The Passagiero in Perugia
The great thing about Italy,
and Europe in general, is that you can get everywhere by
train. The train stations are often right in the
center of town, so you don’t even need taxis or subways once you arrive. As students on holiday in Italy, The Wine-Oceros and I had visited the Verona of Romeo and Juliet, spent a magical few days in water-logged Venice,
had lunch underneath the porticoes of Bologna and were now off to Perugia in the heart
of landlocked Umbria. By train, of course.
We chose this ancient hill town because of a famous tradition we had read about, the nightly Passagiero. Perugia is a much smaller town than bustling Bologna that nonetheless exudes the same university ambience. Like an intensely flavorful Sangiovese, Perugia is a highly-concentrated version of Italy’s finest attractions, from the old cobblestone streets to the byzantine arches and domes that decorate the exterior of its buildings to the mosaics and frescoes (bright watercolors on wet plaster) that decorate the interiors to the crisp clean air to the intoxicating scent of fresh foods from the outdoor markets. You can eat and drink all day in Italy without getting fat. There is no place else on earth where this happens.
And if you’ll forgive our ongoing fascination with trains, we naturally took a day trip from Bologna, with the windows open to let the fresh air accompany us. Through Imola and Forli and Cesena, we probably could have stopped anywhere and enjoyed local wines served with the same hospitality as Bologna, but we had heard from others traveling the rails that Perugia was the place to see. So we waved at the farmers in the field and continued on our way.
Arriving in Perugia at midday, the Wine-Oceros and I strolled aimlessly through Old Town, our hunger growing with every step. Our ears were suddenly teased as we turned a corner to the sound of tumbling dice and a busy bistro. We found a table at the edge of the aisle, providing a stunning view of the unblemished hills with sunflowers and wildflowers of every color still standing proud this late in the season. Without hesitation a waiter brought two glasses of red wine, and quietly placed our menus on the table. We borrowed a backgammon board from the barkeep and ordered a simple plate of antipasto accompanied by crisp focaccia dipped in deep green olive oil. The Wine-Oceros let out one of his guttural, conspiratorial laughs as he shook the dice in their tumbler and closed the crucial four row with a six and a one. I countered with a brazen eleven that let me jump half the board with one of my most distant pieces. The Wine-Oceros then rolled a six and a one to close the seven point, blocking any more elevens. He eventually ended up doubling the betting cube late in the game, a double I should not have accepted but did. Let’s just say that lunch was on me.
The afternoon melted away effortlessly as we sipped our wine, munched on antipasto and continued our backgammon battles. We asked the waiter in a halting blend of French and English what wine we were drinking. Luckily he had some knowledge of both languages. He brought us the bottle, made by a local winery called Adanti and a local grape called Sagrantino, in the nearby town of Montefalco. It was an uninhibited wine that leapt out of the glass, begging to be drunk. The seemingly endless procession of small antipasti plates were the perfect match for the Sagrantino. The Wine-Oceros and I eventually noticed a general rustle of tables as everyone seemed to be leaving the restaurant simultaneously. We asked our waiter if the restaurant was closing, and he replied certainly not. Instead it was time for the daily passagiero, when the entire town walks the perimeter of the main plaza together. It’s like a siesta, only without the nap.
And what a place to stroll, this sleepy city on the hill. The clay in the city walls matches the color of sunlight perfectly, its hue mellowing as the sun gives way to early evening. During the day, that is, the walls look like a golden chalice that has just been polished. Toward dusk, they look like coals in a campfire that is finally burning out. It is a remarkable evolution, almost as though the architecture were a living, breathing entity. If only these walls could talk, and tell us what is it is like to be Perugia …..
I imagine it would be very fun, judging from the eclecticism of our fellow strollers. There were other students like ourselves, of course, simply caught in the flow of traffic with their hands contentedly in their pockets and the occasional sigaretta on their lips. There were happily-married elderly couples, getting their daily exercise arm in arm. There were professionals of all kinds (lawyers, storekeepers, etc.), dressed in colorful scarves and elegant berets, looking like the town aristocracy. We all walked together and talked about our day, in one giant circle, the buzz of conversation as warming to the heart as a great first date, when you know that you will be seeing one another again.
The passagiero: To journey without destination may sound odd, unless you are exactly where you want to be. And our first night in Perugia, the Wine-Oceros and I were happy as kids in a candy store. It was a Zen of the feet, joining the locals in their daily ritual, and we were ecstatic to be included. As the sun set, the townspeople slowly circled the plaza. Many eventually settled into an outside table at their favorite café, soon to be greeted by neighbors drifting by. We followed the local custom, occasionally pausing our promenade to stop for a glass of wine before rising to continue the nightly procession. The view from the end of the plaza overlooked the vineyards below, and as the sun set, the fields glowed in the toasty amber air. ..
A note on the wines of Perugia
Prized vines growing in hundreds of rows are one of the most common features of the hills in the province of Perugia, where the evolution of cultivation methods has led to the production of increasingly excellent wines. The appellation D.O.C.G., D.O.C. or I.G.T. is a reward for the very high quality achieved. Documents in the town hall regarding wine-making show that a well respected red wine was made in the area during the Middle Ages, but the history of wine in Perugia is much older, dating back as early as Etruscan and Roman times.
We chose this ancient hill town because of a famous tradition we had read about, the nightly Passagiero. Perugia is a much smaller town than bustling Bologna that nonetheless exudes the same university ambience. Like an intensely flavorful Sangiovese, Perugia is a highly-concentrated version of Italy’s finest attractions, from the old cobblestone streets to the byzantine arches and domes that decorate the exterior of its buildings to the mosaics and frescoes (bright watercolors on wet plaster) that decorate the interiors to the crisp clean air to the intoxicating scent of fresh foods from the outdoor markets. You can eat and drink all day in Italy without getting fat. There is no place else on earth where this happens.
And if you’ll forgive our ongoing fascination with trains, we naturally took a day trip from Bologna, with the windows open to let the fresh air accompany us. Through Imola and Forli and Cesena, we probably could have stopped anywhere and enjoyed local wines served with the same hospitality as Bologna, but we had heard from others traveling the rails that Perugia was the place to see. So we waved at the farmers in the field and continued on our way.
Arriving in Perugia at midday, the Wine-Oceros and I strolled aimlessly through Old Town, our hunger growing with every step. Our ears were suddenly teased as we turned a corner to the sound of tumbling dice and a busy bistro. We found a table at the edge of the aisle, providing a stunning view of the unblemished hills with sunflowers and wildflowers of every color still standing proud this late in the season. Without hesitation a waiter brought two glasses of red wine, and quietly placed our menus on the table. We borrowed a backgammon board from the barkeep and ordered a simple plate of antipasto accompanied by crisp focaccia dipped in deep green olive oil. The Wine-Oceros let out one of his guttural, conspiratorial laughs as he shook the dice in their tumbler and closed the crucial four row with a six and a one. I countered with a brazen eleven that let me jump half the board with one of my most distant pieces. The Wine-Oceros then rolled a six and a one to close the seven point, blocking any more elevens. He eventually ended up doubling the betting cube late in the game, a double I should not have accepted but did. Let’s just say that lunch was on me.
The afternoon melted away effortlessly as we sipped our wine, munched on antipasto and continued our backgammon battles. We asked the waiter in a halting blend of French and English what wine we were drinking. Luckily he had some knowledge of both languages. He brought us the bottle, made by a local winery called Adanti and a local grape called Sagrantino, in the nearby town of Montefalco. It was an uninhibited wine that leapt out of the glass, begging to be drunk. The seemingly endless procession of small antipasti plates were the perfect match for the Sagrantino. The Wine-Oceros and I eventually noticed a general rustle of tables as everyone seemed to be leaving the restaurant simultaneously. We asked our waiter if the restaurant was closing, and he replied certainly not. Instead it was time for the daily passagiero, when the entire town walks the perimeter of the main plaza together. It’s like a siesta, only without the nap.
And what a place to stroll, this sleepy city on the hill. The clay in the city walls matches the color of sunlight perfectly, its hue mellowing as the sun gives way to early evening. During the day, that is, the walls look like a golden chalice that has just been polished. Toward dusk, they look like coals in a campfire that is finally burning out. It is a remarkable evolution, almost as though the architecture were a living, breathing entity. If only these walls could talk, and tell us what is it is like to be Perugia …..
I imagine it would be very fun, judging from the eclecticism of our fellow strollers. There were other students like ourselves, of course, simply caught in the flow of traffic with their hands contentedly in their pockets and the occasional sigaretta on their lips. There were happily-married elderly couples, getting their daily exercise arm in arm. There were professionals of all kinds (lawyers, storekeepers, etc.), dressed in colorful scarves and elegant berets, looking like the town aristocracy. We all walked together and talked about our day, in one giant circle, the buzz of conversation as warming to the heart as a great first date, when you know that you will be seeing one another again.
The passagiero: To journey without destination may sound odd, unless you are exactly where you want to be. And our first night in Perugia, the Wine-Oceros and I were happy as kids in a candy store. It was a Zen of the feet, joining the locals in their daily ritual, and we were ecstatic to be included. As the sun set, the townspeople slowly circled the plaza. Many eventually settled into an outside table at their favorite café, soon to be greeted by neighbors drifting by. We followed the local custom, occasionally pausing our promenade to stop for a glass of wine before rising to continue the nightly procession. The view from the end of the plaza overlooked the vineyards below, and as the sun set, the fields glowed in the toasty amber air. ..
A note on the wines of Perugia
Prized vines growing in hundreds of rows are one of the most common features of the hills in the province of Perugia, where the evolution of cultivation methods has led to the production of increasingly excellent wines. The appellation D.O.C.G., D.O.C. or I.G.T. is a reward for the very high quality achieved. Documents in the town hall regarding wine-making show that a well respected red wine was made in the area during the Middle Ages, but the history of wine in Perugia is much older, dating back as early as Etruscan and Roman times.
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