Etruscan roads, medieval villages make enticing Italian landscape

SOVANA, Italy — The tourist brochure was almost as mysterious as the 2,500-year-old Etruscan roads and tombs carved deep into the Italian countryside.

"Approach the dado and semi-dado tombs," it instructed, in a stiff translation from Italian into wonderfully obscure English.

In a day of peering into ancient tombs and strolling the sunken roadways, I couldn't figure out what dado, much less semi-dado, meant.

It didn't matter. I just soaked up the mysterious, moody feel of this rural area of central Italy, a captivating mix of Etruscan ruins and medieval hilltop villages, of rolling fields and stone farmhouses edged by gnarled forests.

Deep in history

This part of southern Tuscany, in the Fiora River valley, was a stronghold of the Etruscans, a civilization that preceded the Romans and reached its peak around the 6th century B.C. Much about Etruscan life is unknown; among the most puzzling remnants are the "vie cave," the thousands-year-old roads cut deep into the ground near the tiny village of Sovana.

Some of these roadways, just a dozen feet wide, twist for almost a half-mile through the tuff, a soft volcanic rock. They're hemmed by vine-draped and mossy walls more than 40 feet tall in places. Even on a hot summer day, the sunken roads are dimly green and cool. Only birdsong breaks the almost cavelike silence.

Why did the Etruscans hack out these roads? Some archaeologists think it was for defense, so people could move between settlements sight unseen on the sunken roads (which have been further deepened by centuries of water erosion). Others think it was so livestock could be herded without straying. Another theory is that they were spiritual routes, connecting Etruscan burial grounds and other religious sites.

Whatever the reason, the roads are other-worldly places to walk, especially when they lead to the ruins of Etruscan tombs such as Tomba Ildebranda, where funerary rooms are carved into a three-story-tall rock bluff and adorned with temple-like columns.

The dead of powerful Etruscan families would have been laid to rest in such tombs, which dot the narrow, forested valley. Now they're eerie and empty, apart from a few decorative wall carvings. The riches that were buried with the dead, from jewelry to ceramic vases and bronze sculptures, were carried off over the centuries by tomb-looters or more recently to museums.

Medieval jewels

Full of the Etruscan past, I headed up to the nearby village of Sovana to see living history.

Like most of the starkly beautiful villages of this area, Sovana perches atop a narrow outcrop, built on high for better defense during the turf wars that swept the region for centuries.

On a hot summer afternoon, I was one of just a handful of tourists wandering through the village, where grandmothers sat sewing in the doorways of medieval stone houses while kids played soccer in the brick-paved street.

Unlike some parts of Tuscany that are swamped with tourists, this region remains mostly a tranquil, rural hideaway. It's off the beaten path, with no big, alluring towns such as Florence or Siena, the Tuscan urban jewels farther north. Public transport is scarce and it's about a three-hour drive from Rome on a coastal highway and then a confusing web of small, winding back roads. It doesn't have the grand country houses or rich farms of other parts of Tuscany because, until well into the 1900s, it was afflicted with malaria (from mosquito-laden marshes nearer the coast, since drained) and bandits.

But its layers of history, unspoiled countryside and excellent local cheeses and wines increasingly lure weekenders from Rome. And German tourists flock to the natural hot springs near the village of Saturnia and to a fancy spa hotel there.

But on a summer weekday, Sovana, home to less than 200 people, was a splendidly drowsy place, its stone buildings glowing golden in the sun. The only action was at the ice-cream shop, where a dozen people chose among a half-dozen homemade flavors, savoring them at outdoor tables under the trees.

Yet this village once was a powerhouse. Originally settled by the Etruscans, it became a medieval trading and agricultural center and the hometown of an 11th-century pope, Pope Gregory VII.

Two ancient Catholic churches testify to its past economic and spiritual power. Santa Maria is an austere, moody church with Gothic stone arches and a rare 1,200-year-old ciborium, a stone-canopied altar. At the end of the village arises the grand cathedral of San Pietro e Paolo, with soaring columns and ornately carved stone doorways, some dating to the 8th century.

Religious heritage

As in much of Italy, religion imbues this area, but it's not just Catholicism.

The nearby small town of Pitigliano still is known as "Little Jerusalem," thanks to the Jewish residents who once made up a fifth of the population.

Pitigliano huddles on a narrow tongue of land, its stone buildings arising seamlessly out of the rock. Dozens of Etruscan tombs are carved into the base of the cliff; some of the town's several thousand residents now use them as storerooms and garages.

Jews began settling in Pitigliano in the 1500s, building a synagogue, running shops and schools until Italy's 1930s anti-Semitic laws and the arrival of the Germans in World War II forced them to flee. Once hundreds strong, only a few Jewish residents remain in Pitigliano, spearheading the restoration of the town's synagogue and maintaining the centuries-old Jewish cemetery.

Beyond its Jewish history, Pitigliano is best know for its strong white wine. I happily checked it out in a trendy modern cafe, techno music thumping, that sat incongruously across from the town's 16th-century fortress.

There was more good wine — and church sightseeing — in another impossibly picturesque village called Montemerano, where cozy courtyards and geranium-bedecked terraces make it look like the perfect opera set.

I wandered into the town's church of San Giorgio, knowing nothing about it, to discover a treasure of art, from 15th-century frescos and wood sculptures to the painting nicknamed "Madonna della Gattaiola" — the Madonna of the Cat Door. The 15th-century painted panel, showing the Virgin Mary, at some point over the centuries was used as a farm-shed door, with a cat flap cut into the bottom. Now rescued, it's mounted, cat hole and all, near the altar.

Outside, as the sun sank into the hills, a dozen tables were set up in a narrow, cars-forbidden street for a local food festival. Delectable samples of sheep-milk cheeses and wines were handed out by their proud makers.

Two male police officers strolled along the street, then stopped, each with a glass of wine in hand, to chat animatedly with the best-looking woman at the fair.

One grinned at my camera, shaking his head: "No pictures, please, I'm working."

What a present-day dolce vita in this history-rich corner of Italy.

Kristin Jackson: 206-464-2271 or kjackson@seattletimes.com

P.S. Back home, I'm still confused about what's a "dado" and a "semi-dado" Etruscan tomb. In Web searches, dado is described as part of a column, as a decorated lower wall, even as a tomb shape. Who knows?