I sleep through the alarm but wake early enough to shower, etc. River doesn’t like getting up early, so we fall into a decent pattern in which I wake first, get ready, and wake River so he can get ready. I have some time to kill, so I run to the piazza and pick up two bottles of diet coke. I drink mine on the steps of the Minerva temple then buy an internet café card and check my email, sending one to the kids, before checking the sports sites to find the Bears beat the Packers. I trash talk at the football pool site before returning to the Casa, dropping River’s diet coke off at the room, and eating breakfast. Here’s a picture of the Assisi piazza. I will spend a lot of time here in the next ten days:
http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/ImportedPhotos00005.jpg
After breakfast and a quick prayer service/historical lecture on the Casa roof (beautiful view) we head out into the city for our first real day in Assisi. The pilgrimage leaders walk us to the church associated with Francis’ boyhood home. I take a picture of the statue of Francis’ parents and listen to the leaders talk through the church. Later they show us a replica of the prison cell where Francis’ dad supposedly imprisoned his son. They also show us a tiny chapel, like a stable, where Francis might have been born. I guess there is some controversy on the sites’ authenticity, but I don’t mind.
Some pics:
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00007.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00006.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00008.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00009.jpg
The leaders next walk us up one of the many tight, ascending stairways that link the main Assisi roads. We emerge outside the San Ruffino church and gather around while Priest explains the site’s background (e.g. Clare supposedly heard Francis speak from her window just off the piazza in front of the church).
I need to interject something before I continue. I can best express myself here through two statements:
As I mentioned briefly earlier I am deathly afraid of heights.
I was either in high places looking down or looking up at high places a LOT while in Italy.
Other than my room at the Casa (fourth floor, no screen on the window...I avoided paralysis by pretending the window didn’t exist), the piazza outside San Ruffino was my first of many “heights’ experiences on the trip. I avoided looking up at the cathedral’s point until we entered the sanctuary, where I learned I damn well better not look up inside the sanctuary, either. Churches are high places. I spent a lot of time in them, while in Italy, with sweaty palms, pretending the ceiling was a couple feet above my head.
I like the San Ruffino church, though. I check out the baptismal font where Francis and Care were almost certainly baptized and look beneath the glass floor at unearthed ruins of Roman roads.
Some pics:
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00010.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00011.jpg
We walk as a group back to the Casa for lunch (eggs for me). I slip out to the piazza to write in my journal and take some pics before re-visiting the home site and San Ruffino on my own. Some tourists are at the home site, but I manage a couple quick pictures of the inside of the stable/chapel (the Christ/Francis connection here a bit too convenient, to be honest) then walk up to San Ruffino. I don’t think we’re supposed to take pictures, by other people are doing it, so I snap a couple quick ones inside the cathedral. I also light a candle (on my second attempt) for half a Euro and ask God to bless my family back in Wisconsin. I do the holy water and sign of the cross thing for the first time in twenty years, since I’m in a good mood, and head back to the Casa after a quick phone call and email home. I count back the hours and discover that, if we have free time in the early afternoon, say, 2PM, the seven hour difference has my family eating breakfast back in the states.
I sit on the rooftop garden for a few minutes before we’re hustled off to another historical site. I can’t name one building with a rooftop garden in my city back in Wisconsin, and I start to think the Italians are on to something. Despite the fact I don’t go near the edge (heights!), I enjoy the garden immensely. You can either look out into the Spoleto valley or down into town. Beautiful. Here’s a pic:
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00012.jpg
In the afternoon we visit another church. Honestly, I can’t remember anything about this one besides 1) the bishop’s residence was next door, 2) the 1997 earthquake hit the space pretty hard and 3) Jewish people hid there during WW2. Some frescoes were under restoration while we visited, and Priest pointed out the white walls where the church lost frescoes in the quake and warned us not to lean on too many walls. We have mass, including a reenactment of the famous “stripping” scene, where Francis gave his clothes back to his father and symbolically stripped off his wealthy existence in front of the bishop, his family, and everyone else. One guy from the pilgrimage, included in the reenactment, actually takes off his shirt, and for a moment I think he’s going full monty, but he doesn’t. At least he is in good shape. After mass we walk down into the church’s lower level and check out some Roman ruins. Priest says Virgil might have visited a friend here, so I take a bunch of pictures after everyone files out, basking in the idea that I’m standing, alone, where Virgil might have stood.
Some pics:
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00013.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00014.jpg
When we get outside Priest tells us stories about how the priests living here in World War II saved a bunch of Jews and their artifacts by hiding their holy books, etc., in the walls and laying bricks over them before hiding the families as well. We wander the church courtyard until the group disperses. We’re not walking back as a group, so Ivan and I decide to walk downhill on one Assisi’s snaky streets to check out more shops. We get insanely lost, turning up near the St. Francis Basilica (the site of his tomb), way on the low end of town, before heading back up another street. We accidentally leave town via an ancient gate before we remember Priest said, during orientation, that as long as we stay within the gates we shouldn’t get too lost. We grab some gelato, gather our senses, and find our way home after about an hour. Dinner time is near, and I’m exhausted, so I stick by people I know and limit my post-dinner activity to the piazza. A few colleagues are hanging out at the wine bar after I e-mail a couple people and make another phone call, so I snag a diet coke and join them. We hang out for a while, chatting, before heading back to the Casa and a small garden just off our floor, sort of a side-rooftop garden, if you will. A few guys are kind of blitzed and drink lemonchello (I think I spelled that wrong). They get loud and I start to worry about the noise. I try some (fucking awful) lemonchello before wussing out and heading back to the room, where I discover the caffeine in the diet coke won’t let me sleep. I read Kevin Smith until about midnight before I pass out.
http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/ImportedPhotos00005.jpg
After breakfast and a quick prayer service/historical lecture on the Casa roof (beautiful view) we head out into the city for our first real day in Assisi. The pilgrimage leaders walk us to the church associated with Francis’ boyhood home. I take a picture of the statue of Francis’ parents and listen to the leaders talk through the church. Later they show us a replica of the prison cell where Francis’ dad supposedly imprisoned his son. They also show us a tiny chapel, like a stable, where Francis might have been born. I guess there is some controversy on the sites’ authenticity, but I don’t mind.
Some pics:
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00007.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00006.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00008.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00009.jpg
The leaders next walk us up one of the many tight, ascending stairways that link the main Assisi roads. We emerge outside the San Ruffino church and gather around while Priest explains the site’s background (e.g. Clare supposedly heard Francis speak from her window just off the piazza in front of the church).
I need to interject something before I continue. I can best express myself here through two statements:
As I mentioned briefly earlier I am deathly afraid of heights.
I was either in high places looking down or looking up at high places a LOT while in Italy.
Other than my room at the Casa (fourth floor, no screen on the window...I avoided paralysis by pretending the window didn’t exist), the piazza outside San Ruffino was my first of many “heights’ experiences on the trip. I avoided looking up at the cathedral’s point until we entered the sanctuary, where I learned I damn well better not look up inside the sanctuary, either. Churches are high places. I spent a lot of time in them, while in Italy, with sweaty palms, pretending the ceiling was a couple feet above my head.
I like the San Ruffino church, though. I check out the baptismal font where Francis and Care were almost certainly baptized and look beneath the glass floor at unearthed ruins of Roman roads.
Some pics:
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00010.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00011.jpg
We walk as a group back to the Casa for lunch (eggs for me). I slip out to the piazza to write in my journal and take some pics before re-visiting the home site and San Ruffino on my own. Some tourists are at the home site, but I manage a couple quick pictures of the inside of the stable/chapel (the Christ/Francis connection here a bit too convenient, to be honest) then walk up to San Ruffino. I don’t think we’re supposed to take pictures, by other people are doing it, so I snap a couple quick ones inside the cathedral. I also light a candle (on my second attempt) for half a Euro and ask God to bless my family back in Wisconsin. I do the holy water and sign of the cross thing for the first time in twenty years, since I’m in a good mood, and head back to the Casa after a quick phone call and email home. I count back the hours and discover that, if we have free time in the early afternoon, say, 2PM, the seven hour difference has my family eating breakfast back in the states.
I sit on the rooftop garden for a few minutes before we’re hustled off to another historical site. I can’t name one building with a rooftop garden in my city back in Wisconsin, and I start to think the Italians are on to something. Despite the fact I don’t go near the edge (heights!), I enjoy the garden immensely. You can either look out into the Spoleto valley or down into town. Beautiful. Here’s a pic:
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00012.jpg
In the afternoon we visit another church. Honestly, I can’t remember anything about this one besides 1) the bishop’s residence was next door, 2) the 1997 earthquake hit the space pretty hard and 3) Jewish people hid there during WW2. Some frescoes were under restoration while we visited, and Priest pointed out the white walls where the church lost frescoes in the quake and warned us not to lean on too many walls. We have mass, including a reenactment of the famous “stripping” scene, where Francis gave his clothes back to his father and symbolically stripped off his wealthy existence in front of the bishop, his family, and everyone else. One guy from the pilgrimage, included in the reenactment, actually takes off his shirt, and for a moment I think he’s going full monty, but he doesn’t. At least he is in good shape. After mass we walk down into the church’s lower level and check out some Roman ruins. Priest says Virgil might have visited a friend here, so I take a bunch of pictures after everyone files out, basking in the idea that I’m standing, alone, where Virgil might have stood.
Some pics:
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00013.jpg
http://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i196/randomanthony/?action=view¤t=ImportedPhotos00014.jpg
When we get outside Priest tells us stories about how the priests living here in World War II saved a bunch of Jews and their artifacts by hiding their holy books, etc., in the walls and laying bricks over them before hiding the families as well. We wander the church courtyard until the group disperses. We’re not walking back as a group, so Ivan and I decide to walk downhill on one Assisi’s snaky streets to check out more shops. We get insanely lost, turning up near the St. Francis Basilica (the site of his tomb), way on the low end of town, before heading back up another street. We accidentally leave town via an ancient gate before we remember Priest said, during orientation, that as long as we stay within the gates we shouldn’t get too lost. We grab some gelato, gather our senses, and find our way home after about an hour. Dinner time is near, and I’m exhausted, so I stick by people I know and limit my post-dinner activity to the piazza. A few colleagues are hanging out at the wine bar after I e-mail a couple people and make another phone call, so I snag a diet coke and join them. We hang out for a while, chatting, before heading back to the Casa and a small garden just off our floor, sort of a side-rooftop garden, if you will. A few guys are kind of blitzed and drink lemonchello (I think I spelled that wrong). They get loud and I start to worry about the noise. I try some (fucking awful) lemonchello before wussing out and heading back to the room, where I discover the caffeine in the diet coke won’t let me sleep. I read Kevin Smith until about midnight before I pass out.
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