A place you’ve probably never heard of, Spello, is a tiny town hidden within the province of Perugia, Italy. I like visiting ‘hidden’ destinations. It helps you discover perhaps a more authentic area of a country. The population of this city is around 8,200 residents – I might have seen 20 people during my short visit. One thing worth knowing about this place is that medieval walls encircle the town, while flower-filled alleys wind through the classic European-style cobbled streets.

I first discovered this city scrolling through YouTube. The main objective was to find a quiet spot to rest between Rome and Florence. I learnt early that this place is widely known for its flower festival, when its streets transform into one grand art gallery. Though I missed this festival, Spello still exceeded my expectations: a peaceful retreat and the perfect pit stop on my journey through Perugia.

We were there for just one evening, and strangely enough, it became one of the more memorable destinations of the trip. After some unnecessary stress with just about everything involved with Trenitalia, we finally made it after a long journey from Ravello.

The train ride from Roma Termini travels through the Umbrian countryside, often called Italy’s “Green Heart”. The journey felt notably secluded for July – our carriage was empty, and very few trains passed by my window. We took an old Regionale Veloce train to Spello, and for those planning the same route: learn how to open those train doors beforehand. I claim our carriage’s lever was jammed, which is why we missed our stop – though I may be conveniently ignoring the truth of that situation.

While walking through the narrow alleys, I found myself wondering: where is everybody? Upon arriving at our hotel, I wondered: where’s the reception? Who owns this place? The building was a converted house with multiple rooms—resembling an Airbnb more than a traditional hotel. Perhaps I’d missed the check-in instructions, but both the gate and front door stood open, so someone had to be home. I heard chatter drifting up from below the entrance. After ringing the doorbell and calling out with no response, I ventured down the stairs and found myself in what could only be described as a random nonna’s cluttered garage. Junk everywhere, one crooked light bulb hanging right next to my head. It was a mess. To my left hung one of those beaded curtain doorways—the kind you can’t see through. I could hear a very faint noise behind it; somebody was there for sure. The scenery became a little sketchy. Had I gotten the address wrong? Had I just walked into some random Italian’s basement? I was sure I was in the right place—Google Maps rarely fails me. So I stuck my head through the curtains and spotted an elderly man on a couch watching TV. Crap. I stepped back out and heard people conversing in Italian, thinking: well, uh-oh. Suddenly, the owner rushed out—a wonderful nonna who spoke no English. She seemed elated to have guests, something I could tell doesn’t happen too often here. After exchanging greetings and names, she graciously ushered us to our room without issue.

After settling in, we toured the town on foot. My main inspiration for visiting was to see these flowers for myself since I’ve heard great things about them. To add life to the city’s art, many flower beds feature charming messages, giving this place a personality beyond its appearance. Sure, the exterior vineyards and fields that stretch into the near distance with rolling hills straight out of a painting add beauty to the city, but it’s the people inside the city walls that make this place so special. This quickly became a lovely pit stop on our two-week journey through Italy. Spello became a treasure hunt as we grew eager to walk through every narrow alley in hopes of decoding all the hidden Italian messages. What adds more flavour to this destination is that these flowers aren’t confined to one designated street; locals scatter them throughout the town, a touch that reveals genuine pride in their community rather than staged decoration for tourists.

To end the evening, I purchased a cheap bottle of Sangiovese—far too inexpensive for how good it was—and watched the sunset from Spello’s north side. In the distance, a thunderstorm began to form, making the scene even more captivating. There’s something special about a long chat on a crooked European bench overlooking a sunset, sipping cheap wine, and forgetting the rest of the world exists. Ah, the European life.

Funnily enough, I didn’t need an alarm—I woke around 2 a.m. to the loudest thunderstorm I’ve ever experienced, directly overhead. It was loud enough to add to this blog post. It felt almost unsafe, yet there was nowhere to go. I’ve always enjoyed the phrase “the gods are angry” for particularly intense thunder, but this was next-level. Spello felt like a ghost town, and the storm only deepened that sense of isolation. The gods of Perugia were clearly displeased. I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night—not from fear, but because the sheer volume kept me awake. Looking back, I actually enjoyed the whole experience. There was something thrilling about being stuck in this deserted little town, trapped by a massive storm. We waited for it to pass, knowing our next problem was already looming: could we even catch a train out with the strike happening?

The evening passed, as did the storm. Thankfully, we managed to catch the only morning train that would get us out on time—departing at 6:45 a.m.

One night in Spello became a trip I won’t soon forget. Between missing our stop due to a mysteriously jammed door lever, stumbling into a nonna’s garage-turned-hotel reception, wandering empty flower-lined alleys in peak season, and being jolted awake by the loudest thunderstorm I’ve ever experienced—all while a national train strike loomed—it was hardly the peaceful pit stop I’d envisioned. But those are the moments that stick with you. Spello may be a quiet town tucked into the Umbrian hills, but it gave me a story worth telling—and a sunset over vineyards with cheap Sangiovese that made it all worthwhile.