A village on a clod of tuff that the badlands have been eating for centuries, reached only by a footbridge suspended over nothing: Civita, "the dying town" in writer Bonaventura Tecchi's phrase, has paradoxically become intensely alive — the small entry toll funds the fight against erosion. Inside: one square, the church of San Donato, cats, wisteria and silence.
Saint Bonaventure was born here; in December the living Nativity through the lanes is fairy-tale material.
Our tip: come early morning or at sunset, when raking light ignites tuff and badlands. And view it also from Bagnoregio's belvedere: from there you grasp the miracle.
