In Italy, Ghost Towns are Real

My love for dying villages is profound and bittersweet. Here are my four favorites.

Earthquaked church at the top of Bussana Vecchia that I fell in love with. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

In a very real sense, a way of life in Italy is about to be lost forever.

The older generations of Italians—the ones that attend church services and populate this country’s hundreds of decaying villages—have been decimated by Covid-19, but unlike other tragic events in history, their passing doesn’t make way for a younger generation to take their place. Thousands of churches stand empty. Younger Italians are, taken on the aggregate, not a church-going bunch. I constantly wonder what will happen to church services when at long last no one is here to attend them.

Bussana Vecchia, forever imperiled by the local authorities. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

Nowhere is the absence of the oldest Italians more keenly felt than in medieval Italian villages—2,300 at last count—that are being slowly abandoned. Ghost towns (the Italians call them città fantasma) are my personal catnip. As a writer, a historian, and yes, an introvert, few things in life bring me greater pleasure than to wander weed-strewn cobblestone streets grimly reminding myself that things remain, but people do not. We know how this story ends. We’re all going to die. We buy life on credit, and then comes a day when the bill is due.

Such happy thoughts.

Yet another breathtaking and labyrinthine alleyway in Bussana Vecchia. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

But I would prefer for that bill to never come due for Italians. Unfortunately, Italy has not only achieved zero population growth, after the depredations of Covid, it may very well be operating at a deficit. The biggest reason for that is money. Women have been disproportionately hit by post-pandemic unemployment. Italy doesn’t have months of paid maternity leave. And Italian women simply aren’t having children in their twenties anymore. At forty, a woman is usually limited to having just one or two.

There is also a diaspora of educated young Italians who live abroad for work. Jobs are hard to find here, especially ones that pay anything approximating what we think of as a living wage in the United States. This, too, leaves an alarming number of medieval villages to rot atop their rocky cliffs. Italians like the shiny and new. Not unjustifiably, they prefer the conveniences of a modern apartment, not the headaches of a medieval palazzo.

The ghost town of Celleno, which we had all to ourselves. Introvert paradise! Photo by my John Arnold.

That said, here are my four favorite Italian ghost towns, some of which have been repurposed into artists’ colonies or tourist hotspots. For you seekers of the poetic and beautifully desolate, I give you:

1. Civita di Bagnoregio (City of the King’s Bath)

   The beauty of this “dying city” borders on the surreal, but traversing the 300 meter suspension bridge to get there takes real grit. I was huffing and puffing (while proudly trying to hide it) by the time we were even halfway up, but when we finally arrived, which was shortly before sunset, we had the place to ourselves.

   

   At the top of the suspension bridge of Civita di Bagnoregio, THIS. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

   The Etruscans settled here more than 2,500 years ago, a strategic position that gave them 360 degree views of the entire valley. Unfortunately, wind and water erosion, along with frequent seismic activity, is causing Civita di Bagnoregio to gradually crumble. Make no mistake—some people still live there. Italians tend to take a somewhat skeptical and fatalistic view of government pronouncements on such matters. You will find plenty of bars, trattorias, art galleries and museums. Worth the schlep!

2. Celleno (pronounced: Chay-LANE-oh)

   

   Italy is at her best when she is allowed to exist in an atmosphere of benign neglect. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

   Not far from Civita di Bagnoregio is this forgotten little borgo fantasma that doesn’t get but a fraction of the attention heaped on its more famous brethren. The centro storico (historic center) of Celleno is small and deserted, which is sooooo my cuppa. With the sun setting behind its crumbling walls, I felt as though I were under some kind of spell, mindful of the lives lost here to malaria, epidemics, landslides, and the final coup de grace, an earthquake in 1931. The maze of alleyways leading up to the remains of a castle, and some of the churches, like San Donato, hearken all the way back to the 1200s.

   

   From long long ago: Celleno. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

3. Monterano

   

   In the chalk that leaches from those old marble walls, this tree grew inside an abandoned church. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

   Monterano is a true ruin, and requires a bit of a hike to get to. Why is it worth the bother? One word: BERNINI. 17th century Italian sculptor and architect Gian Lorenzo Bernini is the god of my idolatry. His statue, The Rape of Persephone, can be seen at the Galleria Borghese in Rome. You must go. You will never be the same again.

   

   Why do artistic, sensitive, introvert types love ruins? Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

   Political instability in the area of Monterano, most of it having to do with the disintegration of the papal state, contributed greatly to the fluctuating fortunes of the noble families that lived there. Finally, in 1770, malaria killed off most of the local peasantry, and in 1798-99, the French army burned whatever buildings were left.

   

   I’m not sure what kind of wizardly Bernini used to make his statues so unforgettable, but I actually KNEW this was a Bernini before discovering it was, indeed, his work. He’s that remarkable. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

   In addition to the glorious, albeit ruined, architecture of Bernini, you will see his lion statue and fountain and know you are in the presence of greatness. Bring bug spray and water. There are no bars or kiosks, and Monterano is all the better for it.

4. Bussana Vecchia

   

   Ligurian artists’ colony amid the ruins of Bussana Vecchia. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

   One might question my adding Bussana Vecchia to this list of borghi fantasmi since it is occupied by some thirty artists now, but the village was abandoned in 1887 due to a massive earthquake. Only later in the late 1940s did people rediscover its astonishing beauty, surrounded as the village is by lush countryside and the brilliantly blue Ligurian sea. To go there is to feel oneself perfectly serene, although the climbs are steep and often jagged. Despite the presence of the International Artists’ Village, you are not likely to meet up with anyone except the occasional tourist. The Italian government, in a fruitless attempt to empty the village, ordered the destruction of first-floor stairways and rooftops, but the residents of Bussana Vecchia barricaded themselves and refused to leave. Attempts to dislodge them continue to this day, with threats of eviction, the levying of taxes, and constant harassment from the local municipality, which is really misguided since artists rebuilt Bussana Vecchia and need affordable housing in order to survive.

   

   Adorable little hobbit house in Bussana Vecchia. Photo by Stacey Eskelin.

   Are there any ghost towns, Italian or otherwise, that tickle your fancy? If so, let me know in the comments below.