I was in my second year of middle school when, on a school trip, I found myself in front of the splendid façade of the Basilica of Santa Maria di Collemaggio in L’Aquila, Abruzzo. The memory is still crystal clear, although some 34 years have passed.
On 27 September I gave a talk on sustainable architecture, prefabricated timber buildings and low-energy buildings; it was a chance to rediscover the beauty of places so dear to me. The city, struck by a powerful earthquake at 3:32 am on 6 April 2009, was badly damaged. Nine years later the situation is still very difficult: walking through the historic centre you meet countless workers, many façades are still in ruins, and in the great cathedral square the skyline is still dominated by cranes. It is truly strange to think that a valley so sheltered by the rugged hills around it could be devastated by an earthquake; the feeling is quite the opposite – you tend to think those mountains protect it from any disaster. I get the same feeling from the mighty walls of the castle, which strikes me with the absolute modernity of certain architectural elements, the famous “orecchioni” (ear-shaped bastions): volumes designed to better withstand cannon fire during sieges and war.
My walk continues with no particular destination, and I reach the square with the famous Fountain of the 99 Spouts, another marvel of this city. Here too, in a space designed and built centuries ago, the architecture is modern: this ancient place is welcoming and rarely elegant, a unique urban space, and it is easy to see why it has always been a place to meet. An exceptional lesson in architecture at urban scale – as often happens when we visit the wonders of our country.
At the end of my wanderings I find myself at the start of the tree-lined avenue that leads to and frames one of the greatest examples of Romanesque architecture in central Italy: the Basilica of Santa Maria di Collemaggio. I walk along it with the same wonder that filled my eyes 34 years earlier, and at the end I reach the great lawn that serves as the church’s forecourt – the same bright green carpet on which I sat cross-legged and played with my classmates as a boy. I feel a very strong emotion, one I was no longer used to.
Suspended in time, I reach the venue where, as scientific speaker, I am about to present the studio’s latest work; many colleagues have come, and their interest is very rewarding. It was wonderful to return to L’Aquila. The extraordinary, eternal beauty of this place is greater than the destruction still visible along its streets.
Goodbye (hopefully not for another 30 years): today I raise a glass to your Rebirth! Thank you, L’Aquila, and heartfelt thanks to the people of L’Aquila!
