Italy Tour 2000



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"It's no use," he said wearily. "I could have written a sermon in keeping with that text in November or midwinter, but now, when the whole world is reawakening in a miracle of beauty and love, I can't do it..." --L.M. Montgomery
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Assisi, Italy, in the province of Umbria.

I wandered up a side street of Assisi, following two other lost tourists to where an electric gate opened and a car emerged. After the gates had closed I noticed a plaque posted adjacent, declaring "Monestary." I turned up a narrow staircase of the same red sandstone cobbles of which the entire town was builded, and landed on a small terrazo. I smiled shyly at a handsome young Italian boy sitting on the wall playing with a ball. He looked about the same age as my son, who, I reminded myself, had celebrated his 10th birthday only two days earlier as he visited his uncle in St. Louis. I walked over to the wall and looked out, awestruck by the breathtaking view. The boy asked me for the time in broken English and Italian, and I struggled with far more difficulty than he to answer him, using my fingers to illustrate the numbers. We were successful in our communication. I smiled more shyly when he thanked me as I could never remember the word 'prego' when I needed it most.

I turned back to the view and inhaled deeply. The midday sun seared upon me, the air excessively dry compared to home, its scent melded unmistakably of tropical fauna and flora, very spicy and foreign. A cicada droned intensely over murmurs of tourists below in the basilica and streets. An arid breeze blew across my face and I felt I knew, stirring thereupon, the spirits of St. Francis, St. Clare, and other Brothers and Sisters of the Lord who had been former inhabitants of this reverent town. I was mesmorized by the view as the boy respectfully but confidently answered an imploring Grandmama, my eyes wandering the hilly countryside for miles and miles, square plots of land for farming, vineyards, villas, olive groves. I'm not certain I've ever known such awesome beauty, not even in stateside visits to the Rocky Mountains nor Sierra-Nevadas. This beauty was of a different sort, of peace, not raw untamed beauty but one which is sleepy and timeless. I could feel life here not different than it had been a thousand or two years ago, the pace unchanged, the love of her eternal. I wished the child a buon giorno and wandered back to the beaten path, feeling fulfilled.

Assisi is a town built on the lower slope of Mount Subasio. The town is a medieval cluster of buildings, all fashioned of an enchanting red cobbled sandstone and laden with red tile roofs. Loosed stones are visible upon roofs in the lower town when you look down from above, possibly yet undisturbed from the earthquake which catastrophically toppled walls and homes in 1997. Scaffolding and a crane in perpetual motion on the skyline are visible, rebuilding church and village.

We had entered the village up a steep ramp into a piazza and immediately entered the Basilica of St. Francis. Vigilant Brothers in brown robes silently watched over the flock from strategically placed desks. I opted to skip the tour and wander alone after irreverantly splashing holy water upon myself. I purchased a leaflet about the basilica for 50 lira and walked through the lower church, the lower temples, and out into an open-air cloister. Here I set my things down, and after meditating on the life occuring therein a few moments, leaned against a column in the sunshine and read my leaflet as tourists wandered in and out, others in my party stopping briefly to say hello. At leisure I wandered up a narrow flight of stairs to the upper church. It was majestic and lovely. I wandered the perimeter, my right hand trailing over every surface-- I wondered what they could tell me, the walls, columns, choir, until a uniformed Polizia entered through some hidden door and I figured I'd better fermata. I continued strolling the perimeter, digesting the frescoes of the extrordinary life of St. Francis, sat and meditated on the altar briefly, prayed silently, and dreamily ambled back downstairs.

I had skipped the tomb of St. Francis on the way in and was eager to visit it. The stairs down to the tomb were not grand and the crypt austere with simple decoration. I purchased a candle in honor of my family, moved to the alter and then around it, running my left hand over the cold stones, noticing places where others had hidden purchased candles, sat in the pews before the altar and prayed briefly over the candle.

Herein I departed the church and ascended the tourist-laden streets, having a fit of fiscal indecision at the variety memorabelia being sold on the street. I settled on some small wooden rosary beads for my children and I, 2 wall crosses of San Damiano, a calligraphy card of the Prayer of St. Francis, some postcards, and a colorful ceramic wall plaque which reads 'Pace et Bene,' now found on the wall in my kitchen entry.

I didn't wander elsewhere in the quaint hilltown, not brave enough to seek out the Basilica of St. Clare after taking more than a few wrong turns. I must confess that I sought the wooden rosary beads I'd purchased for myself from their bag, put them in my pocket and wandered very briefly back into the basilica, my clothing again carefully scrutinized by the guard at the door. I then turned and wandered immediately back out, but not before taking my hidden rosary beads from my pocket, balling them up in my fist, and plunging them into the font of holy water in the Basilica of St. Francis.

We departed Assisi in late afternoon and drove further through the Umbrian countryside into the provence of Tuscany, past infinite blooming fields of sunflowers grown for product, through a myriad of tunnels bored under hills and mountains, and on to Florence.


Rome, Italy, province of Lazio

Our adventure had begun 5 days earlier in Rome, a bustling metropolis. Motorbikes were everywhere and traffic gave one the impression of a melee without traffic laws, we queried the sanity of those on motorbikes, seeming constantly in potential danger. In Roma I found restaurant meals expensive, quickly tired of pizza, and drank more wine, far more often than I was used to. I enjoyed crooning with the singer in our hotel piano bar after a wild night, breaking a promise to sing with him again before we left. By the time we departed I felt I had mastered Rome, readily able to maneuver around the city, the subways, and between the piazzas, which were easy landmarks for recognition.

The Piazza del Poppolo became my landmark when commuting anywhere and the nearby subway was one stop from our hotel. There's a charming little restaurant with orange awnings on the piazza on Via del Babuino, which I heartily recommend for both food and service. My lunch of fughini, assorted formmagio, and vino blanco in an outdoor garden was enchanting, with equally enjoyable company. The formaggio was out of this world, chunks of blue cheese, mozzerella, and swiss.

The Vatican was awesome, briefly glimpsing at distance His Holiness Pope John Paul II, Bishop of Rome. It is said that his papal blessing is not only for those in his audiences but a blessing for everyone in the entire city. We were blessed by him twice. Here I had also purchased some lovely silver rosary beads for the new millenium, and secretly immersed them in holy water in St. Peter's Basilica. The museums of Vatican City and the Sistine Chapel, for me, invoked a reverence for one's place conjoined with all who have visited with a desire to be part of the history and spirit of Christianity.

We travelled by bus that morning and then walked to the Vatican. As we approached our destination, we saw 20 foot high white walls or higher, surrounding Vatican City. The line of people already lined up to enter, single file, wound clear around the corner to where we too walked while observing the variety of pilgrims visiting from every corner of the globe, many groups in t-shirts displaying their group name and nationality. There were groups of nuns and priests in varying habits and speaking different languages. There were people young and old, rich and poor, all ethnicities, all in a line close to a mile long, waiting patiently for their opportunity to sojourn into this sacred city of timeless history, art, and Christian culture. Once the gates open the line moves very quickly. It was hot as we waited in the sun, and many street vendors approached us selling their wares.

We began in the Vatican Museums and the Sistine Chapel. The Vatican holds collections of Egyptian and Assyrian art, Greek, Etruscan, and Roman art, Early Christian and Medieval art, and 15th to 19th century art, amongst other collections. We entered the Sistine Chapel after receiving instructions regarding appropriate behavior, entering a chapel perhaps the size of an Olympic-sized swimming pool, crowded with people. The walls and ceiling of the chapel are completely covered with Biblical and religious scenes by the finest artists of the 15th and 16th centuries, including Michelangelo, Perugino, Ghirlandaio, Botticelli, and Sigorelli. I tarried considerably with so much to take in. Our guide had spoken to us outside, before we enterd the museums, and gave an introduction on the paintings and frescoes, but pictures and charts do no justice to the awesome artwork of the chapel. We exited the Vatican via the Momo spiral staircase and ate lunch nearby.

After lunch we entered Vatican City via Piazza San Pietro, St. Peter's plaza, His Holiness Pope John Paul II that moment blessing a special holy year audience and leaving as the audience vacated the piazza. Entering through the piazza's circular Bernini colonnade, with saints standing guard atop, felt to me like being enveloped into her arms, welcoming us into a piazza large enough to hold a quarter of a million people. Straight ahead and through this plaza we entered magnificent St. Peter's Basilica, through the door opened for this holy year 2000. I was awestruck by the vast six acre interior. Just inside and on the right I admired Michelangelo's Pieta before we toured the rest of the basilica.

A day trip to Pompeii, a city buried with the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius circa A.D. 75 was fascinating, but excessively hot. We arrived and began with lunch, I imbibing in a Pizza ala Pescara, or Seafood Pizza. Italian pizza does not generally have cheese on it. Pizza ala Pescara comes with tomato sauce, clams repleat with shells, crawfish in shell, and squid with tenticles, lots of them. One removes the shells prior to eating each piece. My waiter was delightful and paid me plenty of attention and I'm certain noticed the wrinkles on my nose as my mouth inched closer to the squid. He cajoled me into eating it and honestly, it wasn't too bad, tasting a bit like tough crab. Now I can say I have tried it, thank-you-very-much, and that will be that.

The archeological restoration of Pompeii included a huge amphitheatre presently being uncovered, and we were privileged to watch some archeologists at work. Pompeii had been buried under approximately 10 feet of volcanic ash, and we marvelled that this has been painstakingly cleared away to expose its town, peoples, and former life. Post-tour I couldn't resist haggling over price to buy a bronze statue of a faun from the vendors of many lascivious souvenirs of a very sinuous city. Perhaps the fire and brimstone end of Pompeii had been intended?

Other historic sites aplenty in Rome were visited, the Colosseum, Spanish Steps, The Pantheon, The Trevi Fountain (2 coins ONLY for me), and we crossed the Tiber River more than a few times. We had several charming, though harried, traditional group dinners, which occasionally got a bit wild with strolling musicians and wine and mirth aplenty.


Florence, Italy in the province of Tuscany

Fiorenza proved a delightful city, life a slower pace, her peoples charming, the city itself mucho bella. The day was again excrutiatingly hot. I wandered the Boboli Gardens, not flower gardens as I'd expected but manicured lawns, the view of the city below spectacular. My lunch of ham and cheese and tomato on phyllo was divine, with vino blanco of course, and a decadant double chocolate gelato. We commented that American chocolate ice cream never tasted this rich and chocolatey. The Ponte Vecchio was intreguing and I was awestruck by the view of the Arno River through store the windows, truly beautiful. I purchased 4 obligatory t-shirts with which to return home and opted to skip the Uffizi Museum to rest.


Milan, Italy, in the province of Lombardy

Our journey's end came in Milano, with a brief one hour stop to visit the Duomo, which I didn't do, and the Galleria Mall, which I did. I wandered into a small bookstore around the corner and purchased one of the few books in English I could find, one of macabre artsy short stories. Then, locating a suitable spot to read, I stood pillar-like holding up La Scala Opera House and reading until our buses arrived to take us to our hotel. Milan, like Rome, was very crowded and more bustling than I was willing to deal with after 10 days. My hotel room turned out to be sans A/C, mandating an open 2nd floor window (without screens) over a busy piazza. I decided, as I lay in bed listening to the people in the square and the traffic below, that indeed Italy did NOT sleep, did NOT have speed limits nor traffic laws, and unlike the United States, in Italy everyone's vehicle horn works very well.

I have made myself a promise to return to Assisi some day. Until then Italia, I wish you plenty of good food, vino, mirth, and song. Ciao Amore.


ITALY 2000 PICTURE PAGES

PAGE 1 -Rome
PAGE 2 -Rome/Pompeii
PAGE 3 -Assisi
PAGE 4 -Florence


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