Where virtue can even stop the barking

In the land of St Francis of Assisi, warnings to watch for thieves disappear in a lake of kindness

As we entered the restaurant, a tall, lean man sat upright at one of the tables. On it were about five wine glasses, all half full.

"You should try the wine here," he called to us, before we had time to sit at a nearby table. "They've got some rare choices."

He turned out to be a university professor from the United States who was on a trip to teach in Italy.

We were in Assisi, a town built on the slopes of a hill in the Umbria region in the country's north. On learning that we were from Beijing the professor, in his 70s, said he travels there every summer, and I half expected that next he would say, "How about meeting for a coffee next time I am there?" but the invitation never came.

Instead a lady walked in and sat at another table. This woman was impressive. She was at least 60, wore a sleeveless shirt and a smart pair of trousers and sat with a perfectly straight back. Her hair was all white, and beauty radiated from her.

As seemed to be the American's wont, he immediately said hello to the new stranger in his midst and began to engage her in conversation. She was a local and lived in a summer house in the mountain town, she told him. "I don't drive. They revoked my license several years ago because of my age."

That conversation continued happily, the American having dropped my girlfriend and I like hot potatoes. As for the Italian woman, I thought, what elan to be able to outdo us in the charm stakes, two women half her age.

On a five-day Italian jaunt, Umbria was our first stop. We had arrived in the country by sea, and caught a train from Ancona, on the Adriatic coast, to Assisi, about 130 kilometers away.

They say the sleepy town is not much different today to when St. Francis was born there near the end of the 12th century. The Franciscan order was founded there in homage to Francis, who would later become the patron saint of animals, in 1208.