Then, ahhhhh, enough of gothic, medieval, renaissance art and artifacts -- a welcome change of pace at the Peggy Guggenheim's Collection. Fabulous Calder, Picasso, Pollock, Tanguy, Ernst, etc.
At the Doges Palace, I was overloaded with the wealth displayed -- solid gold ceilings, HUGE "senate" chambers. Also, an armory of ornate swords, shields, and a chastity belt that, ouch!!!! -- you guys don't want to know...
Then took a very good guided walking tour of Venice -- learned that it was originally 218 islands in a swamp populated by refugees; over time, the forest on the mainland was cut down, and most of the city is built on tree trunks that have petrified over the centuries. Venice' architecture was strongly influenced by artists from Constantinople, which was influenced by Baghdad, the other major trading post. As Venice' strength as a trading area declined, it became the Las Vegas of Europe and carnivale lasted 6 months (and many people wore masks throughout carnivale, so what happened in Venice, stayed in Venice). The first woman to ever receive a University degree (in 1646) was from Venice. The wealthy Venetians were big on charities (to avoid hell or purgatory), including a charity that took care of people who committed capital crimes, making sure they received spiritual help and their families received financial help. Until the late 1800's, fresh water was only from rainfall collected in cisterns -- polluting the canals or cisterns was a capital crime. The Church and the doges (rulers) of Venice had a strained relationship with a great deal of political shenanigans between the two.
St. Mark's Basilica is overwhelmingly ornate and has a distinct secular feel to it. Again, Venice was a republic, and it appears its main church was more to display its power and wealth rather than pay respects to the saint's remains.
I then enjoyed a delicious dinner with fresh bass baked with vegetables -- yum!...and for desert, fresh berries (one kind I've never seen in the US that tastes like a very sweet cranberry) over some dreamy gelato. You would think with all the walking I've done, I would come home with a svelte figure -- but I've made up for all the exercise by consuming more carbs in one day than I usually do in a week -- the dolci and pane and pasta of Italy is just too good to resist!
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A gorgeous warm (52F!!! - that's the warmest it's been in quite awhile) morning with SUN, so after a good breakfast, I was off to a hike on Monte Subasio to see where Francis and his followers went for retreat.
The trail map I had said "...ascend steeply a stony track for almost an hour..." Which I did with little problem, though it was steep. Then I came to a crossroads, and realized the instructions began at this point -- a VERY steep, stony path rose in front of me. I began, OK for the first 10 minutes, then I got discouraged. I had brought a copy of Francis "9anticle of the Creatures", took it out and began reading out loud:
Most High, all-powerful, good Lord,
all praise is yours, all glory, all honor,and all blessing.
To you, alone, Most High, do they belong.
No mortal lips are worthy to pronounce your name.
All praise be yours, my Lord, through all you have made,
and first my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day;
and through whom you give us light.
How beautiful is he, how radiant in all his splendor;
Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness....
...And then Francis magic began...I was no longer out of breath, the muscles in my legs stopped rebelling, and Francis pointed out tiny wildflowers...
All Praise be yours, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars;
in the heavens you have made them, bright, and precious, and fair.
All praise be yours, my Lord,
through Brothers wind and air, and fair and stormy,
all the weather's moods,
by which you cherish all that you have made.
...I came across patches of snow that had not yet melted...
All praise be yours, my Lord, through Sister Water,
so useful, humble, precious and pure.
...And the water from a fountain at a trail rest area was the BEST water I have ever tasted...
All praise be yours, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom you brighten up the night.
How beautiful is he, how cheerful!
Full of power and strength.
All praise be yours, my Lord, through our Sister Mother Earth,
who sustains us and governs us,
and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.
...And spring was beginning to show itself in lupine and berries...
All praise be yours, my Lord, through those who grant pardon for love of you;
through those who endure sickness and trial.
Happy are those who endure in peace,
By You, Most High, they will be crowned.
All praise be yours, my Lord, through Sister Death,
From whose embrace no mortal can escape.
Woe to those who die in mortal sin!
Happy those she finds doing your will! The second death can do them no harm.
...I pondered what he meant by "second death"...I certainly felt I was in heaven...
Praise and bless my Lord, and give him thanks
And serve him with great humility.
...On up the steep path, with incredible views, wildflowers, bird song...JOY!
I made it to the hermitage and understand why Francis loved the cave where he prayed, meditated, and slept. It didn't feel like a cold dark cave -- it felt like I was in the deepest embrace of Mother Earth.
Francis showed me a different route back into town (after a dog sat down and made friends with me -- he belonged to the owners of a cafe just outside the hermitage). He led me off the main road onto a path through olive groves, and then a HUGE white butterfly appeared -- HELLO, LOVEY!! I just knew it was her!
Back in town, he lead me up to the ancient Rocca Maggiore castle and to a solitary cherry tree in full blossom. And like the sculpture of him at the hermitage, I took off my shoes and lay on my back under it, listening to the happy bees and feeling the petals falling on my face.
Then he lead me back home, completely exhausted, but full of joy.
Other than the day my son was born, this has been the most beautiful day of my life.
Thank you, God -- how can I help?
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Took a last early morning walk around Siena, stopping at the same place I've had my early morning java for the past many days. The owner and patrons have warmed up to me after, in very broken Italian, I explained that I was from San Francisco, and had brought the weather (which has been unseasonably cold and wet) with me -- "mea culpa, mea culpa". They laugh and then ask me when I'm leaving.
Then on the bus from Siena to Assisi, seeing lovely estates with vineyards, and also industrial areas, auto malls, and gas stations -- gasoline is around 1.39 Euro.
Then Assisi. It's very odd, but it is as though I know this town. I trekked up to the St. Anthony's Guest House, run by Franciscan Sisters of the Atonement from Boston.
What a lovely place! And a very Franciscan joyful welcoming (just one of the many reasons I love the Franciscans -- they're big on joy.)
My first excursion was to the beginning of the trail to St. Francis' Hermitage (I plan on hiking there tomorrow).
It was at the moment I saw the path through the woods that my "encounter with Saint Francis" began. It is said all pilgrims to Assisi experience an encounter with him. At the beginning of that path, I could almost hear him say, "Salve, Megan, I am so glad you are here. Just follow where I lead, and you will find a new place of peace in your heart."
He lead me back into town and directly to the basilica that holds his tomb. I intended to just quickly pay my respects, and return another time when there weren't so many people. I knelt, said a prayer, and then sat down at a pew to the right of his tomb and closed my eyes -- just for a moment, I thought. Well, I went into a deep meditation and experienced a very quiet, very loving place in my soul -- yet it was still holding on to some deep pain.
As I was about to leave the church, I saw an area with signs that said "This area for Reconciliation only." I asked if there were any English-speaking priests, and experienced the sacrament of reconciliation with a young Franciscan from Kenya.
I confessed my sins -- "sin" meaning where I have turned away from God/Love. But I also asked about this pain that does not seem to want to leave. The young Kenyan priest explained:
There is the pain that prepares us, pushes us, prunes the dead wood. We recognize it because it cuts deep into hardened ways of being.
Then there is the pain that distorts, distracts, distances us from God. We know it because it never changes and does not want us to change.
The first type of pain happens as
God calls us to our journey. Though difficult, and at times we try to resist or avoid it (as did Jesus in the garden), we feel the need to be made ready for what God's will is for us and we keep faith and allow this pain to do its work.
The second type happens to distract us from our calling. It haunts us, shames us, tells us we have no meaning. But that's all it is -- just a distraction. When it gets loud, bless it, and thank it for reminding us that we are being called.
And then he said "You see? It's really very simple." -- and then laughed one of those joyful Franciscan laughs.
After his blessing, I walked home and watched this sunset.
Thank you, Saint Francis, for leading me this day.
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I woke up with the doves cooing outside my window (well, they are actually pigeons, not doves, but I'm in a blissfully altered state thanks to all that I've seen -- and pigeons are just doves that haven't been loved enough -- ah, jeez loueeze, stop me already!)
The sun was shining bright as could be and I went out for an early morning stroll off the beaten path.
I found a mysteriously enticing narrow alley way, and discovered a little paradise (and an ancient terra cotta drain pipe).
I would turn a corner and find a piazza with a fabulous view.
I took pictures of the signs that indicate different neighborhoods, each represented by special symbol -- so I've walked through the Snail, Swan, Elephant, Dragon, and Owl districts.
I met an old man who was grooming his dog and gave me a cheerful "Buon giorno"
I then found an area that was a Psychiatric Hospital in the late 19th century -- it actually grew into a small town with shops run by the patients because they believed in occupational therapy for mental illness. I wandered around the hospital gardens. The sky was turning dark, the sun disappeared behind heavy clouds, and suddenly I was hit in the head by several small rocks. Turned out to be hail the size of cannelli beans, and I had to giggle --leave it to me to get knocked out by Siena hail in a 19th century psychiatric district! And it brought to mind one of my all time favorite movies, "Roi des Couers (King of Hearts)"
Another storm hit, so I spent the rest of the morning in the Civic Museum with its frescoes of good and bad government. The ruler of the bad government does have an uncanny resemblance to George Bush.
I returned to the Duomo to get a closer look at the art without the Easter mass crowd, and particularly liked the chapel devoted to Mary, who is Siena's protector. And then to several other museums where I saw early "editions" of artists' works whose final versions are now in the Uffizi.
I must admit I have lost track of which piece of art I saw where, and am very glad I bought each museum's guide books which I can review when I get home.
Finally, a stop to St. Caterina (Siena's patron saint) sanctuary, and then home for the final night at the lovely Alma Domus, which just happens to be a part of her sanctuary.
Tomorrow, Assisi and some days to wander the streets and hills where St. Francis and his soul mate St. Clare lived lives completely dedicated to Love.
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http://www.flickr.com/photos/meganthemegan
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http://www.flickr.com/photos/meganthemegan
It is such an other-world experience to walk in a medieval town, to imagine what walking these cobbled streets felt like in 1408.
Siena banned automobile traffic in its city center in 1966 and has been careful to preserve medieval architecture there. So, even with modern shops, I really feel I have stepped back in time.
In the evening, Italians love to stroll. Old couples arm in arm, young mamas and papas giving their little ones kisses and rides on their shoulders, lovers stopping to kiss, and groups of giddy teenage girls followed by groups of jostling teenage boys -- all out for a stroll.
Italy is so civil and civilized -- no one leaves a store (even a supermarket) without saying, "ciao, grazie" to the owner or the clerk. Yes, they drive fast in their small cars/vespas, but always use turn signals, and honk the horn only to warn. And they know how to take long lunches and stroll.
And the public transportation, roads, and infrastructure is in waay better shape than the US -- the streets are frequently cleaned and historical sights are preserved and renovated (as is happening with the Duomo right now -- means not as spectacular view from my room, but it. Feels good to know a country is spending its money the right way.
I enjoyed my first complete restaurant Italian meal today. Delicioso, particularly pasta with a pear and pecorino cheese filling -- fantastic combination.
The Duomo museum, with its ancient altar pieces and religious relics was fascinating -- and the view from the top of the museum over the Tuscan countryside will stay in my mind as one of the most beautiful views ever.
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This traveler was too tired to blog yesterday, so here's the belated Wednesday whazzup with meganthemegan:
I began the day at the Bargello Museum -- the best sculpture collection in Florence. The famous David by Donatello was undergoing painstaking restoration, fortunately in public view. Visitors could see each step of the process thanks to a camera attached to the magnifying glasses used by the "surgeon" (who was wearing a white lab coat, surgical gloves and a mask!) Photos are not allowed in this (or any) museum, but the courtyard was fascinating in and of itself.
I then meandered, vaguely pointing myself in the direction of Dante's house. I turned a corner and ran into a young actor dressed in Renaissance actor style who was reciting portions of Dante's Divine Comedy--I and others in the small crowd that gathered were transfixed with his interpretation, even though most of us probably did not understand a word.
Then to the Uffizi Gallery, with an excellent art major as a guide.
Oh....my....God.....what an incredible experience to walk through room after room of exquisite art. The tour took two hours, but I went through the museum again and again until closing time.
I meandered back to the convent VERY slowly. Because I work at home, I never wear shoes during the day, and my feet are SCREAMING at me:-) -- and took pics of various sights along the way.
Wow...what an amazing day
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Jet lag woke me up at 4am, but I managed to get back to sleep until 7.
The convent serves a good continental breakfast and my table looks out into the garden - very nice way to start a day.
I spent the morning at the Museum of San Marco, where my Fra Angelico moved his Dominican Order -- he turned down an offer to be archbishop so he good spend his time painting, which he considered a form of prayer. He prayed beautifully. No reproduction I've seen of his famous 'Annunciation' does it justice -- the angel's wings sparkle with tiny flecks of gold, and Mary's face radiates joy. I stood awhile in a cell which Cosimo de' Medici himself used as a retreat in the 1400's (and due to his patronage of the arts, it's not surprising he shows up in paintings and frescoes -- in his cell, the frescoe has him as one of the Magi)
Fra Angelico has become a favorite artist of mine, to put it mildly.
I then saw some gorgeous mosaics at the Museum of Precious Stones. Stunningly beautiful!
Stopped in at a Supermarket and bought the deli makings for a picnic at Piazza San Lorenzo, then meandered around the market place before heading for the Duomo Museum.
My Italian is bad and getting worse because my French has come back to me. Folks look at me quizzically because my clothes say "American" but my words are French and my accent is (very good) Italian. They have all been delighted that I at least try to speak their language, but there's a lot of laughter when I come out with a French phrase with an Italian accent.
At the Duomo museum, I was awe struck by Michelangelo's "Venice" Pieta -- it brought me to tears, it was so sad. He created it for his own tomb, and it reflects how broken he felt at the end of his life. Broke my heart to actually see his pain after a life of so much artistic vitality.
I was feeling very sad until I came around a corner and saw a very pretty Museum guard giving a very handsome guard a neck and shoulder massage. I sat down in a chair in front of them, presented my admission ticket, and said "moi aussi" (French for "me too"). We had a good laugh and I learned they were students at the Art Institute.
Dante's house was closed today, so I meandered into the Uffizi Gallery square where I struck up a conversation with a group of handsome policemen who were MUCH more friendly than the ones I met yesterday. Then spoke with a lovely old Italian woman who often spends afternoons by the Arno River sketching scenes. In my very odd French/Italian and her somewhat broken English, we talked about how precious each moment of life is, and how easy it is to forget that if you aren't creating or enjoying some kind of art.
Jet lag really hit me at 17:00 (they use 24 hour time here), so I bought a dreamy vanilla caramel gelato and meandered the back streets back to the convent. I've become pretty adept at maneuvering the narrow streets and crazy intersections -- there's a rhythm to dodging vespas and teeny tiny cars, and so far, I've been a wily but considerate pedestrian. There's a ranking system to share the narrow sidewalks: people with gray hair have absolute right of way, followed by beautiful women, followed by anyone with a child...all the rest must step into the street.
And I have to make another comment about Italian men -- they just worship women, not as objects to be leered at, but as the fabulous works of God's art we are to be admired. And learning after watching Italian women, the appropriate response to mens' smiles, loving looks, and delightful (not horny sounding) compliments is a big smile and a "grazie."
My feet are VERY tired tonight, and my body is saying, "whoah -- you're supposed to be a computah programmer -- whazzup with all this walking?" -- but I love every sore muscle and blister. A very small price to pay for such an adventure!
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The first thing I did once I got off the airport bus in Florence was get utterly lost. This had been recommended by a woman I met while connecting in Washington DC, and Florence is a city that begs to get lost in. Around every corner is either some amazing and ancient art, some delicious food, some fascinating piece of history, or some wonderful Italian man. The women and children are equally charming, and the teenagers are totally craZy.
My room at the convent is perfect and the sisters were delighted at the California Poppy seeds I gave them (there is a lovely garden here -- or will be soon -- plants are just beginning to show blossoms.)
Last evening, I meandered and discovered a wonderful local deli that makes out of this world panini of all sorts, plus salads and "slow food" (locally grown/made) deli items -- this will be my primary 'restaurant'.
This morning the birdsong woke me up and I lost myself meandering down quiet streets, had my first delicious and STRONG cafe (with a fresh lemon/apple/berry pastry -- to die for) and started taking photos, including one of a lovely courtyard. Suddenly, the police arrived, lights flashing -- they jumped out, demanded my passport, advised photos were not allowed, and pointed up -- oops, the Union Jack was flying and the sign above the courtyard entrance read: British Consulate. I put my Blackberry in my purse and did NOT tell them my mother was born in Tralee. They gave me back my passport and told me not to photo "government properties."
Shop keepers and street vendors were setting up, and I noticed Niccolo (see pics) had a small poster of Bob Dylan next to his cash drawer. I pointed to it and recited "John's in the basement, mixing up the medicine -- I'm on the pavement thinking bout the government..." He smiled in delight and told me to select 10 postcards from his stall at half price--waaay cool.
I had been to an English mass in the Duomo on Saturday (stumbled into it getting lost trying to find an English AA meeting), but today, Palm Sunday, I wanted to hear the Passion in Italian. Church bells (real ones) ring all over the city throughout the day before each Mass -- truly a heavenly sound. The sister who welcomed me at the Convent was one of the readers! Talk about divine synchronicity. The mass was very beautiful in Italian, and like many others in Florence, I carried my olive branches with me all day.
Wandering around the neighborhood of Santo Spirito Church, I stumbled on a small market (see pics) and enjoyed a vegetable torte, some local cheese, and the sweetest blood orange I have ever tasted.
Many stores/shops off the tourist path are closed on Sunday (including my deli) -- a day of rest -- what a concept. But I did find a chess set shop and a cafe named Hemingway that serves very trendy gelato and dreamy chocolate everything.
I explored the Pitti Palace which houses several museums and is the entrance to the Boboli gardens. Nearly an overload of 16th/17th century art and incredibly sumptuous palatial rooms. The gardens are not yet in bloom, but the views of the city and the statuary made it very worthwhile.
Finally, back to Casa Santo Nome di Gesu, a bit sore from all the walking I did today -- think I'll make an appointment at a spa I passed on the way home.
Art, chocolate, delicious food, delightful people -- La Dolce Vita!
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Light, Shadow, and Forgiveness
Making Bread
Mixed Signals
