As the sun fills the valley below with soft, golden light, the town is still sleeping. She is dreaming about the time before the tourists and automobiles. Her snores are cooing pigeons, her breaths the wind through the blossoming fruit trees. Nothing else can be heard. Cats prowl on noiseless paws looking for leftovers – and pigeons.
Church bells suddenly ring out, breaking the hush – a Tuscan alarm clock. It's seven o'clock. But the town doesn't jump out of bed. She stretches and yawns, still wondering why tourists need escalators when the ancianas who have negotiated her steep hills for centuries never did. One of these white-haired ladies pushes open her shutters – sending the pigeons off in a squeaking flutter of wings. The cats look up with interest.
And then the town opens her eyes and smiles. Sun beams onto the church. Sparrows swoop in, chirping with glee as they swirl through the air above the Chiesa San Marco. The sparrows seem to say, “Buon giorno! Wake up! Wake up!” Cars appear from nowhere, snaking their way through the narrow streets. Whining as they strain up the more than thirty-degree slope. A man huffs his way up the hill, attempting to jog. “Ciao,” he gasps, pumping his strong legs against the stones. Delivery vans drop off crates of fresh fruit and vegetables. Street cleaners move through with their brooms, even though there is not much to clean. Perhaps they are just practicing for when the real tourist season starts.
This is the time to be up and about in the Tuscan hill-town of Cortona. The smell of fresh-baked bread leads you past the colorful clotheslines to the few shops that are open. Two bakeries provide bread and pastries for the handful of caffes. If you are a protein-eater, you won't find eggs here until noon – but if you ask nicely, one of the caffe owners may be willing to make you an omelette. And you will be quite satisfied come dinnertime when you can order a bistecca the size of your dinner plate.
Only one thousand people live within the walls of this town, which clings to the hillside like the lichen that clings to the red-tile roofs of the houses. An old fortress stands guard over them all. For three Euro you can climb up to the top story of this ancient building. Atop the crumbling stones, you are Maid Marian or Robin Hood, looking out at the ivy-covered walls that embrace the jumble of buildings and winding streets. From here you have the best view of Cortona. People move through the street. Dogs bark. The fragrance of earth and flowers rises up with the distant hum of machinas. The surrounding towns, look like red poppies strewn in the impossibly green valley below.
The spring rain has turned grass a deep, electric green. It seems as if someone Photoshopped the entire region, cranking up the saturation until it looks almost unnatural. The dusty-looking olive trees and puffy, white blossoms of fruit trees stand out in stark contrast against this atomic green backdrop. That is the only atomic thing you will find in this town, however. The three flags that Cortona flies are for Europe, Italy and Peace.
The massive city walls used to protect the citizens from neighboring hill towns, but now just serve as a romantic backdrop for sleepy Cortona. They are still impressive, especially when you consider that many of them are 2,500 years old, dating back to the Etruscans – the first peoples to settle this region. Beyond the walls are other, smaller towns. Some, like Torreone, are not much more than a cafe where thirsty bikers stop for some acqua while the local mailman sips a glass of wine.
A hilly, but beautiful, two-kilometer walk from Cortona's walls takes the adventurous visitor to the Ermeo de le Celle. The Celle is an old monastery that is still in use today. On the way there, you may catch glimpses of tents through the trees. These brightly-colored squares dot an open, grassy slope like wildflowers. Church and scout groups gather around a park, cooking lunch atop stone platforms. The view they get is spectacular.
A narrow road winds down from a cross at the top of the hill, past an olive grove to a bridge. Flowers line the road, placed there lovingly by robed monks. Across the small river, the residential part of the monastery rises up as if it were carved out of the cliffs. A waterfall feeds the river, tumbling over rocks and past a shimmering willow tree. Sitting there soaking in the quiet, it is easy see why St. Francis of Assisi spent time here, meditating along the banks of the river.
After the walk back, odds are you will be feeling hot and dusty, despite the paved road. The best way to alleviate this problem is a stop to the Dolce Vita gelateria. Gelato generally tastes pretty good after nearly 5 kilometers of walking in the hot sun, but this is some of the best stuff in Italy. Ice cream enthusiasts will probably end up going for seconds of this creamy, refreshing treat.
As the sun works its way down, the smell of woodsmoke filters up from the houses in Camucia, the town below where the train stops on its way between Rome and Florence. Shops that closed for siesta open up again for a few more hours. Families and couples stroll down the one flat street, Via Nazionale, browsing the art galleries and pottery shops. Children play soccer in the parking lots – the closest thing to a field the town can offer. Swallows dart above them, catching bugs in the pink twilight.
By dark, restaurants are about the only thing left open. Most are filled with tourists enjoying classic, flavorful Tuscan recipes. Some of the locals can be found sipping wine or coffee on the patios. The cats begin prowling again. Church bells stop ringing to preserve the quiet. By 11 pm, Cortona, content, closes her eyes and is asleep.
# # #
Coming up: Our Italy itinerary with ticketing links