Monday, July 2, 2018
Discovering the Blessings of Assisi
Discovering the Blessings of Assisi
We awoke in Casa della Fatte after a restful night (I shared the room with Nafisa) to meet the proprietor—a rather sullen woman who could not speak any English at all. Somehow we managed to get across to her. She invited us to take breakfast in a dining room that was also reminiscent of Grandma’s Cottage—indeed the whole place was decorated with cutesy charm in the manner of story-book illustrations with a plethora of knick-knacks, wall decorations and curios.
Breakfast was a very filling affair with toast and preserves, yogurt and fresh fruit, boiled eggs, cheese, ham and coffee. After we cleared our dues, we were ready to check out and asked if we could stash our baggage until the evening when we would be ready to leave Assisi. To our annoyance, we discovered that the sullen woman would be leaving the premises after breakfast and would not be returning until the next morning. She directed us to a shop on the Via Francesco where she informed us that our cases could be stashed until we were ready to retrieve them. This was not just inconvenient but also tiring and I was not amused by the arrangements. Hauling our cases along the cobbled streets (fortunately downhill) past the beautiful Basilica of St. Francis was not a picnic and I was understandably rattled by the exercise. Still, there was no use grumbling. In about 15-20 minutes, we found the souvenir store that would keep our cases and, without wasting any more time, we headed off to the Basilica as that was the main venue of our sightseeing plans for the day. It was about 10.00 am when we began our exploration; but the sun was already really strong and hot and the glare was blinding.
Exploring the Basilica of St. Francis in Prayerful Pilgrimage:
St. Francis of Assisi (1182-1226) lends his name to a basilica that is the headquarters of the order of Roman Catholic friars known as the Franciscans that date from Medieval times. Its construction began in 1298; but over the centuries, it was added upon. Today, it is a massive white-toned edifice that sports a Lower Basilica and an Upper Basilica. The lower one is by far the more ornate and contains several objects of interest. The Upper Basilica is thickly covered with frescoes that record the life of St. Francis. The Church was designed by Jacobo Tedesco and sports decoration by some of the master painters of the era such as Cimabue, Giotto, Lorenzetti and Simone Marti. Perched high up on a hill, it overlooks the serenity of the Perugian countryside and the vast dome of the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli. Outside, in the wide front courtyard, there is a superb sculpture of St. Francis, newly returned from the agonies of war, bent double with strife as he straddles his horse and makes his way to his father’s home after which his conversion occurred.
Here is a bit about the good saint. St. Francis was canonized in 1228. Like most saints from this era, he was born to wealth and privilege which he renounced to embrace the ascetic life as a priest and preacher. Today, a whole cult of worship has blossomed around the saint that is best known for his Prayer that begins, “Make Me a Channel of your Peace…” There is a small corner of the Lower Church that is dedicated to quiet prayer—the rest of it is a living museum, showcasing the frescoed work and sculptural achievements of some of the greatest artists of the period. For example, the transept walls are entirely covered with frescoes depicting Biblical scenes by none other than Giotto. Not an inch of the walls and ceiling have been left bare of decoration and, in a short time, your eye feels overwhelmed and unable to focus.
St. Francis’ Mortal Remains in the Crypt:
St. Francis’ mortal remains are housed below the main altar of the Basilica in a marble casket in the crypt. It is lit by a single oil lamp. Pilgrims still flock here to catch a glimpse of this holy spot at whose altar Pope John Paul II once knelt and said Mass. Adjacent to this space, there is another crypt where one can see relics from his lifetime: his brown horsehair monk’s robe, the simple chalice and paten he used to say Mass, a document with the seal of the Vatican that permitted him to found a new order of monks (the Franciscans), his simple sandals, his prayer book, etc. Among the many frescoes that cover the walls of the church is a simple depiction of the saint that has come to be recognized as his definitive image—he wears a brown cassock and a tonsured hair style which was characteristic of all medieval monks. It takes a very long time to do justice to all the items of visual and sacerdotal interest in the Lower Basilica.
The Upper Basilica:
When one leaves the Lower Basilica behind, one comes to a staircase leading upwards which opens on to a vast cloistered courtyard. The premises are beautifully maintained and the marble cladding everywhere is spotless. Upstairs again, it is frescoes that detail the life of St. Francis that are admirable. These frescoes were used to educate the people visually about the stirring impact of the saint who put Assisi on the world map, at a time when the faithful could not read or understand Latin, the ecclesiastical language.
We spent a lot of time in prayer and contemplation of the interior; but I had to hurry out as I had an appointment at 12 noon to meet a nun called Sr. Marcellina Tauro of the Order of Brigidine nuns of St. Brigitte of Sweden, who is the friend of close London-based friends of mine. Sr. Marcellina told me that she would meet me at the front square of the Basilica of St. Clare and it was there that I hurried off to meet her.
A Detour Into The Temple of Minerva:
Shahida decided to accompany me on my mission to St. Clare’s as Delyse and Nafisa needed a bit more time to conclude their Rick Steves’ walking tour of the Basilica of St. Francis. We hurried along the Via Francesco passing by a multitude of eateries and souvenir shops and even a man dressed like the monk Francis in a mud-colored cassock who stood motionless on the street in imitation of a statue. He completely fooled Delyse. He earned quite a few coins and many laughs for his handiwork.
En route we passed by the interesting Temple of Minerva. This ancient classic building built in the 1stcentury AD is a wonderful remnant of Roman Assisi. The Temple of Minerva was actually a temple to the god Minerva and is characterized by the beautiful Corinthian classic columns and pediment that formed the design of all classical Roman buildings. When the country became Christianized, such buildings were appropriated as Christian churches and it became the Church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva. Once you pass by the classical portico, you enter a stunning Baroque church filled with a gilded altar, exuberant paintings on the walls and ceiling and sculptures of saints Peter and Paul. But if you look beyond the latter-built altar, you can still see the original marble foundations of the classical temple looking exactly as they might have done over 2000 years ago. It was a wonderful sightseeing detour.
The Basilica of St. Clare:
St. Clare is known for founding, in the 13thcentury, the religious order that came to be known as the Order of the Poor Clares. She was a follower of St. Francis (having been born and raised in Assisi). While the basilica that was raised in her honor is not half as impressive as the massive one that houses the mortal remains of St. Francis, its front courtyard strikes by its size and width. Inside, although the church is stark, it is well-visited by pilgrims from around the world for the crypt that houses the saint’s remains in a stone casket. These remains, like those of St. Francis, unknown and concealed beneath the earth for centuries, were only unearthed in the 19thcentury when the special chapel was built in the crypt to house them.
When Shahida and I arrived there just before noon we had no idea that the entire church was closed to visitors for 2 hours—from noon till 2.00 pm daily. This left us with just 15 minutes to make our way down to the crypt together with hundreds of pilgrims from a big tour group who were all jostling to get to the front. On one side of the crypt is a vast show case that displays relics from the saint’s life—her nun’s habit, for instance as well as other items that associate her closely with St. Francis. On the other side, in a beautiful marble chapel, we could see the stone casket and the stone effigy on which St. Clare serenely lies. A lay parishioner was directing traffic to ensure that people did not linger too long but kept the queue going as they bowed in worship. It is these little ‘attractions’, as it were, in these churches, that still bring them renown as pilgrims do the rounds from one European church to the next on modern-day pilgrimages that combine conducted sightseeing tours. I must admit that I found it very difficult to really get into a prayerful spirit in these places as the tourist interest (represented by world-famous art) got in the way of the sanctity and devotion that I would have experienced, had I been in a place where tourism did not conflict with spiritual belief and practice.
After a few minutes of prayer in the main church, I went out on to the wide square to meet up with Sr. Marcellina as it was noon and the appointed hour of our visit. Nuns were shepherding people out of the church so as to close it up. To my surprise, my friends Delyse and Nafisa had already met Sister and were in conversation with her. We met and greeted each other and spent a few moments chatting before she invited me to visit her convent which she assured me was just ten minutes away. As I had come a long way to meet the good nun, I decided to accept her gracious offer and, bidding goodbye to my friends who decided to get some lunch and wander around the town, I left with Sr. Marcellina.
A Visit to Suour Brigidine:
It was just a ten-minute walk, yes—but a very fast one, to be sure. Besides, it went steeply downhill: I shuddered to think of what it would be like to climb it up again to get back to the square of the Basilica of St. Clare. Sr. Marcellina was fit and took the walk in her stride—literally. Within ten minutes, we were at the hostel—called Suour Brigidine--that she runs for pilgrims and visitors, with a group of nine other nuns from various parts of the world—many of them from South India. Sr. Marcellina herself is a Mangalorean—from that part of India from which my own ancestors hail. She speaks fluent Konkani (I have merely a smattering of it) and was quite delighted to do so with me. The hostel is wonderfully laid out and maintained. It is spacious and has many public spaces (living room, drawing room or lounge, dining room, etc.) which visitors can use. Sister also took me to the chapel for quiet prayer where Mass is said each morning by a visiting priest. All these rooms overlook the wide expanses of the Perugian countryside—a glorious sight in any season. Sister took me on a tour and showed me the rooms that the pilgrims use. Since a large group had just left and a new one was expected later that afternoon, there was a flurry of activity as bed and bath linens were changed by the busy nuns.
After our tour was completed, Sr. Marcellina led me to a wide terrace overlooking a well-tended lawn and garden where she invited me to join herself and her nuns for lunch. I was delighted to be included in their simple meal—which turned out to be quite hearty indeed. As more nuns brought platters and dishes of food up to the table, Sister poured a bottle of beer for me—which the two of us shared. The heat of the afternoon and our energetic walk made a cold beer very welcome indeed. In addition, there was spaghetti with a tasty tomato sauce, roast chicken that was well-seasoned and flavored, a simple gourd dish prepared in the Indian style, French fries. Everything was perfectly cooked and delicious and sister informed me that the meal was typical of the food served to the visitors who stay in the hostel for the nuns provide all three meals each day. Indeed, the house is the perfect place in which to enjoy a whole week’s quiet retreat, if one is so inclined, from the bustle of daily life. The nuns kept up easy banter with me as they inquired after my background and my current life. I enjoyed chatting with them and getting to know a little bit about their vocation and their devotion to keeping modern-day pilgrims well-fed and well-rested on their pilgrimage to Assisi.
Then, since I had made plans to reconvene with my friends in the square of St. Clare’s Basilica at 1.00 pm, I had to hurry out. I had spent an absolutely perfect hour with the good nuns and felt determined to return to this peaceful spot with Llew and Chriselle sometime in the future. Sister insisted on accompanying me back to the square. This time round we had to hurry—plus we were climbing uphill (up a very steep hill!). Sill, ten minutes later, we were back together again, saying goodbye and thanks to the nun and promising to stay in touch.
Assisi is beautiful. Not for nothing does it have its sterling reputation as a delightful hill town. It has little nooks and crannies that offer picturesque vistas of the surrounding countryside of Perugia. Along its cobbled streets and in its little squares—most dating from ancient times—the quaintness of a little village has been preserved. It is hard to understand how a little town that boasts thousands of pilgrims each year from around the world can still retain its small village ambience. It is truly the sort of place in which one should linger for a whole week doing nothing more strenuous that exploring side streets—that activity itself would be quite strenuous as every walk involves an uphill or downhill venture.
As we traced our steps back to the shop that stored our cases, we decided to try to move on. I was keen to be able to pay a flying visit to the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli in the valley below us—it was the spot in which St. Francis is said to have received his calling. As she hadn’t visited the Basilica of St. Clare, Delyse decided to race back to it when it opened at 2.00 pm, to get a glimpse of the interior and the crypt of St. Clare. The rest of us waited for the store to open—the owner was probably taking an afternoon siesta. At about 3.00 pm, the store did open, we managed to hail a cab through the store owner and piling our cases in, we caught up with Delyse at the basilica square.
Heading off to Bologna:
The next venue on our itinerary was the university town of Bologna which lay several hours’ journey north of Assisi in Emilia-Romana. We, therefore, needed to get a head start on the journey if we wished to reach there before it got too late or too dark. Hence, without wasting too much time, we decided to take the cab to the train station at Santa Maria degli Angeli. I felt disappointed that we would not have the chance to visit this gigantic basilica—the fourth largest in the world, by some accounts. But, I guessed that some things would have to give.
However, to our surprise, once more, an angel was sent to respond to our heart’s desire—for our cab driver offered to take us (for 50 euros) directly to the train station at Perugia from where we would get a train to Bolgona. It seemed like a very good deal to me as it would eliminate us having to make two or three transport connections while lugging cases. I also persuaded him to stop for just ten minutes at the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli as we would be passing right by it—and, miraculously, he agreed. I did not wish to abuse the privilege that he had granted us—to take just a ten-minute stop to make a quick prayerful (not a tourist) visit to the church. Nafisa, who by this point in time was fairly wilting with physical fatigue from the non-stop activity of over a week, decided to sit it out as she simply could not enter one more church. I could quite understand her reticence…for the heat and the pace of our activity was little short of draining. However, for Delyse and myself (as Catholics) the venue held deep significance and we were thrilled that the taxi driver agreed to make an unplanned stop for us. Shahida, who did not wish to miss a thing, tagged along with us, camera in hand, in search of one more tourist attraction about which she could say, Been There, Done That!
Visiting the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli:
In the vast courtyard of the Church of Saint Mary of the Angels, we found people frantically looking for any little bit of shade. It was hot in the afternoon and we were all grateful for the air-conditioned taxi ride that was making our onward journey to Bologna so pleasant. We raced into the church—its vastness was really overwhelming. Built in the Mannerist style—which imitates the Baroque in every way—between the mid-1500s and the mid-1600s--this grand church is most interesting. Because, concealed in its very center is the Porziuncola, a 9thcentury stone chapel. The huge basilica was literally built over it, its nave soaring overhead on massive columns. It was in this little chapel that St. Francis is said to have received his vocation that changed the direction of his life. It is the most sacred place for Franciscans. The outside is beautifully painted in the style with which we had become familiar. We stepped inside for a few moments’ prayer. In another part of the church called the Transito, St. Francis is supposed to have died. While we saw directions that led to this spot, I simply did not feel comfortable keeping the taxi driver waiting beyond the ten minutes that I had promised him it would take us to make a swift spiritual visit. Hence, we skipped this visit and hurried out into the glare of the merciless sun and continued on our journey towards Bologna.
En Route to Bologna:
Profusely thanking the driver for the favor he had done us, we returned to his cab. He flew along the highway and dropped us off to the station at Perugia (as promised) after pointing out to us the old medieval town, that like Sienna and Assisi, was also perched on a mountain above the station. The fare did come to 68 euros—so we had entered into a true bargain with the driver who took us there for 50. As I said, this was the third time that an angel had appeared to make our travels a little less stressful than they could have been.
At Perugia train station, we bought tickets that would take us on a direct train to Bologna which we reached about two hours later. It was one of those Rapido trains that speed on tracks as if gliding on silk (like the Japanese bullet trains or the French TGV—Tres Grand Vitesse--trains). Passengers inside have no clue how quickly they are moving. The countryside slid along with a number of mountain castles appearing obligingly for us to photograph. We passed miles of vineyards, olive and citrus orchards and farmhouses that were deeply appealing.
Arrival in Bologna:
Eventually, we did arrive in Bologna. As had become routine for us, Delyse and I left Nafisa and Shahida on the platform and made our way directly to the Ticket Office to inquire about and buy onward journey tickets for our travels to Ravenna. This took us about an hour as there was a line that slowly crawled to the front. With our tickets in hand and a map that I bought from a Tabacchi across the road from the train station, we began our journey to our B&B—the Pension Marconi. Except that when local people tell you that something is only ten minutes away, if one is hauling a case, one ought to add at least 30 minutes to that! Our B&B seemed absolutely miles away! Still, we happened to spy a Co-op where we entered to buy a meal: Delyse and I got salads and Nafisa and Shahida bought a variety of finger foods that we could sit in our hotel room and eat—because, by this stage, we were simply too beat to go out to a restaurant for dinner.
Our dinner purchased, we arrived at our hotel on the first floor of a building on a busy street—Via Marconi. We checked in and discovered that while three of us would be sharing a triple, we had no air-conditioning in ours. This was disappointing as the days were hot and a cool night’s sleep would have been very welcome. Shahida, who had a single, was comfortable in an air-conditioned room. Dinner was eaten after quick showers as we sat munching and getting some much-needed rest. As it turned out, with the window left open, the night air soon cooled our room and by the middle of the night, it had, in fact, turned cold. If our hotels were utilitarian and offered no frills, we could not complain—they were spotlessly clean, very safe, run by efficient and knowledgeable personnel and were very centrally located.
It was not long before we all turned in for the night and fell fast asleep after what had been another extraordinary day.
Until tomorrow, arrivederci…
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