The Disappearing Church
I first saw what I thought was a church while standing at the top of the hill that faces the ancient town of Matera. Referring to the town as ‘ancient’ is not an overstatement. Estimated to have been inhabited since the tenth millennium BC, the area is one of the longest continually inhabited areas in the world. Standing at the top of the mountain, I could view the rock city, the many caves scattered in the surrounding area and a few rock churches built into the mountainside. Some were more obvious than others. But I was sure I could see a church. The pointed shape of the bell tower, the small stone roof perched out of the cliffside, I was sure of it. But I was on the top of a hill and it was across a small valley in the distance. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get there.
Aside from the former dwellings in the natural landscape, the town of Matera is a masterpiece in the art of disorientation. The small former cave dwellings, referred to as ‘sassi,’ are scattered indeterminately throughout a small white stoned village. Streets that you thought were going down the hill turn out to be heading up it, taking the lane to the right might get you to a spot on the left, alleys that you thought you already went down turn out to be dead-ends and what you thought were dead-ends end up being the right way to go.
I felt like setting down some breadcrumbs to mark my trail. If I decided to do so, I could use the town’s eponymous bread called ‘Matera Bread.’ Matera bread, in terms of ingredients, is the same as most other breads however its defining feature is that it seemingly has no distinct shape. Just a hunk of hard, crusty bread resembling a featureless Disney monster. It’s as if they were trying to remind visitors that the town is so old that their bread was invented before shapes were.
On my second afternoon I decided to venture to the hillside facing the ancient city to view the town from a different vantage point. Jumping the gate to get to the main trail, the path quickly zig-zagged down the hill to the river. I crossed the rope bridge. It shook side to side with every step. I then began the ascent up the opposing hill to the viewing area.
It should be noted that up until the 1950s Matera was a place of poverty. Locals were extremely poor and were afflicted by the likes by malnourishment and dysentery. The sassi were uninhabitable slums and the people who lived there had incredibly difficult lives. However one can only assume that all that dysentery must have done wonders for the natural landscape; the soil in the area appears to be very fertile. Walking up the hill I was captivated by masses of vibrant vegetation and the array of wildflowers that poked out of the hillside. Looking on from the main town, the hill looks simple and green with the occasional clump of cactuses. Up close though, there was an overwhelming abundance of colour. Violet and lilac flowers bursted out of the fertile soil beside clumps of maroon-coloured bushes and pale, yellowy-green shrubs. In amongst the lush countryside were patches of white rock that broke off into sharp shards like a crunchy sfogliatella.
As I reached the top of the hill I observed the view overlooking the stone town across from me. The white pale stone of Matera reminded me a lot of Jerusalem stone. I was not the only one who thought this, I later discovered. Mel Gibson filmed ‘The Passion of the Christ’ in Matera in 2004. Originally Gibson wanted to film in Rome however, having realised that ‘The Lizzie McGuire Movie’ had already been filmed there and that the plot - Lizzie’s transformation into Italian pop star Isabella as a result of Paolo’s insistence during a school trip after graduating middle school - was too closely aligned to the events preceding the death of Jesus Christ, Gibson chose Matera instead. He was afraid critical comparisons would be made between the two films, and I can imagine why. I think Mel Gibson’s position to use Matera as a stand-in for ancient Jerusalem was a good opinion to have and one, like all of Gibson’s opinions, which I support unreservedly.
Back on top of the hill I started determining my route of descent to get to the church in the valley below. There was a vague path heading down the mountain on a different face to where I came up. But it appeared to head in the direction of the church, so I started heading down it. Like other vague, unmarked paths I have taken in the past, this one slowly became less obvious and eventually disappeared into the landscape. Thankfully though this hillside does not have any trees on it so I was never really lost, just inconvenienced. I eventually got down to the river and realised that there was no safe place to cross it up so I plodded back down the river to the rope bridge I had originally crossed on, crossed over it and headed back into Matera to get something to eat and reassess.
After lunch I again jumped over the gate to the main trail and started heading upriver. I reached a more realistic river crossing near where I thought the church must have been. I analysed the steps I needed to take, took a deep breath and hopped from stone to stone, amazed by how dry I was on the other side. I followed a trail. It took me uphill. I walked for a while but, no church. I must have passed the church already. So I headed back down again. Back at the river, I looked up and down the area off of the riverbed. No church. Had someone moved the church? Had I been mistaken and really it was just a rock formation that looked like a church from a distance? Forlorn, I crossed back over the river and started making my way home. I accepted that I would never know if there really was a church there.
I continued walking back, each step a reminder of my failure. But then I remembered I had taken a picture at the top of the hill. Maybe I could align what I saw at the top of the hill with what I was seeing down below. I checked the picture, there was definitely a church nearby. From the top of the hill it seemed to align with a stone wall running along the edge of the river. I decided to hop across the river once more and follow the stone wall up. Made of grey stones and without mortar, the wall had been swallowed by the vegetation surrounding it. After a minute walking along it I got there. The church existed.
I later learned that the rock church of Madonna of Monte Verde was estimated to have been built in 1583. The church had been built into a cave and so really was just a facade built over the natural enclosure. The stoned fence I was walking on probably was the surroundings of a farm as inside it these days were a range of different fruit trees. It was exciting to finally reach the church of the green mountain after a day lost on the green mountain.
