Umbria

While we were in Rome, my Italian friend took me on a day trip to Umbria, a medieval city atop a hill. The village reminded me of Cordes, France, where the steep climb up the cobblestone streets leads the pedestrian to a view of the bucolic surroundings.

Umbria was alive with creative thinking during the Middle Ages, as we gathered from the thousand some-odd man-made caves dug underground for storage space, workshops, pigeon raising, olive grinding, and other labors that the crowded above-ground city could not support. This innovative thinking resulted in an underground city just as big as it's earthly mirror image, which was only fully shut down at the end of the 19th century due to a bit of local corruption and an entrepreneur who pushed the boundaries on what was structurally sound.

After a tour of the caves, my friend and I spent our time above ground standing in awe of the Duomo and walking the silent streets away from the tourist square.

When we reached the other side of the city--after a mere ten minute walk--we looked at each other, trying to figure out what was causing our mutual feeling that something was different. No cars, no people, no barking dogs or wailing sirens. A total lack of noise. Coming from China's cacophony where not a second passes without the sound of a prolonged car beep, a phlegm-filled spit being rustled up, a bicycle bell ringing at you to move aside, or a street-side fight between two locals, this silence was both priceless and unsettling. But we enjoyed it.