Tuesday, Oct. 9th

I wake at six, shower, shake River up, and hit the piazza for diet cokes. The usual bar is closed, so I can’t use the internet, but I hit another one and head back for breakfast. A stray dog with a lame leg digs through the Casa garbage. After breakfast (where every day I seem to arrive at the table just as the oatmeal cereal runs out) we gather in the classroom for LN’s presentation on the San Damiano cross. Francis apparently thought the Christ on the San Damiano cross (now hanging in St. Clare’s Basilica, not San Damiano’s chapel, which confused me early in the pilgrimage) told him to “rebuild the church”. Francis took the direction literally and started looking for stones to rebuild the church.

Anyway, the cross is quite intricate, so LN darkens the room and presents a PowerPoint on the details. I sit in back, near Priest, who says “Jesus Christ” under his breath when Bob enters after the presentation began. Priest is not, again, to be fucked with, and you fuck with priest by showing up late. I find out later that Bob, on the first day, asked priest about whether or not guys could wear shorts at the holy sites and Priest went nuts on him. The question “can we wear shorts today?” becomes a running joke for the rest of the pilgrimage.

After the presentation we walk across town to St. Clare’s Basilica. The Basilica is cool, with the cross hanging on taut wires above the altar. Hardly anyone is around but the little, Asian-looking nuns who take care of the church. We’re not allowed to take pictures. Priest walks us through the building, talking through the history, before we go into the basement where Clare is buried. We walk in a circle around Clare’s tomb before moving upstairs. Supposedly some cool relics are in another part of the basement but the area is closed for renovations. Some pilgrims later say they returned later and found the area open. I like the St. Clare Basilica, I guess, and in retrospect I wish I would have returned later in the week.

I take this pic near the St. Clare’s Basilica end of the city, just before we leave for San Damiano’s.

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We leave the city gates, near where we disembarked from the bus, and walk down a long, steep cobblestone road to San Damiano’s church (I don’t think it’s a Basilica, but I could be wrong). Olive trees line the road. Ivan asks everyone in earshot whether or not black and green olives grow on the same trees, but he fails to arrive upon a definitive answer. He wants to steal a branch, but we’re worried the authorities will swoop down and deport him, so he resists the urge to cut one from a tree. An easy camaraderie pervades the group and people wait for each other and help the slower among us over the tougher stretches down the hill. When we arrive at the church courtyard Priest runs off to arrange a room and we sit on the courtyard steps or low walls and catch our breath. I take a quick pic of the chapel:

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Within a few minutes we’re ushered into a tiny, airless chapel for a combination history lesson/prayer service. I cannot keep my eyes open and miss most of the Clare history. After the lecture priest and both nuns give us a tour of the grounds. The second floor is interesting. One corner of the large dormitory room is marked off by chalk, and a small lamp and fresh flowers sit isolated from the rest of the empty space. Apparently this corner is where Clare spent most of her last years and eventually died. This is quite moving for many, but esp. for LN and Gladys, who both cry a lot as BN provides the background. Afterwards the leaders walk us through a brief healing ceremony. We’re supposed to line up and approach one of the leaders to get a brief healing blessing. I skip the blessing but cut in line at the last minute and get my free little San Damiano cross. I’m tired and just want to go back to the Casa. Bob and I lead the walk back uphill, which is surprisingly easier than the downhill walk. We reward ourselves by taking the escalator from the last parking lot, much to the amusement of our colleagues.

After a couple minutes in the room, a quick call home, and a decent lunch, a small group of us, mostly U colleagues, decide to walk up to the fortress above Assisi. Somebody asks LN for directions, and we start up a rock path behind the Casa. A dog barks at us as we pass. We find our way to the fort easily, take some pictures of the grounds and the city view then pay our three euros at a trailer near the entrance. We’re way above the town now. Apparently the forts were always on the top of town as a strategic measure.

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Once inside we split up into loose groups. I climb the first tower and more or less shit my pants when I see how high we are. I have to sit on the floor inside the tower to catch my breath. The stairways and tight and circular, so I let some German (I think they’re German) tourists pass then find my way to the long tunnel that links two parts of the castle. The tunnel is fascinating. The space can’t be more than between six and six and a half feet high (it varies) and three feet wide. I read that the tunnel spans 110 meters in length. Small arrow slits provide most of the illumination, but small lights dot the walls as well.

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I plunge into the darkness and nearly reach the end before I bang my head and yell “fuck!” A couple of English tourists heading in the other direction check on my health before moving back through the tunnel themselves. I decide to wait for my colleagues.

After a quick glance at the second tower I return through the tunnel and check out the bigger fort rooms. They’re interesting, I guess, mostly stone and practical, but I feel like ditching the group, so I sneak off on my own and head back into the city down a long stairway. Here’s a quick pic, by the way, inside the castle.

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I mumble my way past a couple of construction workers fixing some of the stairs, who say something in Italian at me because I knock their railings out of place. The path leads me through a terraced neighborhood. I emerge near the San Ruffino church. While I’m walking downhill, back towards the piazza, I see a couple of boys about my kids’ ages, with long hair, and I miss home. I grab a diet coke, sit in the piazza, and take notes. An English tour guide tells his group, “Today is a good day to visit Assisi because there are not many Americans around.” Fuck you, English tour guide. An Italian man also motions for me to move over as I sit on the Minerva stairs. Whatever. I pick up a couple “Peace for Assisi” shirts for the boys and head home. I lie down on the bed, with River out, and take in the rest and quiet.

After a shower I head to the Casa classroom for a late afternoon lecture on Franciscan theology. I sit in the back, on a long bench, and catch myself falling asleep over and over again. Priest is talking, and he’s pretty good in this area, but I can hardly stay awake. I ask a question about Francis’ background connected to learning and detachment, then another about Plato and Aristotle in medieval theology. Priest pushes the “everything is good” facet of Franciscan theology, which seems revolutionary, but I miss my family so much I struggle with the message. We eat dinner, after which I join a small group for gelato and chocolate. We peek in all the good windows and settle on some insane hazelnut/chocolate cannoli. I think of the boys I saw and miss my kids even more. After returning to the room, River and I talk until midnight, when he leaves to call his wife, and I fall asleep.