Tropo Buono

We do things in a strange, but beautiful way. And I love it.

Making a perfect circle with our bodies in the courtyard of our monastery (ain't no thang?) during chapter meeting with Hannah our RA as the center only to watch her lift her left hand in the air displaying a ring. We unknowingly reenacted the scene of the inside of the Pantheon where Federico proposed to Hannah, which led to lots of shrieks and tears.

Celebratory gelato and laughing about how even epic romantic experiences can coexist with annoying saggy tights, just like the awkward juxtapositions like two gelato flavors that simply won’t achieve flavor harmony.

A schedule for the day consisting of sitting in the library, going to hear the nuns at Buon Gesu sing vespers, worshipping at the Preghiera, and going to dinner at Locanda del Lupo where Enya continues to outdo herself with our meals. 

Letting words like boustrophedon and canticle tickle my mouth.

Taking a casual field trip to the church down the road where Thomas Aquinas cell that he occupied for a bit was located, but now obliterated by Mussolini’s demolition to the church to put up military buildings. Mussoooliiinnniii. Tsk.

Magic coffee and complimentary cream puffs at Adrianos.

Spending a Friday working on Roberta’s farm and liberating fave beans from the suffocating weeds with a hoe until I can’t move my arms. Receiving the best wages of more food than I could ask for and playful pups.

A hug train for my dear pilgrim friends who walked 35 kilometers while praying and painting along the way to Lake Bolsena.

Impromptu dance parties while waiting for dinner.

Renaissance Excursions

Firenze and Arezzo

Land of internationally renown beauty, and also mud-brown rain that stains our coats.

Witnessing the movement from doubt to belief from lower body to upper in Verrocchio’s bronze Doubting Thomas.

Rusticated stone, gray skies, warm neutral yellow buildings, and David’s smooth white marble skin.

Sitting on the porch of the Ospedale degli Innocenti where mothers left their children so that they might have a better life, and feeling the harmony and comfort, but knowing it is a place of sojourn not permanence.

The reverberating echoes of Dona Nobis Pacem in a chapel.

Meditating in a mausoleum

Wishing I could tell the fashionable, vain Brancacci dandies to look left and right to the miracles happening next to them in the frescoes.

The pleasant surprise of a gypsy music concert and dancing with abandon, simply letting the strings and tambourine do its work.

Monte Oliveto

Further hagiography painted in the walls of the courtyard of the monastery.

Sunshine and silence.

Buying strawberry honey harvested by the Benedictine monks 

Siena

One of the most successfully constructed public spaces in the world. Successful enough to keep the tourists sunbathing in the Palio ring instead of flooding the Sala de Nove where we freely examined the Allegory of Good and Bad Government.

A town hall that smells like the inside of a metal tin containing old crayons. But also has lots of very famous artwork.

Viewing the city from atop the remains of a broken pride: the separated skeleton wall of the Duomo that was supposed to make its size surpass that of competitive Florence, but the hill could not support it. Now a wall of contentment, to walk to the top and look over the city that had a paint color named after it.

Watching Manuele our carpenter friend be more enthralled by ornate door frames than famous frescoes. Getting on the floor and touching the low reliefs.

Learning about Italian geography from him in Tuscany (in Italian… therefore stretching my communication skills) and singing Lykke Li and learning Italian songs as his co-pilot on our drives to our destinations. 

Thoughts and Experiences of Settimana Santa

Palm Sunday filled with olive branches from members’ groves in a procession with tambourine, guitar, and a man’s sandpaper voice.

            “Dio, Dio, perché mi hai abandonato?”

Watching the Passion in a new way and feeling the pitiful humanity of Judas, Peter, John, and even Caiphas.

Feet washing of 12 young boys (I hope they understand) and a candlelight procession around the Duomo.

Being excited and challenged by the news that Papa Francesco washed a Muslim female prisoner’s feet.

Learning the thoughtful, liturgical structure of cathedrals and understanding the Word through every intentional and interconnected detail.

Wondering if Christ had a long walk with lots of time to think and pray on the path from hell to the light of day as I ascend a spiral staircase from the countryside into the city.

Hearing the words to trust in the folly of love and not to avoid conflict like Pilate and not to reject Christ’s weakness as Peter did.

Hiking to La Rocca and reading the Crucifixion at the top. Wearing crowns of flowers instead of thorns---and thankful for that.

Walking la Via Crucis with the Orvietani and getting close as we try to keep one another’s candles lit 

despite the blowing wind. Human distractions like a screeching speaker limiting us from fully understanding and focusing on the steps that Jesus took from condemnation to the tomb.

Giving some Italian children the new experience of Easter Egg hunting at our monastery

A midnight vigil with a small bonfire in the Duomo awaiting the Resurrection ---but much like the disciples I couldn’t stay awake. Luckily I know what comes after the wait… this time.

Breaking bread and getting to share communion for the first time in over a month in our own chapel and worshipping together in English and Italian.

Seeing the miraculous weather-report-defying sunlight beam on the altar and feeling equal warmth as we pass the “pace” and share Buona Pasqua kisses among my fellow choir members after a successful Easter service.

Finding out about the death of a friend from school and feeling more tangibly the death and life involved on this day of Resurrection. May our thoughts and prayers go out to our loved ones of Monica DeMello.

Hiking to the Cappuccini Monastery for a Pasquetta Picnic and getting a breath of much-needed freshness of air and spirit.

Sara, the flower queen.

From the Golden Legend: Exaltation of the Cross

“It should be noted that before Christ’s passion the wood of the cross was a cheap wood, because crosses used for crucifixions were made of cheap wood. It was an unfruitful wood, because no matter how many such trees were planted on the mount of Calvary, the wood gave no fruit. It was an ignoble wood, because it was used for the execution of criminals; a wood of darkness, because it was dark and without any beauty; a wood of death, because on it men were put to death; a malodorous wood, because it was planted among cadavers.

            After Christ’s passion, however, this wood was exalted in many ways. Its cheapness passed into preciousness, so Saint Andrew the apostle exclaimed: ‘Hail, precious cross!’ Its unfruitfulness gave way to fertility, as in the Song of Solomon. . . What had been ignoble became sublime, as Augustine says: ‘The cross, which was the gibbet of criminals, has made its way to the foreheads of the emperors.’”

Eccomi, Toscana!

Caution: this is a long update, but these stories of this weekend are too good to shorten.

This trip started with a bus strike and a man in a café who sounded like he swallowed a small amphibian, built to a Shakespearean mid-climax (except not tragic…. just wonderful and mind-blowing), and ended with running to the train station for a train that did not exist.

For a story that seems full of pitfalls, they were actually all very minor and easily recovered. I’ll spare the anxiety to say that we were picked up at the Terontola station to be driven up the hill to the city of Cortona by our incredible hotel manager, Sergio. We jammed out to some Phil Collins on his favorite Miami Vice cd on the way back, and in all of our minds Sergio was belting out when it got to the swelling drum part. And there was a train that came an hour and a half after we arrived to the train station, so we were always in fine shape.

After Sergio gave us a little car tour of the town and showed us the house where Under the Tuscan Sun was filmed, we got to the adorable Hotel Sabrina and climbed to our top floor family suite where Katherine, Kristine, Sara and I had a minor freak out moment at our view and the sweet a deal that we had.

We then took on the 3 mile hike to the Eremo De Le Celle which is a hermitage/monastery founded by St. Francis that is tucked away in the woods of Tuscany. We took several wrongs turns along the way only to be helped by a kind runner who looked fabulous and was talking on the phone the whole time. Darn Italians. We pilgrims arrived at our destination, which must be the real life version of Rivendell.

I have never felt so at peace. The sound of rushing water, the request for silence in the whole area, the effect of being in such contact to nature… I would definitely join this order if I were a man. We ended up joining some of the monks for a mid-day prayer for the Stations of the Cross and one very old man with a cane painfully knelt down every time. Feeling the atmosphere, praying with our fratelli, realizing how much of their lives these men have dedicated to worshipping the Lord, we were already filled with emotion. The final straw on the camel’s back was when a sweet young 30’s friar stopped us and asked where we were from and then said, “I have something for you!” We expected pamphlets or something involving the Stations of the Cross, but he came to us with 4 cd’s of his band and asked us to find him on facebook (Their band name is Janua Coeli… check them out). He then said the most sincere “God bless you” I have ever felt and disappeared into the back. We all stepped out of the chapel into the little courtyard and all burst into tears. We assume he was touched to know that 4 young people would hike all the way out there and go through the whole stations of the cross with them without popping out like tourists, but if only they knew how much they and this place touched us.

Here is a quote from the paper inside another little chapel where there was a little cell where St. Francis had actually slept in and prayed in:

“Many come here to discover spiritual benefit which St. Francis bequeathed to all who seek with pure and sincere heart. Probably, you many also recover something… bow down humbly and PRAY!”

It was actually in caps. So I did just that. 

We then hiked a little into the woods, read Isaiah 55, and then unwillingly left this heaven on earth, feeling more peaceful and restful than we have ever felt.

That night we had gelato from a place called Snoopy’s which was way up there in the quality-of-gelato-scale. My first combo was strawberry and crema (an orange and egg combo) and the next was pistachio, coconut, and fior di latte. Rocked. My. World. The feast continued when we got dinner at a local favorite called Dardano’s, which was already awesome because they were playing one of my favorite musical artists, Jamie Cullum. I got Tuscan wine, pasta con cinghiale (wild boar… I had to get it after seeing all the taxidermy wild boar heads on many of the streets in Orvieto), and delicious stewed Tuscan white beans. Treat Yo Self, 2013.

The next day held just as many wonders. We got breakfast at this pastry shop where Sergio paid for our cappuccinos and pastries (you love Sergio too now, don’tcha?) and then visited the Church of Saint Francis. I’m not sure of his actual connection to this church, but they had relics of his tunic, a pillow, and a New Testament that he used. The church also had a reliquary that claimed to house a piece of the cross. But despite being a pretty big deal, the ceiling was made of rugged logs instead of golden angel babies, in true Francesco-swag.

We then walked up tons of VERY steep streets (how do these people do it every day?) to arrive at the Chiesa di San Margherita and the Fortress seated at the top of the city. We took a random elevator up to the fortress and found some open doors and explored the inside. We were a little confused by the fact that we were the only people there, but we kept opening doors and ended up outside at the top tower of the fortress… the highest point in Cortona. We only learned when we tried to go to a bathroom at the bottom that we weren’t supposed to be in that area at all…. Whoops. But some of the men apparently working on one area saw us and didn’t really stop us, so we have no regrets.

We also popped in to a convent for an impromptu midday prayer where the nuns sang some breathy, beautiful prayers. If I had a euro for the number of masses and random religious services I’ve been to and will go to here in Italy, I would be in possession of a lot of gelato.

After basking in the sun for a bit, we left dear Cortona to hop on the train to Castiglione del Lago where we would have some seafood, which is pretty rare for us so far. It was a 20-minute walk or so from the station to the lake but dipping my toes in the water was well worth it. I got pasta with homemade egg noodles and 4 types of seafood from the lake and some delicious grilled vegetables. I wish I could have had more time in this cute little lake town.

A perfectly restful yet adventurous weekend with new friends.

Basta. Alla prossima.

Disegno

Before:

(Tyler did not keep the small cartoon of me on top of his structure)

After:

 (Our exhibition with new Italian friends and families!)

After a grueling month of drawing, looking, drawing, erasing/destroying, recomposing, drawing, washing hands, getting dirty again, conté still being found in my ears, we did it! It rained an unfortunate amount which meant I only got one full day to draw on site for my final project, but here she blows! I was offered money while drawing by a man who I think felt embarrassed when I told him I was not a beggar or street artist but rather a student working on a project. An old man also tried to talk to me in Italian and all I could guess at what he was saying was that his house was just around the corner (possibly to draw) and it was maybe his birthday?

And can I just say, how cool is the ceiling of our studio in our new monastery?

St. Patrick's Well

“We used to be told in the nursery that if a man were to bore a hole through the center of the earth and climb continually down and down, there would come a moment at the centre when he would seem to be climbing up and up. I do not know whether this is true.  . . If I do not know what this reversal or inversion feels like, it is because I have never been there.  . . We cannot follow St. Francis to that final spiritual overturn in which complete humiliation becomes complete holiness or happiness, because we have never been there.”

G.K. CHESTERTON

Such a great St. Patrick’s Day (even though I learned that nobody really cares about it in Orvieto). I spent it at mass at San Giovanni where I practiced with the choir afterwards for the upcoming Easter service. One of the men in the choir is my very own Andrea Boccelli. He also sang in a concert that we attended Saturday night in the Duomo which was in the chapel with some very famous frescoes. What is my life? 

After grabbing a bite to each from the bread shop by the post office, I descended into il Pozzo di San Patrizio  (St. Patrick’s Well) which is quite the architectural fete. The well was built in the 16^th century for water access in the event of a siege, and was built large enough to bring mules down the stairs to carry the water up. It has a double helix staircase so you can go down and come up without retracing your steps. It felt like the closest thing I would experience to what GK Chesterton was describing… descending and coming up differently than we came down.

I also found the least Italian thing in Orvieto: a little pub near our monastery that has a little Viking as their logo/mascot. They had burgers and hot dogs (for when I break under pressure of homesickness) and are one of the few places that serve Guinness. It felt like a cave in the area we all squished into and there were clip art-esque murals of barrels and steins.

We finished the night bundled in the sala of our Monastery (which is still without heat unfortunately) watching Fantastic Mr. Fox. I couldn’t ask for more.