In Which St. Francis Rolls in His Tomb

I have returned, holier and less worldly, from Assisi. Well, neither of those might be true. But we can pretend - these words now have the power to forgive sins, such as not sending me postcards! Actually, that's not true. There is no excuse for not sending me postcards. Especially since Diane not only managed to send me one, but made it herself. There are no excuses. 

Look, pictures are working again! 

But - back to Assisi and my new found holier-than-thou attitude. We (Megan, Libby, Fiona and I) went over on Friday with Karen, the program leader, who decided to rent a car. Karen was just going for the day, but we had rented a room at a little hotel. The drive was pleasant enough - apparently we were in the car for about two hours, but it definitely didn't feel like that. Italian time is screwing with my internal clock (see previous post for discussion on the Italian sense of time). But Assisi is beautiful - it's a lovely little town on a hill surrounded by olive groves, and so stereotypically Italian. The direction we came from made it look just so lovely in the sun and the clouds and the green. As is normal for most medieval towns, there's the old city and the new city, so I know Assisi is bigger than it seems, but the old centre was just so picturesque. 

I'm very very glad we were there during off-season though. People have said Assisi is a little like a Disneyland to St. Francis, but it wasn't too bad when we were there. There were hints at it - like the "Pace e Bene" or "Pax et Bonum" signs, hats, posters, etc. everywhere. It was the motto of St. Francis and consequently all of Assisi. And yes, there were a lot a lot of souvenir shops, but overall it was an adorable town. And our hotel was the best. The little old lady was completely endearing - "Signorine! Che bella! Una bella camera per voi!" She was the most excited that we were there to give her business and money and forced baked goods on us when we left. It was a little homey hotel type thing run by her and (I assume) her family in a little housey type thing with a lovely green courtyard and green shutters. The beds were soft and clean and she was thrilled about us, so we couldn't really ask for more. 

Upper Basilica - there's a whole other one bellow.

That first day, Karen took us to the Upper and Lower Basilica of St. Francis. It's a rather impressive church, but apparently St. Francis himself was not impressed. Quick history lesson: St. Francis was all in favour of going out into the world with pretty much nothing and loving it anyway. He did some slightly crazy stuff, like let himself be led around the town with a rope because he ate some chicken when he was sick or something. Anyway, that's the thing to remember - St. Francis was all for loving the messy, awkward world to get closer to God (also - being a pauper is better), and St. Dominic was the one who said you get closer to God by going out into a monastery and thinking by yourself and running away from the sinful world. But the Basilica was very impressive, so I'm sort of glad that they built it. The art is definitely impressive, and because the Basilicas were built sort of all in one go (that is, in less than two generations) the art sort of matches in a strange way. The painting is very intricate in  all the detailing along the beams and edges, and in lovely bright colours.

We also saw St. Francis' tomb! Which is weird to me. I have this odd fascination with the dead - their bodies, their memorials, the veneration that surrounds them, and so forth. So I get strangely and morbidly excited when we're told we're going to go and see a tomb or a body or some relic. It's like the way the Catholics have decided to not let people be forgotten by preserving their actual bodies. Our anthropology teacher was talking about how tradition is a way that we connect ourselves to the past and to the future - our ancestors have done it for ages, and our descendants will do it for ages more. Anyway, the preservation of memory through actual bodies weirds me out, because death is one of the least elegant parts of being dead, but there's this weird veneration as well... anyway. Strange tangent. I put €0,50 in the little collection thing to have a candle lit for St. Francis from me. I had a seat, looked at his tomb, and asked him to do me a couple favours. You know, if he's up there.

But the weirdest thing about the whole Basilica experience was the gift shop. If St. Francis was displeased by the Cathedral itself, he must just be rolling in his tomb, rattling his old dry bones against the stone in absolute horror. The gift shop has normal things like postcards, but also rosaries of varying quality and price, over priced souvenir "art", books, and some random assortment of food. Like Franciscan honey and spices and tea. I dunno, maybe he really liked those things, but it was strange. Oh and then what appeared to be completely unrelated books - like one for parents trying to figure out how to talk to their kids about sex. So so strange. And so many greedy tourists buying up fancy rosaries and tacky souvenir art. Poor St. Francis.

But after the Basilica (and my battery finally gave up the ghost - I was hoping I wouldn't have to charge it until that night) and an exorbitantly overpriced cappuccini/americano (it was over €1 more for Megan's americano than it was for a local's espresso - bear in mind the only difference is that an americano has hot water in it), we "hiked" up to the Rocca Maggiore, which used to be a fortress and has the best view. I say "hiked" because by my standards, it was just a slightly uphill walk. But the sun was setting and it was simply amazing, even though the wind was doing it's best to blow us off the side of the hill.

After coming down from the Rocca, us students went to dinner at a little place called Pizzeria Otello (which I totally recommend!) - we each had a pizza (well, Libby had pasta, but it was the same price), split two bruschetta, three deserts, and two bottles of wine for €15 each. AND it was delicious. For those who care, desert was yoghurt with honey, lemon sorbetto in a hollowed out lemon rind, and a crepe with a lovely alcohol-based sauce.

Saturday we intended to go to Spoletto - a little town near Assisi with a modern art museum and some Roman ruins, but the train system (as is the norm in Italia) was unnavigable. Allora, we ended up going to Perugia (of Amanda Knox and also chocolate fame) instead. Which none of us really intended or had any particular desire to do, but that's part of the adventure, right? So a short train ride later, we arrive in this heinous back suburb of Perugia. We were a little disheartened but we rallied, hopped on a bus and found our way to older Perugia. Which was not particularly nice either - it's much dirtier than Siena, and was also completely deserted. Strange. But we had a lovely lunch that was fairly well priced. We then meandered the streets looking for the famous Perugina chocolate shop (the one that makes Baci, the hazelnut chocolates you can get in N. America). But it was a sad sad disappointment. It was unspeakably tacky. And there is a time and place for tacky, but this was not it. I... can't even articulate the horror of it. So many stuffed animals, so many strange little bags with chocolate, so many fake flowers, and all lit in this grotesque blue light. But Megan and Fiona bought chocolate, so that was definitely a plus, especially when they shared it with me!

Meanwhile because we could not take the tacky, Libby and I wandered down the street to check out some street vendors. Who actually happened to be real Italians, as far as we could tell (which is slightly unusual around here). And one lady was selling these lovely little headband things that she knitted herself. They're circular, half one colour, half the another, and you sort of twist them up so they go over your hair/ears to keep them war. We agreed to try them on, mostly for fun because the colours were fantastic, and they looked (if I do say so myself) adorable. So we all (except Fiona) bought one. I'm a big fan in particular, because as you know, I forgot my toque in America, where it is being grievously abused (if for no other reason than that it is not with me, on my head, keeping me warm) and the one I have here is slightly decrepit. So now I have something attractive and warm to wear on my noggin. Hooray!

"Mi piace... my headband"

Then, with our stylish new headgear, we wandered down the oldest street in Perugia which, Megan informed us, used to be an aqueduct. Following that street past some amazing views and the beginning of a gorgeous sunset, we arrived at a 5th century church called Tempio di San Michele Archangelo which was made using stone and wood from old pagan temples (as is hinted in the fact that the word temple is in the name). It was a ways out of the city centre, with a lovely little grass lawn around it, and birds singing and the sun just setting - so gorgeous. I could smell the grass and suddenly I had this ache in my chest because the scent was filling a hole I hadn't realized was there - I missed grass. And it was sort of warm, and just so perfectly lovely. There are moments when I stand in nature and think of Wordsworth's The World Is Too Much With Us. Interactive blog time:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
                                                              1806.

In particular, I was thinking of the third to last line: Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn. In those moments, the general stupor in which I generally pass through life lifts and I have a beautiful poignant moment of pure now. It's hard to hold on to those slippery moments of... something. Something big and wonderful and terrifying all in one go. And part of what makes those moments terrifying is that they're so extraordinarily fleeting. Whenever I'm in them, I'm hyper aware that they wont last and that soon I'll be trying to remember what it was like to be in that moment.

I feel the need for a silent and contemplative pause.

It took us quite a long time to return from Perugia - we didn't get back until about 8:45, and weren't at dinner until about 9:30. The place we went to was kind of strange. It looked really nice but the waiter and waitress were both dressed really casually - sweat pants, sneakers. And they were not offering particularly good service, which is sort of very typically Italian. I don't know If I've mentioned that Italians have this kind of idea that the customer is lucky to be served at all. So we did not get bread promptly. And then we asked for oil and vinegar. And then for a plate, so we didn't have to sop it off the tablecloth or something. At which point the waitress rolled her eyes.

Which I suppose highlights two other issues related to Italian service. First, you don't tip - there's a bit of money included in the bill for the servers (see? This reinforces the first point about the lucky customer), so you can't express your displeasure that way (I have served and I completely believe in the use of the tip to express approval or disapproval). And second, we're becoming used to not being understood when we speak in English. Which is a problem, because first, someone might very well speak English. And second, we might very well continue in this habit once we get back to the States. Which could lead to some very awkward encounters.

But despite all this the food was completely lovely. Although, my noodles claimed they had pesto on them, but really it was just oil and basil... still delish. We had torta della nonna, which is a sort of creamy-ish cake with a carameley sauce, and lemon sorbetto which came in a lemon rind with a sweet minty sauce on the plate (they were actually quite tasty together). After dinner, which ended in the vicinity of 11pm, we returned to the hotel and fell asleep fairly quickly. Sunday was just a long day of returning to Siena, staying up late to upload pictures, and doing my homework.

So there, now you know all about my adventures in Umbria (Assisi and Perugia are not in Tuscany)! I hope you enjoyed reading about them, but somehow I doubt my lyrical prose is good enough to really express the adventures. I know you're all rolling around in fits of ecstasy at my ingenius use of the word 'prose', but take a moment, relax, and remember - I'm holy now, so it's completely natural for my words to have this effect on you. Don't be embarrassed if you fall to pieces.

Remember! Two weeks until Rachel's birthday! She'd love a card! Tell her how much you miss her and how your life is an empty shell without her! I almost feel bad plugging my birthday, except that I haven't had a real party/special day in so long - last year I had a 7 page paper due, and this year I'll have a test. Plus, I'm so far away from all my loved ones... so I need extra affection!

I hope you're all happy, confident and well fed. Letters and emails are always welcome.

<3