The day was warm when we drove to Montefalco, the “balcony over Umbria,” where in the 13th century Emperor Frederick II destroyed a Roman town and built this new-now-old one in its place.  Streets radiate down from a central plaza on the crest of the hill through medieval gateways to wide views of the valley beyond.  Crooked lanes curve around stone buildings to tiny unexpected piazzas.  Maurice selected a flowered doorway in a small plaza to paint; his criteria for the day was that he sit in the shade while he worked.  I headed off to explore the town.  I knew there were medieval paintings and I’d heard rumors of mummies. Keep reading

Road between Spello and Collepino

After lunch I set off on what started as a Club Alpino Italiano (CAI)-signposted trail to San Silvestro…or a monastery…or something. The trail turned up a steep and stony forest track.  Among the trees it was cool, but I was not, because the trail seemed to go straight up.  (Will the Camino be like this?  Hmmm.)  The fresh air was silent except for the thumping of my heart.  I managed the 100-meter elevation gain in about fifteen minutes.  On the gravel road at the top, a trickle of water flowed into a big stagnant trough labeled “San Silvestro.”  Indeed.  I walked to an intersection and a sign suggested there was an eremo…somewhere.  Eventually I spotted a CAI sign and continued that direction.  The path widened and the forest started looking more like a lawn with a lot of trees.  Neat placards informed me this was a place of prayer and asked me to respect the silenzio.  All was as silent as the forest I had just left, except for the twittery birds and the cuckoo, who were definitely not obeying instructions.  At a sharp turn in the path a gray-habited sister stood in front of the stone convent. We looked at each other and nodded; I dared not break the silence. Keep reading

Collepino, Umbria

We hopped into our little panda-colored (as Ted pointed out) Smart car for the trip to the day’s painting spot, Collepino, a tiny medieval hill town in the mountains beyond Spello.  It seemed almost deserted–the group’s arrival must have at least doubled the population–though there are surely some locals because there was a bar/cafe open.  I wandered through the stone streets while the artists found their spots and set up.  Janice was right–it only took ten or fifteen minutes to see everything.  Curving stone streets, crooked stone buildings, steps, passageways, nooks and crannies (all stone), the big public laundry basins, the minuscule fortress church plunked down at the fork of a tiny stone lane–the town was solid and serene, with flowerpots here and there but not many just to pretty it up for tourists.  When I’d seen enough I walked out the road we’d driven in to enjoy the blowing poppies, dusty green olive trees in blossom, yellow ginestra (turns out that’s the wonderful scent in the air) and views back to the town.  As the church bells rang at noon we converged on the cafe for lunch, overwhelming the staff…. Keep reading