Bergamo: A City of Surprises

Tweet

Expect the unexpected. This is our mantra when we travel abroad. Lost luggage, misplaced reservations, poor directions, delays at the airport-all are possible, but so are unanticipated pleasures.

It was just an overnight trip, a convenient stop en route to Malpensa Airport in Milano. We had booked one night in the Hotel Excelsior San Marco in Bergamo, but this quick stop turned out to be one of the highlights of our vacation.

This was our only foray into Lombardia, ranked the third wealthiest province in Italy. Its territory extends as far north as the Lakes Region and as far south as Cremona, and contains some of the most varied and spectacular countryside in Italy--beautiful mountain vistas, lush valleys, and spring-fed lakes. Wealthy and conservative, the area has the dubious honor of producing infamous political leaders and outstanding agricultural products, most notably its butter, cheese, risotto, and salumi. The rich Taleggio and pungent Gorgonzola cheese are produced here, as well as San Pelligrino water. It's also an industrial and banking hub.

Bergamo is not the quiet, conventional city we expected. This Alpine village high above Milano is literally split in two. The città bassa (the low city) is characterized by classic modern buildings, wide roads, dense traffic, and extensive opportunities for shopping. The città alta (the high city) is a medieval walled village perched on a rocky escarpment overlooking the stunning Lombardia countryside. After a quick walk around the lower city, we took the funicular to the città alta. The cable car was filled a group of fun-loving retired couples, joking and telling stories, which helped put us in the right mood. When we stepped out of the funicular into the Piazza dei Scarpi, we were transported to another time and place.

Unlike the lower town, Bergamo Alta is a snapshot of old-world Italy. Pedestrian-friendly streets lead to public squares with splashing fountains, a botanic garden, medieval churches, and a world-class art museum. Winding cobblestone alleys connect stone buildings, some beige, pink, or gray, dating back to the Twelfth Century. High arched windows are framed with lace curtains, shutters and flower boxes ready for spring planting. But at that moment, we were more intrigued by the smell of bread and cakes.

Tantalized, we followed the scent to a bakery right on the Piazza dei Scarpi and sampled the light, buttery cookies called lingue di gatto. "They're named cat's tongues because of their shape," I told my son who was delighted with the crisp, delicious biscotti. Equally surprising was the local confection polenta e osèi-a golden dome of polenta decorated with a nest of birds made from chocolate, hazelnut cream and marzipan. We later learned this dessert commemorates a famous local dish, now outlawed, made with polenta and songbirds.

We walked along the main road, the Via Gombito, lined with specialty shops. Well-dressed Bergamaschi, some pushing strollers, others with designer dogs or ecologically-friendly mesh grocery bags, stopped to chat and shop. There are no big-box stores here. Family-owned shops display luscious fruit, cheese, meat, and salami. The coffee shop roasts and grinds beans stored in burlap sacks and barrels. These friendly owners are eager to talk and share their knowledge of the local produce. A greengrocer told us that his sweet clementines are available all year.

Although we would have liked to eat our way across town, there was more to see. We took a long walk around the perimeter of this fortress town, invaded and occupied by the Gauls, Romans, Longobaords, Franks, and Venetians. More recently, the Austrians ruled until the Italian unification in 1859. The Venetian walls and the stone gates are still standing. Centuries of domination have left their mark not only on the architecture, but also on the psyche of the native Bergamaschi, who say (so I've heard) that they look east towards Veneto for inspiration, but turn their backsides to Milano.

If we had more time, we'd tour the renowned Galleria dell'Accademia Carrara, which displays one of the best art collections in Italy, including works by Bellini, Botticelli and Fra Angelico. But at that moment we were more interested in food. On a recommendation from a gourmet guidebook, we hiked over to the Trattoria Tre Torri, given high marks for its authentic and unpretentious cuisine, but the door was locked even though it was a few minutes past the scheduled opening time.

We decided to exercise some patience and wait. I'm glad we did. In typical Italian style, the chef strolled up twenty minutes later, whistling, keys in hand. With a smile and an apology, he unlocked the door and asked us in Italian, "It's going to take some time. Do you mind the wait?" No problem. After slicing some bread for us and pouring a small dish of dipping oil, he put on his apron and starting chopping the garlic and tomatoes for our pasta sauce.

I'll never forget the meal: a crisp garden salad followed by plates of homemade ravioli and gnocchi that melted in our mouths. But the polenta concia was the real surprise. The cornmeal flour was slow cooked over a low heat in a big copper pot called a paiolo. One taste and I was hooked. Forkfuls of warm polenta were laced with strands of melted fontina and parmegiana cheese. I had never tasted anything like it. Delicioso.

We paid the bill, shook the chef's hand and thanked him for an amazing meal. Outside, a light mist was falling. The streets were silent, beautiful, gleaming. In the funicular, we studied the città bassa spread out before us, glittering like sunlight on water.

A moment, a memory, and a taste to savor for a long time.

Photographs copyright © 2006 by Lisa Barelli. This article originally appeared on www.travelblogs.com. Republished by permission.