Journey Into the Dark Heart of Italy
Maybe it’s time to give Italy the Lifetime Achievement Award when it comes to UNESCO World Heritage sites.
They just keep racking them up— 59 at last count, putting them into a first place tie with China. Keeping in mind, China is 32 times bigger. In Italy, it sometimes feels like any old hole in the wall could be designated ”of exceptional universal value. “
Actually, that might not be so far from the truth.
As you would expect, the Azzuri’s lineup of World Heritage sites includes Pompeii, the Colosseo and even entire cities like Venice and Florence. Clearly, these are not hidden treasures of history. They belong to the world, and the world is coming to see them. So you’ll need to get in line. Right behind those people getting out of the bus.
But on a list of almost 60 destinations, surely there must be some that lie a little out of the limelight. Are there places to visit where you can still have a sense of discovery? Maybe have a deeper, more contemplative experience?
Yes, there are. But beware. You may wind up going deeper than you expect.
I first learned of Italy’s most recent World Heritage site right here on Substack, in Melanie Renzulli’s always informative Italy In Your Inbox . I should note that Melanie’s post did not recommend a visit. Beyond an eye-popping photo, she didn’t have too much to say about the site itself.
Neither did a multitude of other news articles I saw about Area #59, which UNESCO has given the media-friendly name of “The Evaporitic Karst and Caves of the Northern Apennines”. The announcement of a new UNESCO designation seems to have become an end in itself. The PR machine of the local regione shoots out a press release long before anyone in the visitor information department can figure out what they have or how people can see it.
Despite being in the dark on some key details, I decided this was my moment to be a pioneer, first in line to see the new hot spot on the Heritage tour. I had a free day on the calendar. I just needed to figure out where and what this place was. I checked the UNESCO website:
This serial property is an unusually well-preserved and extensive epigenic gypsum karst terrain…over 900 caves…with over 62 miles of caves in total.
Oh. Evidently, we’re talking about a cave system that slices across Emilia-Romagna from near Ravenna on the East coast all the way into Tuscany. That’s a lot to cover in one day.
The upside is that most of the caves seem to be inaccessible, at least to the casual tourist. In fact, after several hours of tunneling down the Google search rabbit hole, I managed to turn up just 2 out of the 900, both located near Bologna. Unable to find any specific information about how to arrange a visit, I finally sent an email to an organization called Ente Parchi Emilia Orientale. A few days later, I had a response.
As my ironic brand of luck would have it, I was able reserve a spot on the last tour of the season to the Spipola cave, in the Parco dei Gessi in San Lazzaro. The cave is open for tours every Sunday, from April until early November. It’s then closed for five months, so as not to disturb the bats.
That last bit should have been my first clue that this was not like other cave expeditions I’d undertaken. Admittedly, I’m no Indiana Jones. But I have toured the Frasassi Caves, one of Italy’s best-known cave systems, which are near Ancona, just 90 minutes from our home.
Later I would learn from my fellow Spipola explorers that to refer to the Frasassi Caves, with their steel grated floors, interior lights and handrails in front of a serious cave explorer was like telling an equestrian that you’d once ridden the plastic pony outside of the supermarket. The Frasassi are “show caves”, while the Spipola caves are “wild”. Hence the bats, and a warning to come properly attired with hiking boots, something to cover your hair, and a willingness to get your hands dirty.
The email did offer the assurance that the journey was suitable to the whole family (clearly, they do not know C, who passed on the opportunity without hesitation), including children over 8. Even as I was being handed my hardhat (with headlamp) in the parking area above the site, I had little idea what I was wading into. I noted that none of us in our group of 10, which included an 11 year old, had been asked to sign a liability waiver. It seemed hard to imagine the expedition would involve much beyond a little bobbing and weaving.
In many ways, the most interesting aspect of the Spipola caves is their location, in a nature park only minutes outside of Bologna’s city center. From a hill that overlooks the city’s sprawl of office towers and apartment buildings, our ersatz von Trapp family traipsed across a lovely green meadow toward the forest below.
Only a few yards down the slope, you noticed a change in the ground beneath you. In fact, the terrain in this area is formed on gesso (gypsum), which has small crystallized rocks within it. The effect is a little like the flashy sidewalks in New York which sometimes mix in silicon carbide to make them sparkle.
Following our glittering path into the forest, we finally arrived at small metal door built into the side of the terrain. It looked more likely to lead to a maintenance closet or a sewage system than a site of worldwide significance.
Despite having seen plenty of movies warning us not to open old rusty doors like this, we all stepped in one by one, leaving our green, verdant world of sunlight and solid ground behind. Things would go downhill from here.
Way downhill. For the next several hours, we would be careening, crawling and clutching our way into the abyss through a midnight black mud canal. This was not a matter of getting your boots dirty. Everything in the cave— floor, walls, and ceiling— was coated with a thick, primeval ooze.
Other than the 11 year old, who was made for this type of thing, we were all struggling. Feet slipping, hands grasping for a grip, sliding backward. And when we finally squeezed through some impossible crevice into one of several “rooms”, we saw:
Not all that much really. A lunar landscape of huge boulders—as if wandering around a fallen Aztec kingdom in the dark. In fact, gypsum was once called “moon stone” because of its white, pale color.
But apparently, a gypsum cave does not contain much in the way of stalagmites and stalactites, those cake decorator gone mad formations that are the usual highlights of a cave tour. This is like a Broadway musical with no singing or dancing. We did see some bats hanging around. Apparently one was a blond bat, which is quite rare. She did not seem to be having any more fun than the rest of us.
I had to wonder if a UNESCO official ever actually took this tour. I kept picturing a stone-faced European official in a blue suit caked with mud, clutching his notepad and checking off whatever qualifications are required to be a world heritage site. All the while thinking to himself, “Wow. I really wish I got the Venice gig”.
After we slid on our bellies along a precipice into the final, and furthest room, the guides pointed out some soot stains on one of the stones. In the late days of WWII, after Italy had been taken by the Allies, the Germans launched a fierce bombing campaign on Bologna and the surrounding hills. The San Lazzaro community already knew of the caves, which had been discovered in 1932. So they descended into this cavern, and remained there for 40 days and nights, as the bombs shook the ground above them. I think I’d rather have been in the Ark. At least you would have had weather.
Having shared this story, the guides instructed all of us to extinguish our headlamps and asked for a few minutes of complete silence. When that last light goes out, you are plunged into a nothingness so vast it swallows you whole. You are more than 500 feet below ground. Millions of years ago, when the Adriatic Sea covered all of Bologna and its surrounding suburbs, the stones above you would have been the floor of the sea.
I know quite a few people who believe that to be in the middle of Manhattan is to be at the center of the world. At certain points in my life, I probably felt the same. But it turns out that when you really do approach the center of the world, things don’t get more hectic, the lights brighter, or the voices louder.
Instead, things get quieter and darker. Until all that’s left is an immense black void and the sound of water dripping and an awareness of your own breathing.
I don’t see the St. Marks Square or Positano crowd ever opting for a Spipola visit, unless someone thinks that a selfie as a mud soldier will really pull in the likes. But it raises an interesting point. Is there a place in our society for an experience that doesn’t translate to any other media— that can’t be photographed, or even adequately described?
Leave it to the country with more UNESCO World Heritage sites than any other— most of them maximalist monuments like the Colosseo or the Duomo—to sneak one in on the minimalist side.
It may not be anyone’s dream of an Italian holiday.
But that’s okay. The bats need their sleep.
I only made it through because I knew I had to call everyone and report back. Otherwise I’d still be down there.
I also follow the FAI page and look for the wonderful places that are opened on special occassions.