Visit to Pisa

On the Sunday that followed my Florentine adventure, having sated my desire for excursions, I stayed in and contemplated the rainy weather from my room. I was, moreover, becoming quite sick and could do with a bit of rest. I stayed in bed and listened to an audiobook.

By Tuesday I was feeling a little better and was badly in need of a haircut, having received my last such trimming in the Congo. Indeed, it was less of a trimming and more of a mowing since I had received the typical African buzz once finds on the continent. This had enabled me to continue on for a couple of months without another haircut.

One of my Italian teachers recommended a barber down in Santa Maria degli Angeli, the commune just below Assisi, and considering that I had not had much opportunity to see that area, I decided to go there. After the cut, I realized I had just enough time to attend Mass at the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli and make it back to the Casa Papa Giovanni in time for dinner. This basilica is a very important one, and so I reflected that this was as good a time as any to see it.

In fact, the Basilica is a later addition, having been built in a Mannerist style which became popular in Italy as a kind of interim between the Renaissance and Baroque periods. It is a grand structure that completely encloses the Porziuncola, a small ninth-century chapel that was in pitifully bad condition at the time when Francis first heard the call to “rebuild [His] Church.” In addition to San Damiano, he worked to rebuild the Porziuncola, and the little chapel always remained dear to him throughout his life. This was so much the case that in 1216, he obtained in a vision with Our Lord the grace of complete remission of sins and temporal punishment for anyone who visits the Porziuncola with sincere repentance. Pope Honorarius III ratified this, and in the years after St. Francis’s death, the little chapel became so inadequate to house the throngs of pilgrims who came to make good on that grace that the large basilica was built.

St. Francis also came here to die at the end of his life, a fitting emblem of his characteristic simplicity and poverty.

I am embarrassed to say that I was quite ignorant of all of this history, thinking only that it was a remarkably large church that I had stumbled upon and that it had an evening Mass. I saw the Porziuncola inside but did not go in, I think because there were so many people there. It was only later that I realized its great significance, and the next time I went back, I went in.

For the rest of that week, the classes continued as normal. We had a tour on Wednesday that included San Rufino, the site where St. Francis was baptized.

That next weekend was, much as the last one, unplanned up until the last second. After some uncertainty, it became clear that it would make the most sense for me to go to Pisa, not just to see the Leaning Tower but also to see a nun, Sr. Ajayi, with whom we had been in contact with a few years back who was from Pisa.

After my morning classes ended on Friday, I quickly booked a train ticket as well as a last minute hotel room and was on my way. It turned out that I was on the exact same train with a lovely Ecuadorian couple that I had gotten to know over the last couple of days. They were originally from Ecuador but moved to Spain a few years ago since they had retired.

Upon reaching Pisa, on my way to my hotel, I walked past the famous leaning tower and the quite beautiful Pisa Cathedral. The hotel was quite close to the tower and was a charming little place with its wood-paneled walls and carpeted steps. The next morning, I met Sr. Ajayi who kindly took me to her residence, and we discussed how she might go about instituting the Children’s Rosary in her local, which she and her fellow sisters run. I gave her many Italian books and flyers that Stefan Borneis from Germany so kindly sent me. She is a really quite winsome person, and I was glad I had decided to go to Pisa for the weekend.

However, the weekend was not yet completed, and the next day, Sunday, having a free afternoon on my hands, I decided to take a stroll up to Eremi delle Carceri, a very high site elevated over Assisi. It was where St. Francis would go to meditate in some caves with his fellow brothers. The hike up there was certainly no walk in the park as it was about an hour and a half of pure climbing, but once I arrived, I found a lovely complex with hiking trails, a chapel, and the small structures in which St. Francis slept and said his hours with his brothers. 

I was particularly struck by St. Francis’s bed which was in actual fact simply a rock, smoothed down by the many years of his body lying on it. It was really a powerful witness to me that this man would sleep for weeks on end on this slab of rock with minimal covering in the nighttime cold on the top of the mountain that I can imagine was brutal. As I side note, I think when one learns enough about St. Francis, it becomes clear that he was a man who cared almost impossibly little about his own comfort. Even the basic pleasures that I think every human looks forward to—a full meal, a cozy bed, warm clothes in winter, an elegant set of clothes—all of these he systematically denied himself for decades. It was a place that would definitely have been worth a second visit even just because of the extensive network of trails that were marked for hiking on. Though I must say, these paths were unexpectedly challenging; I remember coming upon one patch alongside a long slope that was quite muddy and pockmarked with long marks from others having lost their grip in the same spot. I am happy to report the same did not happen to me.

Instead, I managed to pick my way gingerly through the rough trails and visit each of the little caves where Francis and his brothers had prayed. I have included a picture of the cave just below where I poked my head in. People had left little objects of devotion behind, but no one would dare spend much time in there, I think. I myself hardly wished to crawl into the small, dank space. It is remarkable how the brothers would do so for hours on end for days at a stretch. 

That evening, I walked back home by the scenic route and was back in time for dinner at the Casa Papa Giovanni.