For 4 Euro and 20 cents – about $6.00 – each way, I was able to hop on the train and take a 45 minute ride to Bergamo, east-north-east of Milan.

Amazing amazingness. I’m still picking my chin up off the floor. I’m in awe that I can spend just a few dollars and in less than an hour be walking around in a walled city up on a hill, that was occupied by the Romans in the second century B.C.

They say that the name “Bergamo” has Celtic origins from the word “Bergheim”, “Home on the Mountain”. From what I read, the Celts inhabited the city and built the wall before the Romans took possession. And the story goes on from there.

I arrived at the train station in the “cittá bassa”, the lower city of Bergamo, then started walking in the direction of the upper city, the “cittá alta”. The two are quite separate and distinct from each other in appearance and identity. When I reached the lower “funiculare”, or tram station, I hopped on. I wanted to get UP.

As I walked from the train station toward the “Cittá Alta” I caught this glimpse of the city above me.

By 11:00 in the morning I was walking on those roads made of upended, round cobbles. They’re actually quite uncomfortable to tread on, but they’ve also been designed with footpath-wide stripes of flat stone. How smart!

In these towns, it’s a thrill to wander the main route and browse the shop fronts, but also – even more so – to get away from main street and explore the back roads.

Would you ever see this in the U.S.? An animal’s leg, hoof-on, in the shop window? When a customer comes in, the store clerk steps over, carves away at the uncooked, aged hock, wraps up the meat and then goes on about the day.

The imprinted cheeses are beautiful and I like the packaging on the (moldy) pancetta bound with wood.

How could I NOT come back and buy some of this chocolate torte to bring home? It’s DENSE!

This is a view of the incredible places on the sweeping curve of the hillside, behind the wall.

Towns like this beg to be explored, and the little “trattorie” beg to be sampled.

Bergamo reminds me of other places I’ve visited: San Gimignano, Siena, Venezia, Monteriggioni, Lucca, St. Angelo… There are hardly much more than footpaths in a rabbit warren fashion within the bounds of these cities. One car CAN fit on the streets of Bergamo, but just barely, and with difficulty if there’s also a pedestrian trying to get through. (Some of the cities I just listed don’t have any cars within them!) The narrow, shaded, no-end-in-sight passages generate such intrigue. What’s around the next bend?

There’s fresco decoration just under the roofline of the house on the left. The round pebbles would provide good traction, but the flat stones at left are so much more comfortable to walk on.

Park where you can. These homes look out over the valley below.

This is the side wall of the convent of the Domenican Nuns. I love their splash of color!

Why is the road leading to the convent called the “Way of the Vaginas”? (I’m sorry, but the question just had to be asked.)

One of the things that so excites my mind is the layering of history in these towns, a result of demolition, restoration, remodeling, war destruction, weather, repair, embellishment.

Left to right: street, curb and sidewalk.

Some doors have fresh coats of paint. Some show the patina of wear, hand oils creating a sheen from use.

A walking town on a hillside. Ideal for one’s health.

The construction crane is out of place with the old stone, but then again, it mimics the towers around it.

Late in the afternoon, I found my way to “La Rocca”, a tower, museum and military memorial. ALWAYS climb to the top of a tower in any city you visit!

At the end of the day, having explored the city and eaten a good meal, my camera battery was flashing red and I shot a few last images as the afternoon light waned. This door (below) caught my eye and demanded that I push the battery for just one more shot. When doing so, a man stopped to chat, saying that he, too, likes the old doors and is a sometime-painter. We talked about the longevity of wood versus stone and the absence of such ancient structures in the U.S. He asked where I’m from and when I told him I’m an American from Seattle, he said “But you speak such good Italian!” I smiled. We shook hands and wished each other well.

A painter that also loves the old doors.