Thanks to Open Lights, the streets of Matera went back to the Middle Ages for two hours. During the celebrations for the inauguration of the year as Capital of Culture, the city renounced electric lighting from 4:30 pm to 6 pm, relying only on candlelight.
The event was named “Starry Sky” because the spectators would have had to admire from above a constellation of little lights scattered throughout the alleys of the city: until fifty years ago, in fact, Matera at night was illuminated by thousands of candles placed along the streets and the authors of the past often described the Sassi as “a starry sky upside down”.
I had just returned to the city after visiting the Crypt of Original Sin, the sun was setting behind the Murgia Park and the historic center was locked down waiting for Mattarella to arrive. When I arrived at Piazza Vittorio Veneto it was already dark and, intrigued by the amazed voices coming from the arches of the Belvedere Guerricchio, I made my way through the crowd to understand what everyone was looking at: the houses dug into the Sassi, which are yellow during the day, had turned a red so delicate that it made you think the entire city was lit by an old half-candle light bulb, like the ones you still find in your grandparents' houses.
I couldn't get too distracted. I had a meeting with the editorial staff waiting for me. Ink to organize the photographic coverage of the evening events: Prime Minister Conte would be visiting the city at 6.30 pm and I had to be ready to intercept him.
Along with the electric lights, however, the city seemed to have erased all forms of modern technology: it was not even possible to use a cell phone because of the downed phone lines. So, without digital maps, I set off along the tuff steps that zigzag along the walls of the Sassi in search of a house on a street whose name I did not remember in an unknown city.
The steps were vaguely recognizable thanks to the shadows cast by a few yellow candles in the distance. I could then barely make out the voices of people walking with uncertain steps and bumping into each other, a bit like they were all playing fly-catching. They were actually looking for a nook not obstructed by the hundreds of people who crowded the various most famous panoramic points of the city, so as to be able to take at least just a souvenir photo.
The show, defined as “unrepeatable” by its creator, but it was also impossible to photograph due to the total absence of light sources. To remember the event on Facebook and Instagram, despite everything, there are hundreds of photographs under the hashtag #starryskymatter. Although those who didn't experience the Sassi that evening will probably find almost only dark photos full of red dots. A bit like the whole city had measles.
Once we got too low to find another viewpoint, the crowd thinned out and the chatter of the people gave way to the distant sound of a music box: the second moment of the show was underway, in which a moon-shaped hot air balloon took flight and flew over the Sassi while an acrobat performed flying pirouettes around the balloon.
But my descent was far from over: the stairs had almost reached the foot of the rock face of Sasso Barisano and, suddenly, a light appeared that illuminated Via Lombardi: it was a luminous oasis in the shape of a café. A bar had not respected the obligation to turn off the lights because the owner was protesting with the organization of the event. There was also a table with three friends who were chatting happily as if they were having an aperitif at midday, taking advantage of the only beam of light that came out of the door of the place.
Their voices were however interrupted by the screams of the children who were playing tag in the dark recesses of the immediately adjacent stairway, that of Via Fiorentini, which was unable to benefit from the light of the bar.
A torchbearer who had just arrived from another stairway then took care of illuminating the entire scene. With a large torch, he instantly lit up the entire neighborhood with his flame.
Meanwhile, groups of children and adults gathered around the lit candles and played together as if they were all the same age.
For two hours Matera lived two parallel lives: exactly fifty meters above our heads was Piazza Vittorio Veneto with hundreds of passers-by who, walking through modern and illuminated streets and shops, did not know what was happening in the alleys beneath their feet; in the belly of the Sasso Barisano people of all ages continued to wander around with slow pace and wide eyes, accompanied by sounds of amazement and wonder of those who move in a medieval setting that would not have been so beautiful even in a Lord of the Rings film.
The house was close by, but the phone lines were still jammed. Google Maps didn't work and the sense of direction didn't help. Then, suddenly, thunder. Someone looked up to see if fireworks were part of the show. And instead it was the sky that was grumbling: a little jealous for having seen the stars of Matera, it had become gloomy and gray.
Immediately afterward a drop of water landed on my nose, then two on my head. I was still far from home and the air had suddenly frozen, a bit like the clouds were saying “prepare for the worst”. And immediately a torrent of rain arrived, extinguishing all the lights like a stern parent turning off the TV during the most beautiful scene in a movie.
It was now well past 6 pm and the electric lights had just returned. And with the lights, 4G miraculously returned, which made me discover where I had ended up: I thought I was lost in a city from a thousand years ago, and yet I had arrived just 100 meters from home.
-Federico Quagliuolo
This report can also be read in the special issue of Inchiostro, the journal of the Master in Journalism at Suor Orsola Benincasa.
