Bergamo: The Not-So-Fun(icular) Way Up

Google Maps was a bit of a bitch to me today. Starting the day a little late as I needed some rest this morning, I entered the details of the funicular to the upper old town and blindly followed Google’s directions. It’s a very hot day in Bergamo today—aiming for around 35 degrees and quite humid—yet I’m keen to visit the UNESCO-listed upper town of the old city. Built, unsurprisingly, as all good fortress cities of yesteryear were, on the hill overlooking the city and surrounded by impressive Venetian walls, it’s the tourist highlight of Bergamo. A funicular takes visitors up the hill and through the wall—a welcome reduction in stairs to climb.

That is of course, unless Google directs you to the upper station and you don’t notice, since geographically on the map they look like the same spot—just vertically different. I didn’t realise until I was already well on my way uphill, navigating the quiet Sunday morning backstreets of Bergamo. Most places are still closed today—it is Sunday after all—except for the many barber shops I pass, which are doing a roaring trade clippering guys’ hair. Realising I was already halfway up, I pressed on, entering through the upper gate with an impressive view over the newer city below.

Sweaty and thirsty, I arrive by foot at the upper funicular station and watch a group of very fresh-looking tourists get off—not a drop of sweat in sight from their uphill climb. Thanks, Google. I make a beeline into the first café I spot, demolishing a slice of vegetarian pizza and a Coca-Cola. I needed that energy boost. Had I taken a moment to ponder, even briefly, I might have noticed the street full of other eating options—many looking a little fancier than the café my hangry eyes locked onto. Oh well, it was cheap and delicious anyway.

I imagine that I have one of those energy bars like characters in The Sims hovering above my head, and I see it rising to nearly full again after lunch. In a weird insight into my anxiety, I also imagine those bars above friends too—but in this version, they recharge based on whether my interactions with them are good or bad, like a friendship-o-meter. Imaginary bars aside, I take a leisurely wander around the UNESCO old town.

Like any old town built with old money, it’s got the standard fare. A central square dominated by important old government buildings or banks, with an oversized cathedral or two not far away keeping an eye on affairs. Streets that get narrower as they branch off each other, filled with stores now selling a mix of curiosities, gelato and sweet treats, with tiny bars and cafés that open up into larger spaces behind stone facades dotted here and there. I love a wander through an old town, even if I spend far too much time taking photos of the narrowness like I’ve never seen a laneway before.

I escape the heat with a little religious side quest into the cathedral. There seem to be two beside each other opposite the main square. I don’t know which is the “right” one to go into, but one has an angry man shooing people away from the entry, while the other doesn’t. My choice made for me, I follow the scent of incense wafting from inside and take a seat to reflect. By chance, my seat is next to a confessional box—or as the sign above labels it, *Penitenziere*. While obviously this is the place to go and do your penance, I can’t help but think of “penitentiary” when I see the Italian spelling. I guess they’re similar—both are punishments, one from God and one from the state.

I remember my school days at a Catholic school, having to think up something to be sorry for each time we visited the church for confession. Often I’d get a few Hail Marys for not having a properly thought-out sin—it’s like they wanted you to sin properly, not just because you were dragged there and forced. Joke’s on them now though—never once did I confess for my thoughts about the footy boys in their singlets and short shorts. Nor will I now, as I sin in church looking at the well-dressed Italian lads.

Religious interlude complete—can you really visit Italy without a little bit of God?—I did a slow lap of the old town while enjoying a few scoops of pineapple, ginger and lemon sorbet. Sorbet goes down really well in this heat. My short stopover in Bergamo running low on time, I decide to take the funicular down the hill, to at least allow me a ride on it. Google takes me on a much more direct route back to my hotel through the wider main streets, avoiding the winding maze of the lower old town. While my flight routes took me to Bergamo, I’m glad I got to explore its upper old town during this short little intra-European stopover—although, as I’ll soon find out, this stopover isn’t going to be as short as I originally planned.En savoir plus