Big doings were afoot in a number of Umbrian hill towns and one was Spello, right up the road.  It was the weekend of the flower festival. Actually, “flower festival” is a poor translation of infiorata.  Perhaps “beflowered Spello” is better.  Streets of the old town were being decorated with intricate designs all made of dried flower petals and other plant parts (but no wood) to provide festive and colorful carpet for the Corpus Christi procession bearing aloft through the streets the body and blood of Jesus.  Huge industrial metal-framed tents had been erected in the streets, each covering a complex design whose segments were numbered paint-by-number style.  Stacks of boxes of dried flowers surrounded teams of workers who had been carefully filling in the designs since 6 am Saturday.  We arrived about 7 am Sunday, in time to park nearby and peer through tent flaps to watch the artistry being completed.  By eight it was so crowded our group of four could hardly stay together, though Maurice was a helpful focal point with his red Italia hat.  As the designs were completed the teams disassembled the tents in a flash, displaying their art fully to admirers. The flower pictures were breathtaking to behold.  Here was Noah’s ark askew on the sea with God’s strong hand under the waves.  There was Paul stretching out to encompass the churches of his missionary travels.  And David with shepherd’s crook and slingshot, and the Roman centurion bowing before the dead savior–most of the art we saw had Biblical themes.  Of course I wanted to stay and see every single picture (over 100) and then watch the procession, plus see the town’s highlights while I was there, but I had another appointment at 9 am. 

Part of a finished picture made of flower petals

Maurice getting a cappuccino in the bar while I hiked

Again we drove to the mountain hamlet of Collepino and made our way to the bar/cafe on the mini-piazza.  A young Italian journalist, Gabriele,(http://www.myumbria.net/) had asked the artists the other day if anyone wanted to join his guided English-language hike from Collepino along the route of the Roman aqueduct, and Christina and I had signed up.  Gabriele was right on time with two young Italian women participants; others who had signed up didn’t show.  First Gabriele told us a bit about Collepino, a mid-15th century village renovated by its residents in the 1970s.  It now has about 100 inhabitants in summer and 20 in winter.  Gabriele’s family’s roots go back centuries in Collepino; he still has a house in the village but mostly works in Rome now.  The town’s claim to fame is, “Francis slept here,” which is probably true, as Saint Francis wandered all over this area.  Gabriele pointed out a door of the dead on one of the houses, an elevated door used for sliding the coffin out for burial.

We headed out of the village and downhill toward the chiusare, the small olive fields of 50-100 trees owned by individual families for their own use.  It’s hard work taking care of the trees and picking by hand and few families tend their chiusare any more.  Our path wound picturesquely and provided shifting views of the valley’s patchwork fields and red-roofed buildings.  The dusty green olive trees shimmered in the sun and breeze, while under their branches and along the path bloomed patches of poppies and wildflowers in rainbow hues.  Gabriele pointed out the sweet-smelling ginestra we already know and love, plus fennel, wild asparagus, thyme, wild parsley, ciccoria, Roman mint, caprifoglio (honeysuckle which didn’t smell nearly as wonderful as the kind we have at home), cisto (Mediterranean bushes with pink or white flowers) and fig, peach, pear and amarena trees. We passed a line of animal dens dug out under tree roots and the rough path of a wild boar.  Christina and I exclaimed over hearing a cuckoo but Gabriele corrected us; it was an upupa, and he explained the difference in their calls (it still sounded like a cuckoo to us).  At a modern (17th century) aqueduct we refilled out water bottles from the spring water flowing out.

The top part of the Roman/medieval aqueduct is missing here, allowing a peek inside the pipe.

The second half of the hike was along the line of the pink-stoned Roman aqueduct, rebuilt and reused over the years until the 19th century.  We walked next to it, on top of it and on the ground which covered parts of it.  There were regular openings in the pipe for maintenance. Rain spit down on and off.  Soon Spello came into view. Church bells clanged for a long time.  Just before town we filled our bottles from another fountain, then about noon turned into the upper gate where Maurice and Ted were waiting.  Maurice said we had just missed the procession (that’s what all the bell ringing was) and that it was short and quick (probably running to get out of the rain).  Since so few feet had passed over all the infiorata, most were relatively intact, so we joined the throngs admiring the flower pictures and carefully stepping around them.  I did not get to see every last one before everyone else was ready to go home.

With my Swiss-American hiking partner Christina

We had dinner at Il Caminetto, the local pizza place–table for fifteen and lots of laughter.  Afterward the waitress brought out bottles of limoncello (not nearly as good as the e3.99 bottle we got at the grocery store), liquirizia, a thick brown concoction (peculiar), and finally grappa (gasoline).  As I stood in line to pay I watched the pizza makers through an arched window over their serving counter.  The burly boss slinging the sauce wore an American flag bandana a la Willie Nelson around his substantial head. While the pizzas cooked in the forno a legna, the wide wood-burning oven with orange flames licking from deep within toward its blackened maw, the cooks hammed it up for our amusement, joking with the waiters, singing That’s Amore, laughing with us and at us.