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Having been Camino pilgrims, Hannes and I know what the adventure means - the patience, the stamina, the sacrifice, the marvelous fun of the unknown, the trials and joys of the spirit... the foot pain. As we settled into Assisi on Good Friday, we began to see the number of Easter pilgrims grow in boots and blisters; all of them with smiles on their faces despite their dirty clothes and the impending downpour. We looked at their sunburned noses and trekking poles and thought of them not as strangers but as 'our people'.
If you ever venture to Assisi yourself, you'll realize instantly the power of the place to lighten the heart's load. Sitting on its hilltop throne splashed in sunshine, pigeons swooping through its maze of church towers, tidy colorful shops full of St. Francis trinkets, the taste of the region's truffles swimming in olive oil, and the deep earthy smell of the oldest of stone permeating the streets, you instantly want to pull a Frances Mayes and buy a villa adesso, adesso, adesso!
But it's the story and legacy of St. Francis and St. Claire - friends of animals and outcasts - that truly give the town its life. Having gone to both St. Francis Elementary and High School, I've always had a soft spot for the 5'4" little saint. Hannes and I may not have been able to finish the psychedelic film version of his life, "Brother Sun, Sister Moon" a few nights later, but as animal lovers, we cant help but like the guy who preached to birds and whose statues include border collies at his feet. I for one sing to my cat on a regular basis. I get it. And who can't respect a guy who tossed aside the finest clothes in the land to stand naked in a square open to ridicule with a heart wide open for change? No Haight-Ashbury hippy has ever done it better or with so much meaning.
Okay, so Hannes and I shelled out extra Euros that night to wait out the thunder storm from the comforts of a cozy B&B... and we nearly fell asleep during an all-Italian spoken mass at the Basilica... and did, in fact, order two piatti each of truffled fare for lunch; all of which do not exactly make for a saint-like experience. But in an attempt to follow the way of our buddy Francis, we awoke at 4:45am the next morning, strapped on our old friends the hiking boots, and navigated in the dark of forest to take in the Saint's mountain hermitage at sunrise. Not to prove anything to ourselves (I'm okay with my non-saint status). But simply to stand in his tiny, solitary meditation cave as the sun crept over the mountain and olive fields below and see the world as he did; as a place of great beauty and tranquility, where everyone is welcome to take part, take peace and enjoy - from the leper to the alley cat and from the pilgrim to a pair of sleepy gypsy newlyweds.
Some Assisi memories...
A little church we found away from the chaos of the Basilica.
Something wicked this way comes...
Franciscan crosses as far as the eye can see.
Our little B&B where espresso and slices of sticky, pink, homemade fruit cake were unlimited.
The locals.
Our dawn pilgrimage to Eremo Delle Carceri.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I love this post. I feel like I've been there, now. I watched "Brother Sun, Sister Moon" just before Easter and was transported by the elegant Zeffirelli, Wertmuller translation of his life.
ReplyDeleteI watched it too in high school and loved it then. Still do. But if you didn't grow up in America and understand the hippy movement, it might seem a bit off-putting. ;)
DeleteThis was great! Thanks so much for sharing.
ReplyDeleteI like your The Gypsy Chronicles - Camino style very much - this post especially. Good.
ReplyDeleteLovely post, Theresa. You really evoke Assisi. I feel as if I were there with you. The photos are beautiful, too. Diane
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