Journalism // The Old Lady on the Hill (SUITCASE Magazine Vol. 24)

I travelled to the crumbling hilltop village of Civita di Bagnoregio, an hour and a half outside of Rome, in pursuit of stillness, silence and a window into a vanished world. I organised a stay for me and the photographer Lesley Lau at Corte della Maesta, a guesthouse packed with priceless art and artefacts in a former bishop's house owned by the psychiatrist Paolo Crepet and his partner Cristiana Melis. The resulting article was a meditation on the impact of overtourism in places of beauty and an insight into the curiously timeless ambience of the retreat the couple has created. The final article was published in the autumn 2018 edition of SUITCASE Magazine, The Slow Issue.

"It’s when I realise that the sound of birdsong is coming from within the kitchen, as opposed to the garden outside, that I begin to worry I might have actually fallen into a fairy tale.

Admittedly, it’s a thought that has been forming from the moment I too-enthusiastically bounded, suitcase in hand, up the steep pathway to the medieval village of Civita di Bagnoregio. Blame the head rush that comes from legging it up a vertiginous slope at speed – or perhaps the lingering princess fantasy brought on by the preceding weekend of Royal Wedding mania – but I’ve been dizzy with wonder ever since.

Stepping into Civita, you see, is akin to swallowing the red pill or tumbling down the rabbit hole. Nicknamed “the town that is dying”, its mere existence defies all logic and those who enter risk becoming so intoxicated by its otherworldly charms that they may never leave."
"Stepping into the kitchen, time instantly collapses. Formerly an ancient street, as evidenced by its soaring archways and vaulted ceilings, the room is a collision of objects from different eras and civilisations that tumble over each other in a visual cacophony.

The painting over the kitchen sink by the artist Piero Pizzi Cannella serendipitously matches one of two chandeliers, its cantilevered glass beads hanging down like the unravelling hem of a jazz singer’s dress. A 300-year-old wooden beam marks the fireplace, French copper pots and pans hang haphazardly from the walls, and above one doorway sits an authentic Roman tombstone inscribed “to Barbara” and with a motley crew of taxidermied birds perched atop it.

The effect is similar to wandering among an immersive theatre set where each object is a clue to some half-hidden narrative, inviting the viewer to fill in the gaps with their own imagination."
"Although abandoned for many years, and with a permanent residence of only eight people, Civita has seen a sharp rise in tourism in recent times with upwards of 20,000 visitors known to tread its cobbles over a weekend in peak season. With so much ancient history exposed and vulnerable, I can’t help but worry that tourism will be the next catastrophe to erode Civita’s spirit.

Paolo is more philosophical, however. “It’s life, you can’t stop progress. I remember walking here alone and only one bar being open, but I can’t only be romantic or nostalgic – this isn’t a museum. I’m not so selfish as to say that all this is only for me – I have to share it. If someone spends time here they will go back home with a little bit of joy, beauty and ideas.”

Despite his generosity of spirit, for me the best time in Civita is undoubtedly the early morning or late evening when the hordes depart and I’m left alone with the mist, the toll of the church bell and my own thoughts. Before we break the spell by leaving I retreat to the sanctuary of my room and listen to the rain drumming on the windows, the wind howling and absolutely nothing else."