I've always said that Assisi was a place where magic happens. The spiritual world. For me, as a believer, I attribute this to the history of the town, having been the birthplace of two movers-and-shakers, Saints Francis and Clare. Certainly, some of it is folklore but, most of it is amazing fact. Whichever path one chooses to go down doesn't matter because there's a story here for everyone. Take it or leave it.
Whenever I am in Italy, an especially when in Umbria, I tend to feel the presence of both my mother and grandmother despite the fact that neither of them ever set one foot down upon Umbrian soil and a visit to Assisi wasn't on either of their life Itineraries. But, Umbria is a slow-moving, authentically populated slice of this country and it therefore is easy to sit back and feel things. There's time. The pace is set for contemplation. There's even time to remember how to speak the language. But, funny thing, when my deceased mother and grandmother speak, it's always in English.
Yesterday, as we were driving along, on our way up to the center of town, we abruptly and shockingly were flagged down and asked to pull over to the side of the road by a young and energetic man who was dressed rather casually. Oh, I thought, it's a survey and he's going to ask us questions - maybe about our stay in Italy, perhaps about the Calendimaggio; are we attending, did we, what did we think about it? Get ready to use our words.......until he got up to the car window and we saw the badge pinned to his shirt.
"Polizia"
In rapid fire Italian (why would he not think that Joe was a citizen with that face and olive skin?), he proceeded to demand that we produce our "documenti". Joe was able to decode it and he quickly ascertained that it was his driver's license that was needed so he fumbled through his backpack and produced it, followed by his International license. "No, No, la signora, documenti!!!" Apparently, he wasn't as interested in Joe's driving skills as much as my passport! At this point, Joe was more than curious when he asked the frantic officier what it was that he did wrong? While we both knew we hadn't broken any laws, we weren't exceeding the speed limit or harboring a fugitive, we both had visions of being asked to step out of the car and worse, into a police car, handcuffed. And yet, I remained amazingly calm as I explained that my passport was back at our agriturismo, not on my person. (Didn't they touch on potential purse-snatching at the Polizi academy?)
It was a random spot check as it turned out.
When I was a child, my father, a police officer, rarely spoke about the job. But he did share a story about apprehending a man who was about to rob his uncle's butcher shop. Dad had stopped by just in time to foil the robbery and took off in pursuit of the man who ran into a public restroom Or at least that is where Officier Charlie thought he had run. So, the story goes, he banged on the door in the classic "Open up, it's the Police!!!" only to have an innocent and very frightened man appear at the door with his pants down. Case of the wrong man. Poor guy.
Well, our guy on the job checked Joe's Massachusetts license which is cleaner than a baby's whistle, and didn't seem at all interested in his International version, finally let up on me about my passport, and sent us back on our way. We knew we hadn't violated any laws but did share a few laughs about the possibilities, imagining us being thrown into jail. Even made me wonder if I had taken an Ambien the night before and had done something foolish of which I had no memory, the night before.
As I process all of this, I can't help but put it into the right perspective. This is my first return to Assisi since the death of my father. It was his turn to show up. I told you it was a magical place.
Okay Officer Charlie, your watch is not over. Not in Assisi. Not in forever. Enjoy your tour of duty.
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