72. Return to Assisi

This is a fresh edit and repost blog of my experiences in Assisi, Italy. It’s my summer break from thinking of brand new things to write about! If you’ve read my Assisi story before, just know that it’s one of my favorites and I think you might enjoy another look. I’ve also added some photos. 

la mia testa è americana, ma il mio cuore è italiano!

It was only a short time until my adolescence hit the fan, when I would become a poopy mess of secretiveness, indignation, and disgust toward my elders. Ah, but the memory of one sweet moment from before that “reign of terror” somehow survived to my maturity. It was a certain perfect day with Mom and Dad at our short stay in Assisi, Italy. At the age of 13, I still really liked being with my folks. It was our first trip overseas together and I was loving everything about Europe.

Assisi is perched on a hill overlooking rolling fields and villages. Our hotel was near the piazza and the Temple of Minerva, the Roman goddess of peace and wisdom. From the hotel veranda one evening, I watched a beautiful Umbrian sunset over the spreading valley. Facing the warmth, there was intriguing cool air on my back, drifting through an 800-year-old arched stone passageway. Overhead the entire veranda was shaded by a grape arbor; in one corner a simple fountain splashed gently, and a piano, bass and accordion trio played Italian standards for the guests who met for cocktails and dinner. Not grandiose or sweeping like I'd experienced in Rome or Paris—just a moment, a mood, a view, an ambiance. I had fallen in love with that.

That memory has been like a healing balm created in that moment just for me, something that would often come to be very useful in my life. It was this scene that I tried to capture in a sketch and a letter for my father when he was in the final stages of cancer several years ago. I didn’t know if he even thought of Assisi that way, but because he was suffering and afraid of what lie ahead, I wanted him to see it again through my eyes—so restful and beautiful, a safe haven for the mind and heart. I wrote my thanks for making that trip possible, and told him that the Assisi-place in my heart always soothed me when my burden was too great. I hoped if Dad could hold onto that, he might find some peace as he approached the end of his life. We didn't have a chance to speak again because very soon afterward he passed away. Months later, when I was clearing out his desk, I found a few of his 35mm slides of Assisi wrapped in my letter and sketch, right on top of his papers. He had obviously left them for me to find, and without needing to hear his words, I knew that Dad understood the meaning of my letter and drawing. In that moment I felt such a strong loving connection to Dad.

I had been yearning to go back to Assisi ever since. I had to find that hotel, that view and that sunset. I felt that Dad’s spirit would be there with me. When the opportunity came up to travel to Italy a few years ago I began to prepare myself and my wife for an emotional return to Assisi. I needed to be in the city of St. Francis and meet with Dad in spirit— as if it were Rumi's field “far beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing.” Far beyond the ideas of suffering and loss sits the little town on a hill where the miracles of a saint of peace and brotherhood is honored and praised every day—I couldn't think of anything more perfect.

Our day in Assisi finally came. After watching groups of devotees on pilgrimages from around the world, we toured the town and cathedral.  Then it was time to find that old hotel. I asked around but no one was sure about such a place with a veranda and view of the valley that matched my description. It was so hot that day! In the scorching summer heat of afternoon, I began to doubt we had the resilience to keep looking. But just as we were about to call it a day, I did a doubletake as we passed a narrow, cobbled lane that led down a slope to a nearly inconspicuous door, “Hotel Umbra.”

Could that be the one? We were standing on a piazza that faced the Temple of Minerva. Yes, this had to be it! Eagerly following my hunch, we passed through an ancient stone archway, entered the lobby, and walked onto the veranda. There it was, still all shaded by a fine old grape arbor, the same trickling fountain in the corner. The vista had been narrowed slightly by some trees and recent buildings, but over the rooftops it was still beautiful Umbria.

Except for a friendly cat, we sat alone there for a while until a woman emerged from the lobby and asked if we needed anything. She seemed to have a moment to listen to the story of why I had returned to see this place after 40 years, and she understood and agreed it is a place that people remember fondly. She took my hand and said “Welcome back, sit as long as you wish. I’ll bring some wine.”

We raised our glasses toward the western horizon in the hot stillness of an August afternoon, imagining instead the sound of a trio playing “Volare” at sunset on a mellow evening. I looked at Linda and we both wiped our tears, then smiled and chuckled at some thoughts of my funny friend and tour guide, dear old Dad.

Here’s my 1996 sketch that was folded into the letter that I had sent to Dad when he was sick. Compare it to some recent photos in the slideshow below. Not bad from such a distant memory.