There are places where history presses in from every direction. And then there’s Matera, where the past doesn’t just press in, it perches, flutters and calls from overhead.
It’s small, stunning and situated on a rocky outcrop in the region of Basilicata, at the instep of Italy’s boot. Arrive at dusk in the summer and you might think the stone itself has taken flight. The ancient Sassi honeycombed cave dwellings that are etched into the limestone glow amber in the sinking sun.
And then, almost as if conjured from the rock, they appear: the lesser kestrels. Hundreds, in a swirling, chattering congregation of wings.
Here in the UK, when we think of kestrels, we conjure up images of a solitary, medium-sized falcon hovering near a motorway verge. As we speed past in our cars, we see the bird holding dead still in a headwind while its wings and tail flutter and flail.
Kestrels are a group within the falcon family characterised by their ability to hover – most other falcons don’t. Equally, most of the falcon tribe are not colonial.
The lesser kestrel is one of the very few exceptions. It looks very similar to our kestrel, but is a tad smaller, with the same basic colour pattern, though less streaked and cleaner looking. If you were to get a close view of a perched bird, you’d see it has white talons rather than the black of the common kestrel.
However, they are not each other’s closest relatives. Another big difference is that lesser kestrels are highly migratory. They breed across the Mediterranean and further east, through Afghanistan and Central Asia to China and Mongolia, and mostly spend the winter in Africa and Pakistan.
A feature of many historic habitations in the region, they’re often seen nesting within the holes of ancient buildings.
In Matera, the falcons are very at home in the urban environment. They are long-standing citizens of the old city, threading through alleyways and skimming rooftops with ease. The city plays host to one of the most remarkable lesser kestrel colonies in the world, with around 1,000 breeding pairs nesting right in the fabric of the city.
They’re not just tucked away in cliffs, or the crags in nearby ravines – you’ll also find them in amongst roof tiles, crumbling walls and within carefully installed nestboxes atop churches and palazzi. Humans carved out cavities for themselves thousands of years ago and the kestrels simply moved in.
Lesser kestrels are amazing creatures to watch. By day, they disperse to hunt alone or in loose groups, riding the thermals over the ravines. They spread out into the mosaic of scrub, grassland and farmland outside the city limits to feast primarily on large insects and small mammals.
By evening, they return as a gathering, a reunion filling the sky with motion. Pre-breeding roosts can swell into the thousands, a living cloud settling into the heart of town.
Indeed, flocks of up to 3,000 individuals have been observed in a single pine tree in the city centre. The kestrels are everywhere in a display of the ultimate urban birding. And yet there’s a fragility here too.
In Europe, the species is in serious decline. In recent years, extreme heat has taken a toll. During a severe Mediterranean heatwave, temperatures inside nest sites soared to lethal levels, killing a significant proportion of chicks in Matera’s colony.
It’s a stark reminder that even this ancient alliance between bird and city is not immune to the pressures of a changing climate.
Top image: lesser kestrel in Sassi di Matera. Credit: Alfio Giannotti/REDA/Universal Images Group via Getty Images
