Belluno

December in Belluno provides the perfect set for Christmas. Nuzzling into the Dolomites it is watched over by snowy peaks resembling the seasonal iced pandori. Within its mediaeval centre there is a warm heart of tradition and good will.

The campanile chimes away the hours as a giro in piazza dei martiri displays the winter charms of the Italian mountains. At one end there is an impressive fairy-lit Christmas tree around which are organised small market stalls displaying traditional and modern crafts – hand-carved wooden toys and Nepalese woollen mittens. Brulèflows into hearty laughter.

Opposite, perched proudly on the corner of a narrow cobbled road, is a small barbecue surrounded by a huddle of Bellunesi seeking a moment to warm hands and buy castagne arrosto, the flavour of the season, in small paper cones.

Onto this set, every year, strolls the perfect protagonist - Signor Christmas himself. There is no commotion or surprise; in fact, it hardly disturbs the quattro chiacchiare. Coming face to bushy white beard with a childhood myth is disarmingly wonderful. It seems appropriate that Santa visits Belluno.

I first saw Him at the end of Via Mezzaterra a street cobbled with its history, marched and walked on by amici, Romani, e cittadini, Nazis and partigiani. To fans of Rudolf of the notorious nose and flying friends, apologies, Babbo Natale’s only companion was a grey-brown donkey with not a hint of rosy nasal glow. (His hooves were planted firmly on the ground.)

His Christmassness had none of that gaudy Coca-Cola-red-with-cloudy-trim garb. He wore a humble monk’s habit worn and warm, hood up, the colour of his steed. The beard was white and long. The pair ambled towards the piazza. It was the Sack, that infamous bulging symbol, which first made me realize who he was. Rooted to the spot, I watched as he approached the first child and produced a neatly wrapped surprise and a moment of childhood glee. There was no cartoon grin of buy-one-get-one-free cards and wrapping paper, but a face resembling Michelangelo’s Nicodemo with an honest paternal smile.

He had been giving out his gifts for maybe fifteen minutes before he came towards me. I looked and smiled (didn’t get and wasn’t expecting a present...much) and then he just returned down the road towards the river Piave, turned the corner and was gone. No-one I spoke to knew anything about where he was from, only that he comes every year. They seemed more surprised at my surprise than by the fact that Santa walked amongst them.

Belluno is a beautiful place where Santa goes and you can believe in Christmas.

pandori – a kind of cake
giro – a stroll
Brulè – mulled wine
castagne arrosto – roasted chestnuts
quattro chiacchiare – a chat
amici, Romani, e cittadini – friends, Romans, countrymen (citizens)
partigiani – partisans
Babbo Natale – Father Christmas

You can find out more about Belluno, and take a virtual tour by visiting this website: http://www.webdolomiti.it/