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In Genoa they're called ''carruggi,'' in

Florence they're known as ''chiassi'' or

''viuzze,'' and in Venice they're sometimes referred to as ''calli.'' But the

general term for them is ''vicoli,'' for which there is no exact equivalent in English. A side street is too large; a passageway, not large enough, and an alleyway suggests none of their charm. Perhaps there is no right word for them in English because nothing quite like them exists in England or America - these narrow, winding, out-of-the-way city streets that steal one's heart in the hill towns of Umbria and around the historic centers of the major cities of Italy.

Hardly more than a yard wide at times, and almost always paved with cobblestones or bricks, they stop you in your tracks as you pass by or remain in your line of vision until you back up and take proper notice of them. More than once you will find that they have seduced you into detours or taken you places you never intended going. If nothing else, they will extract from you a promise to return someday and explore them fully.

Occasionally they end in a cul-de-sac, but more often than not there is a thin vertical strip of light at the far end that tells you the street will turn and continue. If you give in to curiosity and follow that strip of light, you will soon discover that one vicolo leads to another, and then another, until you find yourself deep in a labyrinth of tiny streets so rich in the past that the deeper you venture into them, the farther the present recedes.

Moreover, since vicoli are hardly ever more than stony slits with a view at the end, no cars can enter them, so they are always pure scenery - or rather wedges of scenery, because they never give more than glances or glimpses. And perhaps this is the best way to describe them in English, for, more than anything else, vicoli offer glimpses - scorci - of a city that convey both the particular nature of a place and its essence.

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In the old medieval quarter of Genoa, for example, around Porta Soprana, there is a warren of these tiny streets, just wide enough for a couple to pass, that present to the stroller various glimpses into Genoa's medieval past. Vico Monachette, which crosses Via Pre, winds its way crookedly along what was once a medieval road and strongly suggests what Genoa must have been like in the days when Columbus was preparing to leave for his explorations. In the same quarter there are a dozen other carruggi like this one, all paved with cobblestones and divided down the middle by a strip of red bricks that contrasts sharply with the timeworn gray houses on either sides.


In the Umbrian hill town of Spoleto a similar maze of side streets spreads out like capillaries from the main piazzas. The vicoli adjoining Piazza del Mercato, for example, or those opposite the Palazzo Comunale are so tiny and narrow that they are crisscrossed at intervals by arches that buttress the houses on either side and keep them from caving in on one another. Vicolo dello Sdrucciolo is spanned at three different levels by arches that frame glimpses of the buildings beyond and produce arches of sunlight on the walls of the houses in front of them.

Vicolo Gianfilippo Leoncilli is a narrow slit of a street, walled in by buildings on both sides, that zigzags its way around houses at different heights. Vicolo della Basilica, between Via Brignone and Via del Municipio, seems to climb - or rather wiggle - its way to the skyline, creating along the way an elaborate chiaroscuro of deep slate-black shadows and brilliant diamond-white sunlight.

At the end of many of these vicoli are tantalizing glimpses from various angles of the Rocca castle on the summit of the hill. Although vicoli may seem to be devoid of any deliberate plan, the maze they create was part of a well-thought-out plan of defense around the central fortress in many such medieval hill towns.

Some of Spoleto's vicoli have steps cut into them as they climb toward the castle, but most are flat inclines made of irregularly cut stones that get very slippery when it rains. Then people take to walking in the gutters that run along both sides of the vicoli.

There are broader streets in Spoleto and easier ways to get to the main piazza for the concerts that are held there every June as part of the Festival of Two Worlds. But who can resist the invitation of such charming vicoli as Via Porta Fuga or Via di Fontesecca, especially at night, when they are decorated - lighted is hardly the word - by pale yellow lanterns along the way?


Like the vicoli in Spoleto, many of the dead- end chiassi in Florence are spanned by arches, but there is a difference: those in Florence - like the one over the shadowy Chiasso degli Armati near Via del Giglio - are often inhabited. In the late afternoon tiny chandeliers are lighted in the windows cut into the arch, and shadows appear behind the curtains. In the daytime the combination of smoky glass, reflected sunlight and patchy whitewash brings to mind a set for a Hollywood casbah movie rather than the birthplace of the Italian Renaissance.















Running parallel to Via dei Cappellari is Via del Pellegrino, which was one of the two major roads to the Vatican used by medieval pilgrims (pellegrini). It runs alongside a huge marble square building known as the Cancelleria. This stretch of road illustrates one of the most interesting attractions of vicoli: the sudden change in scale that one experiences when ducking in and out of them. On one side of Via del Pellegrino is the tunnel-like Arco degli Acetari, which is really a vicolo leading into a courtyard surrounded by squat medieval houses. On the other side soars the Cancelleria, a solid, imposing, 15th- century structure that must have had as intimidating a presence in its day as any 20th-century skyscraper.

The other former pilgrim route to the Vatican was Via dei Coronari, behind Piazza Navona, named after those who sold crowns (coronari), rosaries and other religious articles to the passing pilgrims. Today the vicoli branching off on both sides give some of the most picturesque glimpses of Renaissance Rome available anywhere.


Vicoli are always an adventure in space relationships, and nowhere is this more apparent than in Venice, where space has always been a prime consideration. Venice is a roller- coaster ride through narrow calli that suddenly open up onto grand piazzas (campi) and then narrow again to take the traveler over humpbacked bridges and down under sculptured arches or through dark passages called sottoporticoes that open up again onto quays lined by the sea.

Almost all these elements come together in a tiny calle next to the church of San Giovanni Crisostomo, called Calle del Teatro. It begins by widening into a piazza in front of the Teatro Malibran. To the right, a narrow passageway called the Sotoportego del Milion leads to two partially covered courtyards. One passes under the dark sottoportico into the first courtyard, the Corte Prima del Milion, then under another Venetian- Byzantine arch into the second courtyard, the Corte Seconda del Milion. There one can see in the distance the staircase of Calle Scaletta leading to a bridge over a tiny canal.

It is enough to be there and travel through these spaces, but it is also interesting to know that Marco Polo's family lived near here (a plaque on the fondamenta beyond the second courtyard marks the place) and that the courtyards are named after ''Il Milione,'' Marco Polo's account of the million marvels he saw in China.

There are few places in the world today like this, where one can experience so rich a sense of space alongside so rich a sense of time.

In describing his impressions of Italy, Henry James was often struck by what he called ''the strange jumble of chance details'' he saw everywhere, which he said had a more profound effect on him than monuments, churches and works of art.

Although vicoli do not present the spectacle of piazzas or the serenity of courtyards and cloisters, they do epitomize - more than anything else one can see in Italy - this strange jumble of chance details that is so hard to define, but so impressive. When you finally leave them behind and return to the open piazza and wider viales full of banks, post offices and cars, you immediately experience a sense of loss and a vague feeling of confusion as you try to recall exactly where you have been or what it is you have seen.

In the back streets of Italy, it is easy to lose one's way, to be charmed out of itineraries and destinations, to forget the urgencies of the present and to glimpse a part of the past. The fear of getting lost may discourage some people from ever entering these back streets, but those who have responded to their call realize very soon that sometimes getting lost in a city is the other side of finding something special - something that says it all about a place, but for which the right word doesn't yet exist.


Here are some places to rest and eat while exploring Italy's back streets.

In Genoa, visit one of the friggitoria, small shops along Vico Monachette that sell snacks that are dipped in batter and fried. Have them bag a variety of fried fish, vegetables and fruit and take the bag with you as you wander through more back streets.

In Spoleto, the Ristorante Panciolle, 4 Largo Muzio Clemente (45599), serves strangozzi, rectangular-shaped spaghetti topped with sauce made from black Umbrian truffles.

Along Via delle Terme in Florence, from which back streets lead off on both sides, you might take a lunch break at Olivero, No. 51r (287693), or Al Lume di Candela, No. 23r (294566).

In Roma, you can find the best pesto in town at the Taverna Giulia, 23 Vicolo dell'Oro (65-69-768) and after lunch explore the street it is situated on. Closed Sunday. Before exploring the vicoli that branch off from Via dei Cappellari, stop for pasta alla carbonara at La Carbonara at 23 Campo dei Fiori (65-64-783).

In Venice, pause from savoring the tiny streets around the Teatro Malibran and the home of Marco Polo to have a snack at Fiaschetteria Toscana, 5719 Piazza San Giovanni Crisostomo (85281). Closed Tuesday. L. I.

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