Bologna: Under the Endless Porticos

by Pádraic Gilligan, co-founder, SoolNua & research / consultancy, SITE

I’d passed through Bologna countless times, usually with my face pressed to the train window, bound for more obvious Italian prizes—Florence, Venice, Rome—each with their own icons and bragging rights. Bologna, by comparison, was a city you passed through, a place whose main claim to fame (so I thought) was the world’s first university, somewhere back in the 12th century. I knew it was a gastronomic hub (what part of Italy isn’t?), and that politically it tilted decisively to the left, but beyond that, I’d never stopped long enough to form any sense of its soul.

It turns out, you can only really know a city by walking it—and in Bologna’s case, by walking it under those endless covered walkways. The porticos are everywhere, flowing unbroken for miles. They shelter you from the summer glare and make the entire place feel like one vast communal drawing room.

We stayed at 144 Via Santo Stefano, in an Airbnb run by Antonio and a better host you couldn’t hope for: he was super-responsive, welcomed us warmly and steered us toward many of the discoveries that would end up defining our stay.

The first thing you notice is how history and contemporary life live cheek by jowl here. Unlike so many other cities, Bologna seems uninterested in sanitising or packaging its past for tourists. You’ll find no Colosseum here, no Uffizi or Piazza San Marco to serve as a giant, pre-ordained backdrop for your selfies.

In Bologna, the old is simply part of the new. Period buildings in soft reds and mustards house artisan bakeries and small grocery shops that open late into the night, mostly owned by Indians. Buses rumble along the cobbled streets with an air of gentle defiance. And there’s a welcome scarcity of the global brands that have bulldozed the high streets elsewhere—no Zara, no H&M, no Lidl elbowing out the tiny boutiques that still thrive in the labyrinthine lanes.

Lacking a river to cleave it neatly in two, the city offers no obvious anchor point. You can start anywhere—and we did. Our first stop was the University’s Archiginnasio. Built in the late 16th century, it consolidated the far-flung faculties into one seat of learning. Today, it feels like a microcosm of Bologna itself: dignified, layered, stubbornly itself. Inside, you’ll find an ancient lecture theatre – the teatro anatomico – that looks like something conjured by a film set designer, and a truly magnificent hall where Rossini’s Stabat Mater debuted in 1842. It’s the kind of place that reminds you how Bologna has quietly shaped European culture for centuries.

After that, we wandered up to the Sette Chiese on Piazza Santo Stefano—a mesmerising complex of interlocking medieval churches narrating the Passion of Christ in stone and fresco. In the evening light, the surrounding piazza came alive. Locals spilled onto the cobbles, glasses in hand, reclaiming the hour before dinner as their own. It was exactly the kind of small, unforced moment that stays with you long after you leave.

The Basilica of San Petronio offered more surprises. You step inside and immediately come upon the Meridian Line—66.8 metres of brass and marble, laid out in 1655 by Cassini to measure the solar year. On a bright day, the sunlight creeps across it in a way that feels both scientific and slightly mystical.

Less comfortable is the enormous fresco by Giovanni da Modena (early 15th century) showing Dante’s Inferno, where among the damned is the Prophet Muhammad. In 2002, that scene drew bomb threats from extremists, a reminder that the past can still echo uncomfortably into the present.

If you want to trace Bologna’s longer story, the Museo della Storia di Bologna in Palazzo Pepoli is a must. Housed in a restored medieval palace, it uses interactive displays and multimedia wizardry to guide you from Etruscan times to the city you see today. It’s part museum, part time machine—and another testament to Bologna’s talent for weaving old and new.

No recounting of Bologna would be complete without the food. We discovered Incantina—an atmospheric enoteca in the old Jewish Ghetto, serving local wines and honest plates of lasagne and cured meats. For dinner one night, we tried Drogheria della Rosa, an old pharmacy reimagined as a restaurant, where we lingered over a bottle of Sangiovese called Federico. La Traviata on Via Urbana won us over with their fior di zucca and the best tagliatelle al ragù we’ve ever tasted. And every evening, we capped things off with ice cream from Cremeria Santo Stefano—just fifty metres from our door—where the queues are a testament to the excellence within.

So, if you’ve only ever passed through Bologna, do yourself a favour: get off the train. Walk the terrazzo pavements. Let Antonio hand you a set of keys. And lose yourself in a city that, far from being overshadowed by its glossier neighbours, quietly and confidently reveals itself on its own terms. Under those endless porticos, you’ll find a place that doesn’t need to shout to be heard.