plunge.
The idea had occurred to us several years ago, and in 2015 we actually planned a trip around a reconnaissance mission. But after that trip we shelved the idea, largely because we were intimidated by the ferocious reputation of the Italian bureaucracy.
But circumstances changed. After retirement I needed a project, and if I could make it my full-time job perhaps the bureaucracy might prove penetrable. Some quick research showed that property prices in the region we had looked at in 2015 were still low – or indeed still falling – and although the exchange rate between the Australian dollar and the Euro was not as favourable to us as it had been, we could still aspire to buy somewhere that could be lived in, for about the cost of a lock-up garage in inner Melbourne or Sydney.
We found a place in June 2018, and bought it a couple of months later. It is a small apartment in a town in central Italy, with a magnificent view. We spent several weeks in it in the latter part of last year, and propose to spend a few months each year there.
Thanks to the long-standing tradition of English people buying property in Italy, there are a good many resources available. This book – “Buying a Home in Italy” by David Hampshire is written for an English readership, but the terminology used is sufficiently similar to what Australians are used to that it is still very helpful.
This is not going to turn into a blog on the theme of “English speaker moves to charming place in Italy, meets charming locals and eats nice food” (although all of those things do indeed apply in our case). I have no desire at present to enter what is already a somewhat crowded field. Nor do I wish to presume upon the good nature of our new friends and neighbours by compromising their privacy, even under pseudonyms. Lou is reading an e-book by an American lady in Italy which started out as a blog in which she thought she had anonymised herself and others, but she was pretty quickly busted.
It will however allow me to make observations on Italian
life based on a slightly deeper acquaintanceship than are the necessarily superficial
impressions of the traveller who is just passing through.
