Day 41 - La Verna

After the two hardest stages on the Via, we took a rest day at the Franciscan monastery of La Verna. This monastery is an integral part of the story of St Francis. In 1213, Francis was making a trip to Spain. He planned to pass through that country to Morocco, where he hoped to convert the leader of the Muslims. Enroute, he met Count Orlando Cattani at a party. The Count was so impressed with Francis’ spiritual conversation, that he offered to donate Mount Penna to the friars to serve as a place of solitude and contemplation for the order.

Francis sent a couple of his men to the mountain, and later, when illness forced him to interrupt his journey to Morocco and return to Italy, he also went to Mount Penna. There, on the lower slopes of the peak, he founded La Verna.

La Verna is a very popular spot. It does a brisk tourist trade, with tour buses and school groups rolling up throughout the day. The Franciscans also host retreats, courses, and other residential programs. It can be quite busy during the day.

Despite its popularity, La Verna retains some of its contemplative spirit. In the evenings, the crowds depart and only a handful of overnight guests remain. La Verna becomes quiet and peaceful. The ancient stones ooze silence as the evening shadows gather.

Cloister, La Verna

We were completely spent upon our arrival. The two hardest days of walking had taken their toll on our bodies. We took showers, then threw ourselves on our (single) beds to rest our aching feet and legs. There is no internet at La Verna, nor, as far as I was able to discern, television. Mary, however, could receive a little internet through her phone. She had an email from an Italian journalist who wanted to interview us for his newspaper when we passed through his town (San Pietro). Unfortunately, that was now a stage behind us. When she responded with our regrets, he replied that he would be happy to travel to La Verna to meet us.

The dinner for guests at La Verna was communal. We were seated with two Franciscan nuns, one from Assisi and the other from Peru. Neither spoke English. I was forced to pull out my fractured and fractious Italian to translate Mary’s questions, although she does an amazing amount with gestures and slow English. The nuns were taking a course on prayer. The elder nun, Sister Irenee, taught me that you must pour a great amount of olive oil on your cauliflower to make it palatable. She then proceeded to dump a quarter bottle over the cauliflower I had been given.

Irenee also like to dissect her bread. She would carefully saw the hard crusts off a slice with her knife, and then soak the piece in olive oil. Once it had been properly prepared, she would cut the slice into small pieces and use her fork to carry them to her mouth.

“Don’t you like crusts?” asked Mary.

“Bad teeth,” replied Sister Irenee. Olive oil, the antidote to dentistry.

After dinner, Mary and I sat outside the basilica, gazing out over the valley far below. La Verna is built into a cliff at the base of Mount Penna, and it is quite a drop from this aerie.

When we had checked in, earlier in the afternoon, the woman in the office had told me that the santuario (sanctuary) closed at 9:00 PM. I thought she was trying to say that the basilica, which is often referred to as the santuario in local signage, closed at 9:00. After Mary and I had taken the air, we made our way back to the outer door of the building. It was 9:05. Imagine our horror at finding the door closed and locked.

I pulled out our room key. Sometimes these keys will open interior and exterior doors. This one didn’t. It dawned on me that by “santuario” the woman had meant the entire complex. Someone, in a matter of minutes had locked the building down, and we were stranded outside.

Mary pounded on the door. Voices answered from within. We implored the unseen people to open the door.

“We can’t,” shouted the voices through the thick wood. “The door is locked and we don’t have a key. Try going around the building by the basilica and see if there is an open door.”

Oh, my goodness. It was like the parable of the bridesmaids and the oil. We had left to refill our lamps, and now we could not re-enter.

We scurried around the building. There we found that the Good Samaritans (another parable), to whom we had been speaking through the door, had found a way to get a side door open. They were holding it ajar for us.

The moral of the story? The doors close at 9:00 PM. Be in your rooms or sleep outside like St Francis.  

St Francis' Bed

Alberto, the journalist, had arranged to meet us at 10:00. He, and a friend, Gilberto, arrived a few minutes early. They had driven over in the morning from San Piero. Alberto is a reporter for Corriere Romagna, and Gilberto is one of the people who keep the Via Romea Germanica going.

In his email, Alberto said he would interview us in English, but our conversation quickly devolved into Italian. I tried to answer his questions as well as I could, but I often wondered if my answers made any sense. In any case, we had a fantastic time talking with them, and I certainly had a chance to put my Italian through its paces. After we finished our conversation, we took some snapshots of one another, then went down to the tourist restaurant for ice cream and coffee.

I was curious about how difficult I was to understand, so I asked Alberto and Gilberto about my accent. Alberto said he could understand me, but I had an American accent.  

I told him that I had been having problems with the Italian word pellegrino (pilgrim) when I spoke with people. They never quite seemed to understand what I was trying to say.

“That’s because,” explained Alberto, “when you say pellegrino (pilgrim) I hear you say pinguino (penguin).”

No wonder everyone has been so confused.

Alberto and Riccardo

We finished our conversation with our two new friends, and they departed. We spent the afternoon in a languid state. I bought an Italian book about St Francis and we lazed about reading. At 3:00 PM we went to a short church  service in which we made a procession from the basilica to the Chapel of the Stigmata.

La Verna is also famous in the annals of Franciscan history, as this is the place where Francis received his sign of identification with Christ, the stigmata. A small chapel has been built on the site of the event, and it is decorated with white terracotta panels created by the Renaissance artist Andrea della Robbia.

Terracotta Panel in the Chapel of the Stigmata

One last dinner with the nuns, during which Sister Giudita made a list of places for us to visit if we ever wanted to come to Peru, a final stroll around the grounds, and then a quick dash for the doors before the compound was locked down at 9:00 PM. Our day had been very relaxing, but it was time to return to the Via.

Sister Irenee, Mary, and Sister Giudita