When you hear "Assisi," what comes to mind? Do you think of gently rolling hills lined
with perfectly manicured orchards in the Umbria region of Italy? Do you think of monks in brown robes and
sandals casually strolling with the faithful through the cobblestone streets of
a hilltop town? Perhaps if you attended
parochial school as I did, you recall the day each year when families would
bring their pets to school for a blessing as we prayed for peace and for God to
bless all creatures, especially our beloved animals. As I left Perugia alone in the middle of
September for my solo journey to Assisi, these ideas were called to mind,
albeit fleetingly because of how distracted I was by the daunting task of
trying to understand Italian transportation.
I arrived
at the bus port earlier than was necessary, as I had originally planned to take
the train but heeded the advice of the kind young woman at the ticket booth at
Piazza Italia. So instead of making my
way to the train station, I soon found myself taking the six escalators that
that led away from our hilltop town and to the lower part of town where is the
bus port. I think I must have forgotten
to remove my "Hello, my name is CONFUSED" sticker from my forehead
that morning, but thankfully this served me well, as a caring and motherly lady
gladly answered my questions as I posed them with my limited Italian
vocabulary. She brought me with her to
the next available ticket master and helped me to purchase the ticket I needed
to get me to Assisi. But when I left the
ticket vendor, I searched for the sign saying "Assisi" and could not
find it, so I returned on my own and asked where the bus would be. Thinking I had missed it, I was reassured
that the bus to Assisi was instead labeled "Filio." Upon the bus's arrival, forty-five minutes
later, I boarded with a man and an elderly couple and checked with the bus
driver to make sure that this bus would indeed get me to Assisi. It would, but not without having to change
buses. Immediately after sitting in one
of the first seats on the otherwise empty bus, the elderly couple sat behind me
and began speaking English! Soon, they
were asking me to ask the bus driver questions for them, assuming that my
Italian was better than theirs. They
informed me that after hearing me speak when we boarded the bus, they thought I
was fluent in Italian from my accent. If
only I could convince my Italian language teacher that I had mastered the
language that well!
The bus
ride was about an hour in total to a town only twenty minutes away by car. I was occupied, however, with the pleasant
conversations that were had. First, the
bus's only other passenger, a French scientist named Nicola, detailed to me
that he was in Perugia to sit on the review board for a student's doctoral
thesis. He then shared with me that he
was returning to France where his students just don't appreciate science the
way he does and where his red-headed son is trying to make a career out of
acting. Apparently, French directors are
really seeking red-headed actors because he and his girlfriend have been hired
for multiple movies for the sole reason of having red hair. Calling all gingers... When he left the bus
at the airport, the couple behind me started speaking with me. If you know me, you know that I love
listening to elderly people share with me their wisdom and experiences. This time, that gift came wrapped in a
British accent and delivered by Arch and his much quieter wife, Margaret. Arch
teaches Russian and is currently translating Gorbachev's autobiography. Margaret is a retired tax collector and a
secretary from the University of Birmingham.
When I asked why they were in Perugia, he shared with me that they had
adopted a new philosophy on life as their bones have become more decrepit. They promised each other, for the sake of adventure,
that every so often they would fly wherever a cheap flight would take them and
would stay there for ten days. Even if
their destination did not provide much to do, they would make the most of it
together.
Inspired by
this couple to make the most of my day in Assisi, I disembarked the bus with
them to wait for the next one which would take us to Assisi. Not knowing how much time I had until the
next bus came (because the schedule posted on the sign was most likely not
correct since we are in Italy), I reluctantly entered the basilica that was
near the stop. To my surprise, I had
walked into the famous Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli where the
Porziuncola, a small chapel given to St. Francis for prayer, is located. It was beautiful but very crowded, and I did
not want to stay long for fear of missing my bus. So I left and met Arch and Margaret again as
we waited for the bus. By this time they
had made another English-speaking friend from California who would later prove
a huge help to me in town. But that
comes later. For now, I rode the bus to
Assisi and struck up a conversation with the lady sitting next to me who spoke
Spanish. I tried to recall all 6 years
of my Spanish studies, but it felt as if Italian had moved into those dusty
corners of my brain and I could barely remember how to say "I want to see
the church." Nevertheless, she was
patient and we tried to speak to each other.
She told me that she was from Mexico but that her son and his wife had
moved to America and had studied English.
After introducing myself to her son and daughter-in-law, I learned that
he had a friend who did his clinical at Hershey Medical Center, twenty minutes
from my college, and that the man himself had once lived in Lebanon and has
friends who live in Elizabethtown. If
you know Etown, you know that it is most likely the smallest college town that
exists. How very small our world
is.
Arriving in
Assisi, I was ready to make my small, self-guided pilgrimage. I said goodbye to the elderly couple as we
agreed to meet again in the evening. I
followed the crowds and the signs to the Basilica di San Francesco and was met
in the square by another friendly couple, this time much younger and asking me
to take their picture. Of course I said,
"yes," and they returned the favor with a very kind
conversation. They were very parental
and wanted to make sure that I was okay with being alone for the day. They asked if I was from Eastern Europe
because apparently I look like I am.
They then told me that they had a relative who lives in
Pennsylvania. They were from the
beautiful town of Puglia in southern Italy.
If you're not familiar with this town's beautiful houses, do yourself
the favor of Googling it. It really is
unique. After leaving Dino and Luciana,
I entered the overwhelmingly large Basilica of St. Francis. I cannot begin to describe the beauty that
surrounded me as I tried to comprehend the architecture, the paintings, and the
depth of each individual chapel that lined the perimeter of the basilica. Frescoes and statues greeted me as I began my
rosary at the side chapel, stopping at each chapel to say a decade, praying the
way I had watched my grandparents pray and had learned from them. I lit a candle at the tomb of St. Francis in
the stereotypically Catholic fashion. I
finished my rosary at the chapel of the Sacred Heart and left the basilica only
after attempting to capture its beauty in a few photographs. Of course, I failed at this.
 |
| View of the Basilica as I exited. (Excuse my phone's poor photo quality.) |
Yes, I
visited the gift shop, but I was happy to buy a small relic of St. Francis for
my grandfather and one for me. I call my
grandfather "PaPa," but his name is William Francis. Much like St. Francis after whom he is named,
he is gentle and peaceful and loves animals more than anyone I know. I admire his disposition and pray constantly
for the gentleness that he has. Although
he can't be here with me, I wanted to take something home to him for him to
have a piece of the experience I had in Assisi.
After this
spiritual early afternoon, I decided to walk around town and explore the small
shops. I went into a free museum that
had some rather strange-looking displays that were supposed to show how the
Franciscan missionaries had helped the people of South America. At least that's what I believe it was from
the large plastic bugs and reptiles that were displayed with pictures of
missionary towns. I next found a shop in
which a kind young woman was selling lavender and herbal sachets that she had
made and embroidered by hand. We talked
for a bit which allowed me to practice my Italian. She asked what I was studying and told me
that her sister is a special education teacher.
After our warm conversation, she gave me a discount on a small sachet of
lavender embroidered with red and tied with a red ribbon that I'm taking home
for Christmas. It's very festive. I then decided it was time for lunch.
I wanted
pizza. I had been in Italy for a month
without having pizza (the struggle of having to eat gluten free), and so I
decided that Google would have to tell me where a gluten free pizza place was
in Assisi. Google let me down, but
thankfully a shop owner did not. She
pointed me toward two restaurants that she thought had gluten free pizza. The first did not, but the next one did! I followed the signs down some steps and into
what I thought was the restaurant. Alas,
I was wrong, but I did share a lovely conversation with the young cook. After this embarrassing exchange when I
apologized profusely for ending up in his kitchen, he reassured me that it was
indeed "va bene" (it's alright) and that he would make me gluten free
pizza. I followed his directions to the
dining room and searched the menu. I
decided on a pizza made with brie, pumpkin spread, fontina, and truffle
crumbles. All I can say was that it was very
content as I sat alone in the pizzeria, enjoying my pizza, surrounded by
couples and families. The first time I
ate alone at a restaurant was during my internship in Nashville last summer. Since then, I've learned that it isn't as
awkward as one might think. I didn't
even have my phone out during my meal. I
just savored both my pizza and the moment and thought about all I was seeing in
Assisi that day.
I decided
that I wanted to see the Temple of Minerva as my British friends had suggested,
and in attempting to find it, I had to ask four people who all pointed in a
general direction but couldn't tell me which building it was. Confused by the lack of signs, I finally ran
into the lady from earlier who was from California. She asked me how my day was going and pointed
me toward the building I wanted to see.
I
next walked the entire length of the road toward the Cathedral of St. Claire,
but the walk was worth it for the views of yet another beautiful church and the
panoramic view outside of the church that overlooked the Assisi
countryside. After this, I attempted to
find my way back to the bus stop on the other side of town. I did manage to use the map and only stopped
to ask for directions once when an elderly nun and a Scottish man put their
brains together to try to point me in the right direction. On my way back, I stopped in a few more shops
and saw everything from painting to pottery to artisanal truffle sauce.
I was not at the bus stop for more than five
minutes when I again found Arch and Margaret.
Arch asked me to come sit with him and his wife. They offered to buy me gelato, which I
declined, and I instead chose to look through the pictures they had taken as
Arch explained to me what they did that day.
When there were no more pictures to see, the conversation turned to
politics as they asked me who would win the election and voiced their opinions
about Trump and Clinton. They told me
that they thought if Trump was so rich, he should spend more money on a better
looking wig. I'm only passing this
along.
Finally,
our bus arrived and we boarded the bus with everyone else who was journeying
back to Perugia. The bus was only a bit
more crowded this time, but I felt cozy sitting at the front of the bus near
Arch and Margaret. I watched as we
passed through a few small towns and observed where the crops grew right up
next to the walls of the elementary schools.
I watched young men speed by on Vespas past stores that were closed by
now. I saw the cornfields and the
beautiful orchards paint a moving portrait on the canvas of a slowly setting
sun. As the bus made its ascent up the
hills into Perugia, I was reminded of how very blessed I am to be here. This day was a humbling a spiritual one that
allowed me to grow in new friendships, my independence, and my faith.
Blessings and baci,
Sarah
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