From the top of the
Masada fortress, at the shore of the Dead Sea in Israel, one can clearly see
(in the low left corner) a camp of the Roman legion (Figure 3):

Figure 3: The view from the
Masada fortress.
One can see similar
structures along the north border of the Roman Empire: they are connected by
straightforward, almost soulless, limes or border roads. This is also typical
for ancient Aosta (Northern Italy), American Fort Ort and Russian Fort Ross in California.
These Roman “cities” and roads between them are outright and totally
uninspiring: the roads between true cities should be winding and twisted with
spectacular views opening at every turn as described (Figure 4).

Figure 4: The reconstruction of a
Roman military settlement.
“Les Chouans” by H. de
Balsac who was, as it strikes me, the conceptual and aesthetic inspirer of Paul
Vidal de la Blanche. In the Roman tradition before 4–5th centuries a.d., a
municipium was a reinforced castle (“castel”, “castro”, anglicized “chester”)
with municipes – the guards who defended the castle ready for hand-to-hand
fight (“muni” conjugates similar to “mani” – hand), headed by a consul (count,
liege lord) and a proconsul (viscont), accompanied by curiales (escort), lodged
at curia (yard), which also includes senatores (noblemen and other free
people), a praetor (prévôt, spiritual
father) and quaestores (liege lord’s officers). This whole infrastructure
comprised a consulatos – a county, i.e. a territorial unit that ensured the
corporeal independence and resilience of a town and its liege lord. These war
settlements, stigmas on the face of the Earth, were never to become true
cities. Along many of the Alpine roads one can see lonely
rocks-castles-fortresses. On the slopesides of the valleys, high over the
villages, vineyards, gardens and fields, one can see castles rising. These were
not built for defense. The highborn lords of the castles were typical
racketeers. The castles were disposed within a 10-kilometer distance in sight
of each other. Imagine a merchant's or ambassador's caravan moving at the
bottom of the valley. Spotting the cavalcade from distance, a bandit baron with
his chivalrous gang descends to the road and gently offers his escort service:
“The places are not safe here, some robbers are messing around”. If travelers
agree, they have to pay a hefty sum of money by Geleitrecht (“the Escort
right”) [18-20]. And this happens all along the way. If the merchant stubbornly
refuses, a signal is sent from one castle to the other, and the merchant will
be robbed at the next standing. Although the robberies were usually peaceful:
bandits fell back before strong guards. Higher above the castles one can see
recluse skeets, chapels, monasteries. Such height is not because of their
arrogance but due to their spiritual seeking of God, and to be further from us,
sinners. One should say that the medieval world is all about barriers, borders
and traps: there were 60 pikes and customs on the rivers Rhône and Saone, 70 on
the Garonne, and 64 on the Rhein. There
were taxes on everything: bridges, gates, wheels, dust (from herds or horsemen)
and many others. There was a right of shipwreck, a ground right, a staple
right, a guest right, a right of the forbidden mile – merchants and traders
were basically fleeced of all their money. These castles and monasteries were
not to become cities – they were born not by beauty but by something else. It
was in Italy, in a nameless passer-by city where I was sitting with a glass of
cold and slightly winterly white wine, looking at crimson vineyards
(contemplating beauty requires deep and intent idleness) when I realized a
simple and obvious truth: cities originate from the beauty of the place. A
person, when seeing beauty and being unable to force one’s gaze away from it,
an immensely enticing and magnificent view, says to oneself: “I will live here,
this is my place on earth”. Either alone or with his family and kin, he settles
here, and only afterwards he thinks of a trade that will feed and sustain him,
he seeks and finds rational grounds: economy, transportation, commerce,
defense, and, mainly, he is anxious not to disturb the beauty of the place, but
to augment it by his presence, his life, activities, and architecture (Figure
5,6) [21-23].

Figure 5: Soave, a place where
they produce most exquisite wines that complement the town and surrounding
vineyards.

Figure 6: Arco, a small overland
Venice, a snail town coiled inwards, where on the outside in the lowland there
are open roadways while on the highland there are hidden lanes with life
sheltered from outsiders and totally open to neighbors. Yards, benches, nooks
and blind alleys.
Arco is the capital of
mountaineering, and mountaineers, as is commonly known, are poor folk and
cheapskates. This is why here in Arco the mountaineering equipment is very
cheap. Alpinists, the aristocrats of mountain tourism, do not turn their noses
from stocking up exactly here. The road from Arco and Riva Del Garda along the
steep western shore of the lake starts with tunnels which turn into galleries
unfolding the view on the lake. If one doesn't head to Salo, the final
stronghold of the Mussolini's government, but instead turns right shortly into
the sheer cliff, the road will move stiff upwards like a cork-screw, giving,
however, a feel of a climbdown to hell. Rocks, waterfalls, waterdrops,
thickets, steep slopes and suddenly, as if nothing had happened, a cute and
homely small town of Tremosine. A couple of restaurants emplaced beyond the
cliff, hanging in the air, from where one can enjoy an exciting view of Lake
Garda. A sip of refreshing prosecco and one is ready to fly and dissolve, to
melt and turn into an invisible atom or a drop in Lake Garda’s waters (Figure
7).