The following is short book, the story of a hike around Italy's Mount Subasio. Enjoy!
"Because it's there!"
Words of a mountain climber. Mallory's words. Why one climbs. Along with a hundred other natural, philosophical, physical, and spiritual reasons. Going from peak to peak, always the challenge, always the adventure.
For some, summits are a mark of personal achievement. They bag peaks. Like some who have climbed all 48 high summits in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. And for an encore? Well, there's Vermont and Maine.
For most climbers, scaling mountains is an adventurous, enlightening, inspiring pursuit. A vocation. It's time spent with nature, awakening to oneself and the world. The draw of the summit is like a magnet, the inescapable goal, the dividing line between success and failure, the acutely definable thing that needs accomplishing.
Unless one knows better.
The diehard baggers among you, intent on reaching the high points of every continent, or every state, or so many 14,000 footers in your extended neighborhood, or being the oldest, youngest, shortest, tallest or cutest person ever to stand atop Everest, may want to stop reading. Because this humble book, albeit about a mountain, will not take you to the summit. Or any place close to it. Sorry. That's not the aim, purpose or intent.
This book is about walking around a mountain.
2011 Google search: How to Climb a Mountain - 793,000 results. How to Walk Around a Mountain - 0 results.
It can be difficult to take one's eyes off the summit. However, for the truly adventurous, seeking to do something unique enough to have no search engine results, there is an alternative to trekking, trudging, traipsing or tramping to the top. That being, to circumnavigate the mountain. To know it at its roots rather than its crown. To embrace it rather than top it.
To enjoy being down to earth.
Just as ascending mountains involves varying degrees of difficulty, so does hiking perimeters. There would be more than a few obstacles getting around the base of Everest. Ranges that extend hundreds of miles without significant drops in elevation hardly offer good possibilities. Ideally, one looks for a stand-alone peak, encompassed by walkable roads or trails. A dome high and broad enough to own the name of a mountain and to define a region. A place where climbers do trek to the summit, but few set out to walk a longer circumference.
An inspiring place like Mount Subasio in Italy.
Mount Subasio, a part of the Apennines, an Umbrian treasure rich with nature and history. Yet, as special as its wildflowered 4,232 foot rolling summit is, the mountain is ringed with natural wonders, ancient towns, bucolic farms and serene wilderness that can reward a walker as well as any determined climb to the top.
On an April morning, I set out to walk around Mount Subasio.
The two largest towns on her foothills, both medieval gems, are Assisi and Spello. Assisi, the home of Saints Francis and Clare, is where my trek began, with hopes of completing a twenty-five mile circumnavigation before sunset. I filled a pack with bread, snacks, water, sunblock and a camera and set out through town before the first rays of sunlight. The valley below was just starting to waken.
I left Assisi via Porta San Giacomo, which dates back to the Fourteenth Century. The Cyprus tree on top, a gift of nature, is about one hundred and fifty years old. It just lives there peacefully, year after year, unruffled by life below.
This wasn't the shortest route to start out on, but circling around Assisi's high point, Rocca Maggiore, ensured Subasio's best-known town would be included in the walk. Besides, the solitary road beyond was in need of a solitary hiker.
One good thing about a circumnavigating hike is that it's difficult to get lost. If one is going clockwise around a mountain, as I set out to do, to the right is always an upward slope. To the left were panoramic views of valleys, farms, rivers and mountains, but to the right there was but one thing. Subasio.
I came upon the following roadway marker not far beyond Assisi.
Occasionally while hiking in Italy I'll come across a sign in the forest, and read it aloud, even sing it aloud, in order to practice Italian. So it was that one day I observed a Raccolta Tartufi Riservata sign. Inspired, I sang out a couple of choruses consisting of a repetition of those three words applied to some lively old tune. My melody came to an abrupt halt when I spied nearby, sitting on the ground in the woods, small shovel in hand, a man who, by all appearances, was collecting truffles. Whether or not they were his truffles to be collecting, I didn't know and was not inclined to ask. He most certainly heard me proclaiming, "Raccolta Tartufi Riservata!" I silently quickened my pace, glancing back once to see he had stepped up onto the trail, likely wondering about me quite as much as I wondered about him.
So a good hike brings back memories. The first settlement of note on my adventure was a place named Costa di Trex. As I drew close, there was an informative sign confirming this was the correct road (Subasio to my right), and that the settlement ahead had a church and at least two other hikers.
An old church, Santo Stefano, graces Costa di Trex. I'm not sure, but the unique name of this locale may be in reference to "three churches" that once stood nearby, Santo Stefano being one of them.
After this lovely hamlet, the road became even more rural. The pavement grew rougher and narrower, but was still good for walking. To my right, Subasio was showing her gentle side.
However, a glance back to the left indicated a region fraught with more perils than I realized, including falling rocks, swerving cars, thunderstorms and snow, for none of which I was remotely prepared.
I recall once hiking on Mount Shasta while melting snows were releasing stones that come tumbling down the steep trail, requiring vigilance and dexterity by all below. Still, Subasio was giving no indications of such antics. Certainly the safety of this circular route compared favorably with climbing some perpendicular pinnacle. While the day was young, all indications were against projectile contretemps or climatic disasters.
Continuing on, I came upon a common sight in rural Italy, a roadside shrine. While such monuments may be prohibited or regulated in the U.S.A., here they just seem to appear naturally, some new, some old, some abandoned, some decorated with fresh flowers, but all reflecting the caring intentions of their creators.
Continuing on, I came upon a common sight in rural Italy, a roadside shrine. While such monuments may be prohibited or regulated in the U.S.A., here they just seem to appear naturally, some new, some old, some abandoned, some decorated with fresh flowers, but all reflecting the caring intentions of their creators.
After several miles, the old town of Armenzano, population 40, came into sight.
It's a well-preserved place from feudal times, built in a circular pattern atop a hill. This strategic defensive design probably served the town well for several centuries, allowing residents to fend off invading armies, barbarians, tax collectors, tourists and the like.
My entry into Armenzano was unheralded. I think perhaps 35 of its residents were still asleep, and those up and about didn't appear engaged in anything too industrious. However, this just made exploring easier, going round and round through interesting passages, hardly a soul in sight.
Though built of stone, the flowers and views of Armenzano made it an attractive town to visit, where one could easily enjoy a peaceful day, or life.
However, with miles to go, it was time to weave back through town to the main road, leaving Armenzano to enjoy its tranquility.
When on the road, setting a brisk walking pace meant covering about a kilometer every ten minutes, or nearly four miles an hour. The winding road itself carried very little traffic, and rose and fell gradually in most places. It clung to the side of Subasio in a way that offered few elevated views to the right, but the pastoral settings to the left made every turn or rise a point of charming discovery. And since the weather was close to perfect, the prospects of completing a full circle appeared most promising. Thus, I was less intimidated by additional caution signs.
Having already weighed the odds, and considering the tameness of the day, and traffic being almost non-existent, I dared to venture on, certain that if I could survive the next mile, the chances of making it to Spello and beyond were excellent.
Another sign. This one announcing the jurisdiction of San Giovanni. Please, no loud trumpet playing!
It's good the residents of this quiet hamlet have alerted travelers of their desire to remain a quiet hamlet. Some graffiti patron, perhaps in a moment of confusion, altered the sign to read "Ponte San Giovanni - Comune of Perugia." While the Perugia Ponte San Giovanni has a rich history, being where a young Francis of Assisi fought in the Battle of Collestrada, this is definitely not it. This San Giovanni belongs to the Comune of Spello, encouraging news for a hiker in transit. The trumpetless town is so peaceful, one side of the road greets travelers with an open field.
While the other side quickly takes one into the village.
San Giovanni seemed not as large as Armenzano, and appeared to be undergoing some renovation - thus a dirt alley with new utilities. I recall learning that in parts of Umbria, people may remodel the interiors of their homes, but the exteriors must remain as they were two, or five or eight centuries ago, when they were already old. So, as the work in San Giovanni proceeds, one may expect little change to the exterior streets and alleys, regardless of new interior amenities. This is how streets appeared way, way before the arrival of automobiles.
After a quick stroll through town, a look back reflects the castle-like continuity of its outside walls, built in a time when the ability to close up to the world in defense was likely a priority. A town would not want to appear any more vulnerable to barbarian invaders than, say, neighboring Armenzano.
At no point did walking become tedious or uninteresting. Rather, unexplained findings just fed my imagination. There was a small cave along the side of the road, and resting in the cave was an old cart.
By appearances, it had been there for decades, perhaps fifty years, or maybe much longer. It was finely decorated, with small rings along the side. Just how old was it? What was its purpose? What stories and adventures had it known? Was this the cart of a well-off farmer, or did it belong to traveling Roma? Is there someone alive who knows its history?
Time walking is time thinking, discovering and dreaming. Without computers, cell phones, televisions, and a myriad of other electronic devices, the imagination can just flourish.
I grew up in a New England town where, back in the mid-Twentieth Century days of transistor technology, there was a man who walked about with a radio on his shoulder. An odd sight at the time, he was tagged with the name Joe Radio. How strange, it seemed, that one would walk about attuned to distant wave lengths rather than one's fellow citizens. Turned out, it seems, Joe was on the cutting edge.
A kilometer sign gave encouraging news. I was drawing closer to Collepino, the last village before Spello.
It was now late morning and the sun was high in the sky, adding warmth to a good spring day. While not quite half way around Subasio, my progress would have been on schedule, if I had one. Soon, down a winding road, Collepino came into view.
While not remote in terms of accessibility, this side of Subasio offers the natural tranquility of a seldom visited place, as compared to the spiritual tranquility one may share with millions of pilgrims passing through Assisi. In Collepino there is much of the charm of Armenzano and San Giovanni.
Again, one is drawn in by the interesting shapes and structures and walls dating back to at least the Thirteenth Century.
Here there are a few people out and about. This lady seems to be returning from shopping, though I noticed no vendors when passing along the streets.
There was considerable beauty in the views on the "edge" of town, barely a step beyond.
Parts of Collepino were in place well before Columbus set sail. With water from Subasio, good soil and a modest climate, centuries passed with little change. Cities and nations fell, but Collepino remained.
As I was leaving town, I came upon a man sitting on a bench. Having spoken with hardly anyone for hours, I ventured a few words of limited Italian, saying "Collepino e bello." He responded in agreement, "Si, e bello."
Satisfied with the results of this candid dialogue, I continued on, allowing us both to return to our quiet solitude, reflecting on the beauty of this peaceful village. One more glance back at Collepino.
The terrain was changing, forests giving way to more orchards and distant views. Beautiful views, stretching across the valley to distant Foligno. It was one of those rare moments in life without irony. Olive trees, bearing thousands of branches, symbols of peace since the time of ancient Greece, creating about the most peaceful landscape imaginable.
Then, at last, Spello came into view.
Forgive me. I almost started in here about Spello. However, in fact it was still a couple of miles off, and splendid miles at that, of which the reader deserves at least a glimpse. So, please enjoy a tree in bloom.
And some olive trees with wildflowers.
Those are but tiny samples of a road into Spello filled with sublime, lovely views. Having walked past some 350 idyllic picnic locations, it became a little difficult to leave the rustic and rural behind. But, as the day was growing warm, and many miles lie ahead, it was time to continue on, with a sigh.
Now, at last, Spello was drawing closer, as seen over some olive trees.
Just before town was a busy roadside fountain where I would later refill a water bottle. But now it was time to walk through a gate into the ancient city, first populated by the Umbrian people before more recently falling under the Romans, in the First Century, B.C.
While Spello's rich history guaranteed there would be much of interest within her timeworn walls, this was the one locale in my journey with a specific treasure I was determined to see. Having viewed, over time, wondrous depictions of The Annunciation by Fra Angelico, Leonardo Da Vinci and Sandro Botticelli, I looked forward to finding Pinturicchio's work on the same subject in the Baglioni Chapel of the Spello's Church of Santa Maria Maggiore.
This was certainly a matter of personal preference, not to be taken as a slight to any of Spello's other special sites and works of art. However, after many hours and sixteen miles of walking, being now warm, hungry and thirsty, I started through town rather focused and determined to find this five century old masterpiece. After all, here was a chance to see a gem by a master of the Renaissance. And Subasio wasn't going anywhere.
But being focused is not the same as being wisely focused. My assumption was, if I walked the main road through Spello, which is a small city, I would soon come upon the church for which I was looking. Instead, I quickly was reminded of a few rules. Rule number one for jurisdictions on the side of Subasio is that, wherever one goes, one walks uphill.
Rule number two is that one will see amazing structures, likely with fascinating histories, that will leave one wishing for more time and thirsting for more knowledge.
Even the sidewalks are interesting.
Rule number three is that walkways going up eventually go down, and vice versa.
I need to interrupt the listing of rules to describe a roadside sign.
This appeared to be somewhat of an official posting, though I'm not sure if it reflected the opinions of an individual, a party or a jurisdiction. It's clearly an anti-war declaration. I'll risk translating a portion of it as saying, "One should use diplomacy. NATO is only an instrument of military and war, not of peace." I was intrigued by this sign and the challenge it posed, and wondered why such missives are not posted the world around.
Next came an interesting market.
I also passed a number of churches. Rule number four is, if a jurisdiction has been around more than twenty centuries, and is large enough to be a small city, it probably has more than one or two churches. Spello has at least twenty.
Rule number five: Enter a city at one end and chances are the place you're looking for will be at the other. Thus, it was with some relief, near the far end of Spello, that I came upon the large, old Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, thankfully open.
Inside was the treasure. (Photography is discouraged inside many of Italy's churches. This is an internet image.)
Extraordinary. I'll confess my favorite depiction is still the gentle, loving Annunciation by Fra Angelico, to be found in San Marco in Florence. But Pinturicchio's art is so magnificent in beauty and detail, it would be worth walking across Umbria to see. And all I had to do was walk across Spello.
Pinturicchio's works can be found from the Vatican to the Louvre and beyond, usually in large city art museums. But Spello, barely large enough to be considered a city, has the honor of being home to a number of his fine creations.
Now it was time to move back up and down through the city, observing more of its detailed architecture. The top of a tower.
Insignias on a wall, beneath faded art.
A lovely alley.
And an empty walkway.
Soon I was beyond the Spello gate, backtracking a short distance to the roadside water fountain. However, I noticed a sign indicating ruins of a Roman viaduct and an ancient road slightly higher up. I walked a short ways, and found what may or may not have been the old road.
Or the viaduct.
However, the hillside location meant one more fine view of Spello.
Stepping back down to the free flowing fountain, it seemed Subasio provides well for the people living on its perimeter, and likely has done so throughout history. She also provides well for weary travelers, with empty water bottles and eight miles to go.
Shortly thereafter I came upon another flowing fountain, artistically designed and likely with an interesting history.
After carefully making a couple of turns in search of my intended route, I found myself on one of the best walking roads I've ever encountered. It offered a direct path toward my destination, but was not so straight as to be uninteresting. It had practically no traffic. It had plenty of olive trees which, if I were to pass a million of them, would not lose an ounce of their peaceful beauty. Even the pavement seemed friendly, not radiating much of the sun's heat. Perhaps best of all, it offered a distant glimpse of Assisi, as it was the beginning of the final segment of walking around Subasio.
But, there were still miles to go. Well beyond Spello, I came upon another shrine, this one meticulously designed and decorated with fresh flowers.
Nearby was an image of Saint Francis, surrounded by permanent messages cemented in a stone wall.
Looking closely at the ceramic tile of the Saint surrounded by birds, one sees in the background Assisi on one of Subasio's foothills, with the Rocca Maggiore fortress sitting above the city. In the interest of historical accuracy, the Rocca Maggiore fortress may have dominated the skyline when Francis was born, but the townspeople tore it down while he was still young, an initiative in which he may have participated. Thus, it would not have been there while he preached to the birds, nor during the rest of his lifetime, and would not be rebuilt for more than a century.
Some roadside scenes are in near perfect symmetry.
Now most of the way around Subasio, some good views of the mountain came into sight, including glimpses of parts rising above the tree line.
Arriving at Capodacqua, I'm left to wonder if the tranquility of the area is directly attributable to another "no horns" sign, or if, in its absence, one would encounter bugle and trumpet players and marching bands.
Perhaps the 40 or so people who call Capodacqua home just really enjoy their quiet. It did lend to pleasant walking.
Soon I'm on familiar roads, walking through the outskirts of the city, looking forward to passing through one of Assisi's main gates.
Other books by author:
The Path to San Damiano
Donatello's Carving
The next, somewhat larger town was San Vitale, or Viole, a part of the extended Comune of Assisi. It was a welcoming sight, and offered an encouraging view of my destination drawing closer on the horizon.
The road passed under an interesting arch.
And by a pretty shrine, with another view of Subasio in the background.
By now the warm afternoon was well along and, while walking conditions were still good, seeing more people and cars about served as a reminder that only a few miles of travel remained. Though ready for rest and a good meal, I'm not sure I was ready to have such a wonderful stroll come to an end. Then notice of my destination was at hand.
"Pax et bonum" are the Latin words Francis used in greeting people. Translated, it's "Pace e bene" in Italian, as one still hears today. "Peace and goodness" in English.
Soon I'm on familiar roads, walking through the outskirts of the city, looking forward to passing through one of Assisi's main gates.
I go by the Basilica of Saint Clare, built of red Subasio stone, on this day providing refuge and shade for visitors.
One last climb, as home is near the top of these stairs.
Late afternoon. Home at last. Tired but pleased with a great adventure. How does walking around a mountain compare to climbing to its summit? Having been to the top of Subasio, and walked many of her trails, I can attest to the excellence of any hike one may choose. It's a wonderful mountain for walking up, down or all the way around. Her paths defy comparisons, as her beauty is boundless.
Finis
Other books by author:
The Path to San Damiano
Donatello's Carving
