When in Rome...

 It's rather surreal to even type the words "When in Rome..." but to live them is even more absurd. I arrived in Italy five days ago and am convinced I'm meant to live here immediately. Someone please send my children and clothing to me - forwarding address TBD. I came here to write with a poet - I've never had a favourite poet before and now I'm galivanting in Tuscany and writing under the tutelage of my poet friend. This is real - I know it because I change clothes each day, take a shower, pick out which shoes to wear and have words down on paper I didn't have before. It's a good thing I have proof for otherwise I wouldn't believe myself. 

I flew into Rome 2 days prior to our writing meetup - partly because the flight was a lot cheaper and partly because I wanted a couple of days to adjust to the time change so I could be fully present for this writing retreat. In those 2 days I amassed 40,000 steps and seeing, in person, many a sight I'd only thought of seeing in movies. Rome is a LOT. A lot of people, a lot of cars, a lot of pasta, a lot of shops, a lot of steps. The little pieces of it blew me away. I walked in St. Peter's Square, took in the Sistine Chapel and the story of creation on its ceiling by a little artist names Michelangelo - I may have snuck a photo despite there being rules against it. I'm a rebel like that, I suppose. I ate gelato and had my breakfast delivered to my room each morning at my B&B (hello croissants with nutella!). I happened upon the Spanish Steps and ventured beside the Trevi Fountain (dear God, the CROWDS), en route to the Papal Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore - I had no idea it was the final resting place of the late Pope Francis. I sat in the worship space and let it wash over me. I worshiped and received communion at St. Andrew's Church of Scotland in Rome - the only PCUSA-ish church in Italy now - on World Communion Sunday. Perfecto! I worshiped alongside a South Sudanese Embassy worker, a Benedictine Anglican monk from England, a family from the Netherlands and a gentleman from London. I let the Spirit guide me and She didn't disappoint. I've eaten pasta and more pasta, enjoyed negronis and red wine, eaten Greek food (is that even legal in Rome?) and then traveled back to Fiumicino Airport to meeting up with my writing cohort. [pix on Facebook, but to be added here later]

It was nice after a few days of solo travel and centering to connect with others and abdicate the role of being "in charge". We boarded our vans and headed two hours north to Citta della Pieve on the Perugian/Umbrian border in Tuscany. We stopped at a roadside "convenience store" for lunch - where naturally they served fresh cooked pasta, beautiful salads and my choice - prosciutto, mozzarella and tomatoes. After an adventure in fork procurement and visiting the condiment station outfitted with olive oil and balsamic vinegar packets, my cohort and I enjoyed a lovely meal and some community building. [pix coming - it's getting late and I must sleep]

Arrival in Citta della Pieve was nothing short of supernatural. It's a medieval town laid out in the shape of an eagle and we were escorted to our lovely Italian villa turned hotel - the vistas are as breathtaking as TV made them out to be, the people lovely, the company a gift. We settled in, visited our writing studio for a bit and set off for a walking tour of the walled city - quaint, exquisite, storybook, fairytale, unreal. Our walking tour ended with a dinner at the hotel in the Michelin award restaurant onsite within an all glass dining room as the sun set. I've never dreamed this would be part of my story - honestly, I don't know if I knew how to dream this into life.

Today we spent the morning in studio - stretching our minds and hearts and finding our voices. We toured two churches - one featuring art of Pietro Vannucci (namesake of our hotel and teacher of the one and only Raphael - yes, THAT Raphael). And one that was more sombre - it had served as a hospital (more like a modern-day hospice) for patients who were dying so they did not die alone. There were some creepy Jesus statues - not to make light of their artistry, but indeed they are creepy. And we had lunch at this lovely little cafe in this even lovelier, private room where my bufala salad arrived with so great a ball of mozzarella I was convinced it was meant for me to share it with my traveling group. The afternoon found us back in studio writing a bit before being sent on what our poet-leader calls "free range chicken writing expeditions". I landed in a park under a persimmon tree at the edge of the city's walls, overlooking the convent and the Tuscan countryside. Perhaps I'll get brave enough to share what the site inspired me to write at some point - for inspiration was in no short supply. 

Lunch - this is a bufala salad - FOR ONE...

Post-lunch caffe - DO NOT order cappucino after lunch - the sun may fall down.

We traveled down the rocky Via Romea - a pilgrimage path that runs from Germany to Rome - to a church from the year 1000. It was built during the lifetime of St. Francis and still has original frescoes intact. It was a stop for pilgrims who would take 3-4 years to travel the 1500km from Germany to Rome to worship and pay homage to God. The locals rang the church bells as we walked down the gravel road to the church. Interestingly, this particular church, which opens 2 days a year (unless a group of ne'erdowell writers get the privilege of visiting), celebrates the gift of maternity. It features frescoes detailing the Anunciation, a pregnant Madonna, and multiple frescoes of Madonna and Bambino. One fresco was commissioned by a grateful father for the arrival of a healthy baby, one featured a miniature Christ-child - conjecture suggests it may have been commissioned by a family who lost a child who hoped the Christ would intercede on their behalf that they may have a healthy baby. One fresco featured Mary nursing Jesus and one featured St. Christopher carrying Jesus on his shoulder across some water. I'm without words to properly articulate the impact of the experience on my soul. As if that weren't enough - our visit to the holy space was followed by an al fresco dining experience alongside the olive groves, prepared by a nonna and her family. Roasted eggplant, roasted peppers, pecorino with spicy jam, local sausages and homemade wine. I can't make this up. It was utterly divine. 

As our poet-leader repeats - we are not only here to write, but to be written upon. I'm simply smitten with the notion and with the Italian countryside. Time, please slow down, I want to savour every second and assuredly will not be ready for this to come to completion.

Dinner - under the Tuscan sun - GLORIOUS!

Chisea Santa Maria degli Angeli

Dinner! Pretty sure I've died and am actually in heaven.

Olive groves at sunset

Way marker on an oak tree that has to be older than my grandmother for the Via Romea

Homemade biscotti with some sort of marmalade and pine nut filling - they called them "little bricks"

Dinner - homemade wine, pecorino w/ jam, local sausage, bread, roasted peppers and eggplant - DIVINE!

St. Christopher carrying the Christ-child safely across water

Madonna and child - the little outcropping at the bottom depicts the man who commissioned the work - likely out of gratitude for the safe arrival of his own child.

Madonna and child (left - Mary nursing Jesus, then a saint whose name I've already forgotten, then the Annunciation)

View from inside the church to our dinner table

Above the altar - a depiction of the nativity - you can see the animals, Mary, Joseph and Jesus

Altar further away

Where we can fill our water bottles - that's spring water and the fountains are outside the building!

Ceiling of the more somber church - creepy Jesus is behind the glass. He comes out once a year on Easter.

Another creepy Jesus - in the first church - note the columns - there is no marble in the church. It's all stucco'd brick painted to look like marble! It's a FEAT!

Ruins (Roman) over which the first cathedral we visited is built. There may even be Etruscan ruins under these!