I took the train from Venice to meet up with friends who had rented a house in the countryside, some 3 miles from a small hamlet, Chiusdino. It is as close to the stereotype of a picturesque Italian villages as you can get. Cobblestone pathways, hidden stairs, laundry lines, ubiquitous cats and even more ubiquitous flower boxes, a church, a chapel, a cafe, a store, and a central location for garbage cans right next to the village square where everyone could unload.

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The house itself had enough rooms to host a small army, surrounded by blooming oleander and fruit-laden trees, 

views that made your heart sing,

ferrets and bats in the attic, lizards and snakes in the garden. 

It did not have WiFi, functioning heat or a place to dry rain soaked clothes – it was a wet, cool week in September, with mists gathering in the morning and evening across the fields, obscuring roaming hunters who pursued clever boars and frightened doves in the surrounding fields.

Best of all, the house was located at the bottom of an abandoned small castle; if you climbed over the access prohibited chains and approached quietly you could almost hear sleeping beauty breathe. The roof had caved in in places, rooms were seemingly left in a hurry, the private chapel plundered. Surprises at every corner including graffiti. Not a soul in sight.

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The municipality of Chiusdino holds the famous Cistertian monastery of San Galgano. The abbey was founded by Galgano Guidotti  in the 12th century. It became the first home to Cistertian monks who came directly from Clairvaux. They cultivated the land, erected mills and wool mills, flourished and played a large role in the construction of the Siena Dome. Like everyone else in the Merse Valley they were hit by the plague, famine and marauding Florentine Condottieres so that the decline already began in the 14th century. The lead roofs of the the abbey were sold around 1550, leading to a lot of structural damage. The bell tower toppled in 1783 and destroyed much of the building. Many of the stones were used by surrounding farmers to build their own houses.

First restorations happened in 1881. It is a singular building, containing gothic style elements that were the first to be seen in Tuscany. I was at the abbey a dusk, the setting sun leaving a magical light on parts of the nave. Doves were flitting in and out of the ruins and the floor was covered with some rose petals. A quiet peacefulness contained no echoes of the hardship and disasters that hit this spiritual centrum – until the view of the ruins reminded me of the fragility of it all. One of the more spiritual places I ever visited, in its simplicity and testimony to the hopes of many souls, all long gone.

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There is, of course, no escaping the depth and breadth of Catholicism and its linkage to Rome when you visit Italy. Anywhere and everywhere.

It became particularly obvious when hiking along the Via Francigena, an old pilgrim route running from Canterbury to Rome. Connected to St. Augustine, it was the most important road of Medieval Europe from the 6th to the 13th century, called the road of (divine) love. One way-station on this road is Siena. The Duomo there is an overwhelming cathedral, in size, elegance and decoration.

You wonder what simple pilgrims felt when they entered this magnificent building. They were on foot for months on end, not knowing where to put their heads at night or where to score the next meal, in cold and damp weather that is not untypical for the region. And then this marvel: huge, all marble, with intarsia floors and gold leaf to offset the dark colors, built across three centuries.

Leaving aside what the organized church has wrought in terms of wars and exploitations, oppression and torture, its role in developing forms of art, supporting beauty as an extension of faith and giving pilgrims hope by providing otherworldly visions cannot be denied. 

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Might through architecture is not only the provenance of the church, though. The town of San Gimignano has fine towers speaking to the rivalry of different families, other imposing buildings as well as many culinary stores – the region is known for its saffron production and specialty grapes.

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The week was packed with exploration of different churches, small villages, excursion into a mellow landscape filled with olive-laden trees, vineyards, and late wheat harvest.

Every day we had a feast given the culinary miracles produced by my friends. Every evening we talked about how one manages to maintain friendships across 50 years and multiple continents. Every night you saw the stars and bats, and froze to death under the thin blankets. Dreaming of monks and pilgrims, fortified and strengthened by their faith.

In sum, the perfect vacation.

Music today was sent to me by a friend – the perfect match for today’s photographs, Vivaldi’s Stabat Mater and Nisi Dominus.