Noontime Bells

Here in Sansepolcro time is not of the essence. People casually stroll along the streets enjoying the fresh air, warm smells of coffee, and the occasional whiff of pizza right out of the oven. But if you would like to know the time, all it takes is the chiming of the multiple church bells to let you know what hour, or half hour it is. I have become accustomed to hearing the melodic chiming of the bells and I cherish the fact that I can hear them out of any open window. They give vitality to the town and enhance its old world charm.

On Sunday a little before noon I was able to climb up the bell tower in the Cathedral of Sansepolcro, otherwise known as the Duomo. The Cathedral, dedicated to S. Giovanno Evangelista, was built in the 1300’s, and currently resembles the original Cathedral after renovations restored it to its original state. It is located just off Piazza Torre Di Berta, the main town square.

 

 I don’t use the word climb lightly. This was not the activity for the faint hearted. In the United States climbing towers, buildings, and monuments mainly consist of fairly wide stairs and spiraling staircases accompanied with handrails, warning signs that stress the health risks, and sometimes an elevator for those not up to the challenge. This medieval church and its bell tower were not built with this in mind. The staircases were narrow with open stair treads that opened out on to small landings that lead to the next staircase. Just like many other events the stairs were a fun new experience that gave a similar rush to extreme sports, and the feeling of not knowing what would come next. This pattern was sometimes interrupted by low over-hangings, sharp turns in the stairs, rope handrails, and the creaking of ancient wood. After about what I guess to be about four or five of these stairs, I arrived at the final one which lead up to an open trap door that even for my five foot, six frame required some maneuvering to fit through. All this seemed nothing compared to the view; three hundred and sixty degrees of burnt sienna mission tile roofs, church steeples, rooftop gardens, and the distant hazy hills that surround Sansepolcro. While I was looking at the landscape drums and trumpets could be heard from the streets announcing the Palio della Balestra, or the festival of the crossbow.  All during which a breeze streamed through the chicken wire protecting me from a terrible fall to the street and church roof below. I cannot even begin to describe the exhilarating feeling of staring out over the city and marveling at the landscape.

If the view from the bell tower wasn’t enough I was also able to hear the noon bells ring. The sound of the bells reverberating in my ears will certainly stay with me for the rest of my life. There were five men who rang the bells one of whom was a teenage boy, who I would later learn was named Frederico. Right before the bells commenced Frederico signaled that everyone should plug their ears. I was initially nervous about the sound, but I soon found out that some sounds only sound better the louder they get.  As the men worked in teams to ring the heavy bells, they would catch them as they reached the pinnacle of their swing, in order better to control the sound. The dance-like movements and choreography that it took to chime the noontime bells was similar to many performances I have seen, but it was more up-close and personal to me. Only about fifteen people were allowed in the campanile. After the first few tolls of the bells the whole campanile began to sway along with the bells. My initial reaction was to be concerned about the safety of the building, a very American thought process I am ashamed to admit, but then I concluded that this building had endured much worse than the daily ringing of the bells that have been in this town since the fourteenth century.  As I stood there mesmerized by the sound and this complex task that many churches have now automated. When the bells sounded their final “dong, dong, dong, dong” it sent a shiver up my spine; in that moment it was the only sound that I could hear as I looked out over the Tuscan landscape.

As I stood in awe of what I had just experienced, Frederico asked how I liked the bells. He appologized for his English and I also for my Italian. We managed to exchange names and converse a little. He was eager to talk to a “ragazza americana” and taught us some new italian words. I was able to take in a few more  moments at the top of the world before the treacherous climb down. One t-shirt and a few post cards later I was back on Via XX Settembre still in awe of the entire experience. Until later, Ciao!