An American in Umbria

I was dripping sweat, gaggling my way up the Leonardo Express coach, and beginning to lose hope. Led by the train conductor’s promise of free seating further up, I hoisted all my luggage—tagged orange HEAVY— towards the front carriages for the thirty-one-minute direct train from the Fiumicino airport to Rome Termini.

I apologetically called “Scuzi!” to my fellow passengers as I made my way through five train carriages, trying not to roll over toes or lose control of my overweight suitcase. My body unattractively glistening with perspiration, I reached one of the promised-land carriages and settled in. My tank-topped back shivered against the metal of a fold-down overflow seat tucked in the exit wing of the train and I held my suitcase in place between my knees. With the ordeal seeming to be over, I calmed. I spent two days in Rome, a late May tourist frenzy, before making my journey into the deep heart of the country to join a group of my college’s writers for a study abroad experience, unwinding in the Umbrian town of Spoleto. 

I’ll spend a few more weeks here, but in the time I’ve already had to take in the forested mountaintops, medieval villages, and frescoed duomos, I’ve felt lighter than I have in months. Certainly, I believe part of my zero-gravity feeling can be attributed to the overall bond with the landscape that permeates the Umbrian region; however, what truly stands out as significant to me is the region’s “untouched” character, where the scarcity of modern influences preserves the essence of slow living, bubble-wrapping Umbria in a time with little modern distraction. 

One of Spoleto’s many walkways displaying ancient architecture.

Perhaps the most palpable example I have of this character is found at the site of my class meetings for the next several weeks. The Hotel Gattapone, constructed in the 60s and still faithfully embodying the era with its mid-century modern aesthetics—right down to the wood panelling, funky doorknobs, and plush, deep red leather furniture—has garnered a reputation as the guesthouse of visionaries, including but not limited to Chilean poet-diplomat Pablo Neruda and other artists during their trips to the city’s popular arts festival, the Festival dei Due Mondi (Festival of Two Worlds), which has taken place in Spoleto every summer since 1958.

The crowd at a Festival dei Due Mondi performance.

I also like to imagine a smokin’ Al Pacino in his younger days, who I see immortalized on a poster tacked up to a medieval wall—the city’s old border. One more reminder of the history still standing, surrounding me. I pass Pacino and remembrances of other famous attendees of the festival on my walk to class. Shortly, one of the few emblems of modernity found in the town’s landscape appears: a series of London-Underground-long escalators that take me up to the picturesque city centre of the hilltop town. 

I mean, come on!

I hop off on level 2, Duomo, and head to the hotel, snapping pictures of a few cats prowling the morning along the way. In the hotel, an aging, but pleasant smiled Italian woman recognizes me as part of the college group and points me downstairs. 

While I wind down a well-worn hardwood staircase, darkened against burgundy walls, I’m nervous we’ll be stuck in the basement. After all, this is a school trip, which comes along with a school budget. I come to a landing with a tucked away dining area, a retro bar under the staircase, and a long maroon leather couch, a complement to the amber-stained flooring. I pause for a moment, unsure of where to go next and bask in the light from wall-to-wall windows looking out onto the view of a valley studded with wildflowers, the backdrop a rising, tree-covered mountain. 

I hear some shuffling from behind and turn to see another staff member, carrying out supplies for the bar. She says nothing but points me down another staircase. Am I so obviously out of place? (Signs point to yes.) And another flight down? I thought for sure this was the descent into the musty basement I’d been nervous for. 

The lounge area of the Hotel Gattapone.

I had to give our school’s budget some credit. It was the most stunning basement I’d ever found myself in. In harmony with the ambience of the upper levels, the circular arrangement of plush red chairs greeted me, while windows and French doors unveiled an outdoor terrace with a view hidden from the above levels of the hotel. As the sun gently embraced the morning, the garden landscape was adorned with vibrant wild poppies, who soaked in its warm rays.

Some classmates enjoying the terrace!

As the class gradually assembled, taking their seats in a Socratic-seminar fashion, the room buzzed with pre-class chatter. Natural energy permeated our group, and we eased into laughter sparked by the unexpected moments of bonding we had experienced the day prior, which was a memorable, experiential demonstration of Umbria’s character and history. 

On the previous day, a Sunday, we rose early in anticipation of an exhilarating bike excursion along the historic “Spoleto-Norcia Railway Line.” The itinerary promised a delightful reward at the end—a delicious lunch featuring home-grown produce and wine. Despite being advised to dress comfortably, none of us were adequately prepared for the challenging 12-mile ride, not even the member of our group who teaches cycling classes back home.

Some of the views that made it all worth it!

Amidst chains falling off, relentless uphill climbs, unexpected two-kilometer tunnels (which doubled as a bat sanctuary!), and exhilarating descents along the mountain ridge, we had quite the thrilling adventure. The itinerary hadn’t really lied to us. Our efforts were richly rewarded when we reached the bottom. We arrived at a charming local farm, where we were greeted by some of the warmest Italian people in the area, including our guide for the bike tour, Luca, who transitioned roles seamlessly from bike tour guide to restauranteur. There, we savored a leisurely four-course meal, surrounded by the delightful presence of a friendly black lab and the sight of snails gathered on the weathered stone walls. It was an unexpected moment of bliss, nestled away in the picturesque mountainside.

Several group members pause after exiting the first tunnel.

The bike ride left me with a sense of accomplishment, and it seems that the rest of the group shares a similar sentiment. Remarkably, this excursion is just one of many we’ll embark on during this trip. We’ve already encountered fascinating characters and experienced moments of laughter beyond our wildest expectations. I never want to leave.

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