Cimetero

It sometimes is simply too complicated to explain. The ways in which the heart moves.

My friend Pietro told me yesterday that "The Maestro" was going to stop by his shop at 8:45 this morning, to do some business with him.  "The Maestro" being one Francesco Quintaliani. His area of expertise, art. Bright colors and wonderful interpretations of Assisi that I have lusted after for years.  I have a few of his pieces in my house, the largest being one that is framed and hangs above the bed. We have Quintaliani mugs that we use every morning at home and ornaments that come out each Christmas. So, I was up and running at 8:30, on my way to the shop on the Porta Perlichi, ready to meet the artist of my dreams. What I thought was a shortcut, turned out to be a long trip up many, many steps. Along the way, I passed a dead mouse.  I guess he had run out of the steam needed to make it to what becomes the path surrounding the city. Eventually, I made it in time to meet Francesco and to receive yet another of his pieces, this a small, signed one. A gift. Well worth the early day cardio workout.

Joe met me at the weekly street market. A beautiful cappuccino at the Cafe Sensi, and, of course, we walked until lunch time. Thank God, our apartment has an elevator.  Lunches usually consist of leftovers from the evening before. A bit of lunch, a bit of rest and back out into what today was glorious sunshine.

There's a cemetery in town. Only one. A quiet, cedar-tree lined street approaches it. It's flat. At least the deceased in Assisi get to traverse a flat surface on their way to be buried. I always visit this cemetery when I am here. I don't know any of the present occupants but find that cemeteries in general have a lot to say about the culture of the place and this one is no exception. There are mausoleums and simple graves. Most of the gravesites have a photo of the deceased, something I find useful in honoring the person. They become very real to me. 

This trip, we both commented on the increased population, many new wooden crosses marking graves of the most-recently deceased. There's a huge jump in the number of new graves between the years of 2020 and the present. Without a doubt, this is yet another of those reminders of the Pandemic. Rows upon rows. 

We sat for a while in the sunshine. Time to reflect. Isn't that what cemeteries are known for? And, as we did, we talked about our own families. With great joy, I was asked by a cousin of my mother to participate in the building of a family website, one that he, as he approached his ninetieth year, thought as important, considering the depth and breath of the family. Where to start? The memoir of our Uncle Carl. I ordered a copy for my Kindle and re-read it. The new version has photos and, for the first time, I saw my great- grandparents and relatives I have never met. It was a thrill beyond words. From a very,very small town, deep in Southern Italy, a family grew. Most of them immigrated.

Both of our grandfathers came to America as very young men. And so, we sat in the sun at the cemetery, marveling at the courage and strength of those people and from the depth of my heart came that feeling that I get so often, that I am rooted here, that my ancestors would want to know that there's a part of them that still resides on Italian soil.

 

At the Duomo

 

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.

Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.

source: https://www.lyricsondemand.com/tvthemes/cheerslyrics.html

Yesterday's afternoon was a thing of beauty.  It was warm and sunny and it, being the day after the end of Pasquetta, was quiet and peaceful in town.

I arranged with an old friend to meet for an aperitivo at a bar that we both hold dear, the Duomo, adjacent to the Piazza Rufino. A "bar" is not a "bar" here in Italy.  Of course, if you wish to have a drink, you will find many here but they usually open early in the morning with coffee and pastries awaiting their patrons. 

During November of 2018, the Duomo bar welcomed me within minutes of its opening each morning and became the background daily posts I made to my blog at the time.  In one piece, I wrote about how the Duomo became for me, the "Cheers" of Umbria.  Every morning, the same cast of characters presented, one by one.  There was Patrizia, the hairdresser (she always brought her own pastry), the little group of retired school teachers and the taxi driver relative, the man with the tie who quickly stopped by to deliver the handful of newspapers, the utility worker and, last but not least, the elderly couple on their way home after daily mass at San Rufino. They were all polite and every day we exchanged a buongiorno or a buon giornata (giorno is for one-time use, with giornata used to wish one a whole day of goodness). It was at the Duomo that I made a lovely friend of the sweet and gracious barista, Isabel. I told her that she was the "Sam Malone" of Assisi and she was delighted at the reference. She knew "Cheers" well.  She looked forward to my morning arrivals and each day, we had a little chat, some Italian lessons, and, as I wrote, she tailored her play list especially for me. Over the speakers would come Leonard Cohen tunes to start my day and hers. To this day, Isabel is a friend. When I arrived in town, she was one of the first people I got a huge hug from in fact.

I don't have to opportunity to visit the Duomo as early in the day any longer.  It's on the opposite end of town. Isabel doesn't work there now. I've learned in life that it's impossible to "go back". Those days were precious and I hold them in my heart forever.  Joe and I have been to the bar several times since our arrival and the new people who run it recognize us and make us feel very much at home. Sadly, the little woman who came with her husband after Mass, died from Covid I was told. I can still picture them. 

So, yesterday, my friend Josie and I sat in the afternoon sun and caught up. We, of course, hadn't seen each other in a year, but it was like the gap didn't exist. Josie is a passionate woman, very filled with the spirit, always. She's an artist who makes the beautiful silk scarves about which I have talked over the years. We met here in 2012. Yesterday, our conversation was filled with the ways in which the Pandemic has changed the world, how this town has changed, how Italy has changed. The changes have not gone by unnoticed. Our conversation was tinged with sadness, our maturity and wisdom having informed us that things will never be the same. But, for a smiling, shining hour, everything seemed right again at the Duomo.

Mercoledi

 Daily life for us here, isn't all that different from daily life back at home.

We're settled into our apartment.  It's on the second floor of the Palazzo and the windows, each one of them, commands a breathtaking view of the valley below. There's a constant little audio, softly produced by pigeons, that emanates from the windows and every morning, it is a renewed thrill to open the shutters. There's very little street noise except in the evening when the teenagers use our street as the route back into the center of town, after a visit to the basilica. No, they're not necessarily holy kids.  They, for the most part are chaperoned groups of kids on school vacation. Thousands of them, without exaggeration. We see them everywhere, marked by either matching hats, tee shirts, jackets or by their clumping into subgroups as they follow a leader holding a giant pinwheel or flag. God bless the teachers who give up their time to lead these groups!

Yesterday, while returning from our gentle walk downhill to the tranquil San Damiano  (It was here that Francis wrote the Canticle of the Creatures  and it was the dwelling place of St. Clare and the order of Poor Clares that she founded) and our killer climb back up into town, we stopped by our local alimentary (convenience store) to pick up a few items that we needed for dinner.  In the tiny shop was an American couple. As we helped them in purchasing some fruit (never touch it, always weigh it before handing it to the cashier, etc.) we started a conversation (are you surprised?), exchanging the typical who's what's where's and when's. They are from California, "following" their teenage daughter who sings with a gigantic choir group, around Umbria. Joe thinks she said that there are a hundred or so members of the choir. "Oh yes, we have seen them in their red jackets!" They told us that they would be singing at the Basilica this evening. Well, of course we put that on our agenda. After all, we live five minutes away (going) and at least twenty, retuning (all uphill).

So, last night, at sunset, in one of the most stunning settings, the Upper Church of the Basilica of Saint Francis, we attended a Mass and heard the beautiful vocals of a magnificent choir of at least one hundred talented and dedicated teenagers. We were uplifted by the beauty of it all, surrounded by the  twenty eight murals on the walls, depicting the legend of St Francis, done between 1297 and 1300. While tradition holds that these were the work of Giotto di Bondone, there are scores of art historians who, throughout the ages, have disputed this claim, citing an all star lineup of three artists of the late 13th and early 14th centuries. The transept of the church, in all its splendor, is without dispute, the work of Cimabue. 

The Mass, in English, was said by the same Franciscan friar who did our Easter Sunday Mass. His homilies are relevant and current and it was a pleasure being in his presence once again. After our Mass, another was due at 8:30pm. One that would include a thousand! No doubt, most of them teenagers. 

This morning, our faithful friend, Pietro, picked us up again for a weekly "big shopping" trip to the Eurospin market outside of town.  Before arriving at the market, we made a stop at this area's branch of an incredible chain of frozen fish called "Sapore di Mare" Le Pescherie D'Italia" (the fishmongers of Italy). It's impossible to describe the Sapore experience. A huge store, lined with endless possibilities of every variety of flash frozen fish from shellfish to whole fish. Fish combined with other ingredients, fish for anything and everything you could possible require, need or wish for. You scoop the product into a plastic bag (like the vegetable department), weigh it and bring it to the counter. We even got a 10% old folks discount because today is Wednesday!The label spit out from the scale also prints out the cooking directions (in Italian but hey....). Pietro guided me through the process and assured me that when defrosted, everything there was remarkably good. Can't wait to try some. Risotto?

Trip to the big Eurospin, and to Sapore and back home with a huge haul for around $70.00 by 10:30. 

Life here is very different from back home. There's no disputing that. 

Pasqua

 Easter Sunday, and not one bunny in sight.

This is Italy and the Easter Bunny does not exist here.  Chocolate eggs, yes. Bunnies, no. 

The Easter weekend concludes the holiest week in the calendar and it is a full three to four day weekend for Italians. Here, the holiday does not end on Easter Sunday. There's an extension known as "La Pasquetta" and it's a legal holiday. So, there are thousands of visitors in Assisi at the moment. The crowds have been growing since Friday and surely will remain through Monday. It's still a bit chilly but it isn't unusual to see Italians bundled up for the cold even in warmer weather.  Thick, wooly scarves and hats are seen on those who fear being hit by the air, the famous "Un Colpo d'aria" that would mean bedrest and misery. They prefer to not sit by an open door in a restaurant or cafe for the same reason. But the sun, it did shine on Easter Day.

I woke up to the beautiful sight of the valley and caught a brief view of a hot air balloon that was off on an early morning cruise. 

We had a traditional Easter breakfast of Torta de Pasqua, a lovely bread infused with cheese. And of course, our Italian coffee. Not Cappuccino. That's a treat that we have outside of the house, at a cafe. But this morning, we had to get ready for Mass so we did not make a stop.

Instead, we went down the hill to the Basilica de San Francesco for the English Speaking Mass which is held weekly in a small chapel adjacent to the Lower Basilica. There's a large English speaking community here in Assisi as in other parts of Umbria. 

Following Mass, we came out into the brilliant sunshine and huge crowds of people awaiting entrance into the Basilica, a long line of those who awaited their turn to go down an ancient stone staircase that leads to the tomb of Saint Francis. He's a popular guy here every day but it seems his credibility rating rises on religious holidays. Never, in all my Assisi days of yorn, have I ever seen as many people at the Basilica. Usually, I can just pop in and say hello to the founder of the largest order of holy people in the world. No lines, no waiting. But, this is Easter after all.

Again, the town is crowded with tourists and businesses seem to be booming for the first time since the Pandemic. So many restaurants shuttered during that time, some forever more. But, some have come back strong and ready for what existed pre-Covid. One of them, a special place owned by an American woman from.....Rutland, Vermont. 

I spent a lovely Thanksgiving dinner here at Nonna Nini in 2018. Sadly, it was closed when we returned in 2019, prior to the arrival of the Pandemic and it remained closed until recently. Traci, the owner, remembered me and was delighted to meet Joe this time. She's married to an Italian man so she gets to stay but she does have to become more official at some point. Becoming a citizen requires passing a language test and she's awaiting results. Her English is spoken with an Italian accent but she struggles with the use of the language. Go figure.

After a delightful meal and a few complimentary glasses of Prosecco, we had some time to chat with Traci and the lovely Sophie, our waitress who thought Joe was Italian and I, sadly, was not. Ahem, hello.....I'm the one speaking Italian here.....and my blue eyes are 100 % Italian. My grandmother's could not possibly have been bluer nor could my mother's.

One more day of tourists. Notice, I do not consider myself to be one........but you gotta think about the un-natural order of things for a moment. We're Americans, living in an Italian palazzo that was owned by a French scholar. We went to the Basilica of the patron saint of Italy, to a mass in English and then, to an Umbrian restaurant owned by an American woman who is married to an Italian man and serves fusion food cooked by her new Indian chef. 

My head is spinning now but not as hard as was the French washing machine in the bathroom here at the condo that is now apparently owned by an Italian woman who had some connection at some point in time to a French man.....who died.

Happy Easter bunnies!!

Sabato

Holy Saturday in Assisi. So many families enjoying the nooks and crannies, the central piazza, the beautiful and iconic churches. The Easter Weekend at its peak. A gorgeous day for joining in the celebration.

Our day started with a visit to the weekly street market and a stop into our favorite local supermarket for, guess what? Umbrian white wine. Can't get it at home. Might as well enjoy it here and it will not break the bank. The supermarket is a little over a mile, round trip. Not so bad getting there but a bit more cardio work getting back, especially with a backpack carrying two bottles. For larger and heavier hauls, we have the service of a good friend who lives in town. 

Typically, we divide our day into parts and we're still in the process of getting into that rythm. A morning walk or task accomplished, home for lunch and a rest and then back out again until dinner, the ingredients perhaps having been purchased during the first part of the day. We are in a hill town. Make no mistake about it, we are forever challenged by the fact that Assisi is made up of hills and lots of steps. Each day, we find that we are better conditioned. It's a matter of reminding oneself constantly that what goes down so beautifully, must come back up. If you are not in top form, best to not consider a stay in Assisi. Come for the day and suffer the pain later. We won't fault you. Lots of nuns do it!

Yesterday, following lunch, we walked down to the Basilica de San Francesco, the Big Daddy of them all.  Everyone who comes to Assisi visits San Francesco at least once and stops by to visit the tomb of the beloved saint. Announcements in the upper and lower basilicas every so often are made....."Prego, silencio, gracie".  People have a tendency to forget that this is highly sacred space and quiet must be observed. Guys, don't even think about entering wearing your baseball cap. You will promptly be asked to remove it. Never mind shorts and tank tops. Not allowed. 

A happy walk up a hill and it was time to visit Bibenda, a cozy wine bar owned by Nila Halum, a proud and strong Ukrainian woman who became my dear friend during a visit in 2018. It was good to note that business is picking up after the Pandemic and in addition to the delightful company of Nila, we quickly made some new friends, had some interesting (and informative) conversations (in English and Italian) and a few laughs. God bless Nila for always ensuring that outcome.

Refreshed, happy, feeling fit and strong, we returned to the Palazzo Spignoli for a dinner of umbrian sausages braised in fresh fennel. Another of Letizia's recipes. 

Venerdi Santo

Holy Week in Assisi is marked by ancient rituals, rites that are observed in the major churches, monasteries and convents throughout the town. Here, bells normally ring on the hour and half hour from a number of bell towers but during this week there have been extra ringings. The observance of the Easter triduum begins officially on Thursday with the "excavation" of the crucified Christ at the Cathedral of San Rufino and its transport down the long and narrow road to the Basilica of San Francesco. The town comes out of the sleep of Winter and becomes alive with people. Families are free for the next four days as the observance of Easter spills into Monday, "Pasquillina". The town center, the Comune,  is noisy, bustling with people of all ages, none of which seem too sorrowful as they foresee the holy and sad days ahead in accordance with the Christian tenets of faith.

So, we made our own preparations, taking full advantage of a beautiful Friday before Easter, known as Venerdi Santo or "Holy Friday", and we walked the beautiful 2.2 km paved path that bridges ancient Assisi with the newer Santa Maria degli Angeli. It's a lovely walk, especially on a sunny Spring morning. Joe likes it because it's all downhill and then it flattens as we near the train station and the elegant (not kidding) McDonalds (they have an espresso bar). Our goal was to find a "torta di Pasqua" and a few other grocery store items in town and, of course, to experience some very darned great slices of pizza for lunch. Both missions accomplished, we visited the beautiful basilica which houses the sacred Porziuncola, the tiny thirteenth century church where St Francis started his work of rebuilding in accordance with his message from God. It's beautiful and very sacred to those who follow Francis. Our torta, purchased at a small local alimentary, ready for the traditional Easter breakfast.

A bus ride back up to our part of Assisi (filled with noisy Italian teenage scouts on holiday) and a stroll back to our apartment......after stopping for an aperitivo in the piazza. Dinner (I'm using recipes from my dear friend, Letizia Mattiacci's cookbooks) and then, after a glorious sunset, we walked back up to the Comune in anticipation of the most sacred of Easter preparations, the "Processione del Cristo Morto" or "the Dead Christ Procession". An ancient ritual, as ancient and as moving as it could possibly be.

The Piazza del Comune transforms itself from a noisy and vibrant town square, into a dark and silent gathering as all of the lights are turned off and slowly, the procession begins. In the distance, the sole thump of a big drum, sounding almost canon-like, is heard, repeated every few minutes as the candlelight procession of hundreds of people, members of the churches and confraternities and their families, slowly make their way through the narrow and otherwise silent streets that wind their way from the top of the town to the bottom. The participants, dressed according to their individual confraternity, include in their grouping a person, barefooted and somberly attired, carrying a large and what appears to be heavy, cross. It's eerie to observe. This, of course, replicating the route traveled by Christ during the passion. Slowly, silently, somberly. The most moving sight, one that left me speechless and in awe. Finally, the last group carries a huge statue of the Blessed Mother which, because of its weight, takes a huge team of men. This is no easy walk through Assisi. Thump, thump, silence. The procession continues down the hill, along the Via de San Francesco, until the arrival at the Basilica where the cross holding Christ is met. The union of sorrowful mother with her son. And then, the return of both, now uphill, to San Rufino.

At the end of the day, Venerdi Santo, I can't help but put the pieces of our day of walking together. The walk down to Santa Maria is along a modern-paved path. At the start of the walk, in excess of four thousand bricks make up the first of a series of memorials. The start of the path, one I have traversed many times, consists of bricks bearing the names and hometowns of victims of the World Trade Center. Looking down at the names becomes a ritual in itself, a memorial to another kind of suffering and indignity. Some of the names have become familiar over the years, one especially, a young man from Barnstable Massachusetts. When I first discovered this particular brick, I photographed it, made contact with his wife and assured her that he was being remembered even here, thousands of miles from their home, in Assisi, the city of peace. 

So, on this Good Friday, Venerdi Santo, passion and suffering are remembered and I am sure, always will be.

 

Grace

 Today is Wednesday and we're so much more settled in than we were a few days ago.

The weather is a tad bit chillier than we had anticipated. But the next few days promise the return to Spring and the days before Easter will hold traditions and religious experiences. This will be our second Easter in Italy. Seventeen years ago, we were in Chianti, sharing a beautiful vacation with friends from the States. It was during dinner in a town called Castellina that we learned first-hand how the evening of Good Friday is marked with a unique procession. Here,  the day is called "Venerdi Santo" of "Holy Friday" and it is a day of great solemnity and ritual.We're looking forward to witnessing the observance here in our little town. Surely there will be much to tell.

For now, the daily routines have set in. It helps a whole bunch, knowing the ins-and-outs of life in a small Italian town and the quirks of living in an apartment where there are so many  details that are unique and, many of them, beyond explanation. Just knowing how to turn lights on and off can be daunting, never mind the art of using a stove. Do not expect high water pressure and don't count on hot water being hot, for starters. The water is soft so lathering up in a shower is not always possible anyway. Get in, get out. 

We are finding many things changed here since the Pandemic. Just as in the States, prices of everything have risen. It's sad to see shuttered businesses, those that did not survive. Those that did, have invested in what their owners hope will be a great comeback. But it's way too soon to predict that future. Yes, the tourists have returned to Italy. Americans and Germans are everywhere. But the landlocked province of Umbria has always had a harder time than the big boys. The Big Three, Rome, Florence and Venice, are on everyone's hit list as they make up for lost time. Umbria, the little step child, must wait her turn and it's hard to imagine how people survive financially during that wait.

This is our second visit post-Covid. Last year, we split our time between Umbria and the province of Puglia, much further to the south. Most of our time in Assisi surrounded the celebration of the Calendimaggio, a fabulous four days during which the entire town comes together to welcome Spring. We will be on hand again for this again and of course, we're looking forward to it. Hopefully, it will be warmer!  

The cost of groceries has gone up. What a surprise!  But, still, nowhere near the prices seen near our home. And, the quality, well, that's a world onto itself. Shopping in the supermarkets here is one of my favorite pastimes. If you haven't had the pleasure, picture this.....the most ordinary of stores has the feel of an upscale specialty shop. So, I cook. Eating in restaurants for two whole months is not going to happen. Even with the price of a good cappuccino at $1.50. 

With all its quirks, problems, woes and dramas, Italy still continues to charm and delight me. I feel very, very much at home and right now, especially with all that is going on in the U.S., I accept the gift of peace and tranquility that Assisi offers and will never ask more than for one day of grace at a time.

Pace e bene