Some things I have done in space and time

On Sunday I decided to pursue a pernicious rumor I had heard to the effect that Pope Benedict would be giving an address of a sort at his summer residence in Castel Gandolfo, which P.S. is not just the Spanish name for a certain Tolkien wizard. The journey was relatively easy and, despite getting lost in the town of Castel Gandolfo with the result that I spent half an hour walking halfway down a mountain only to return to where I started and walk five minutes to the correct location, everything was even better than I was hoping. I joined up with a group of Filipino nuns who looked like they knew what they were doing and found myself joining a huge crowd of people piling into a small courtyard in the castle at around 11:00, waiting in eager anticipation for a noontime address. I felt a bit like that guy who wears the band's T-shirt to a concert of that band, as the book I happened to bring along to entertain myself during the wait was Ratzinger's latest book on Europe (Europe: Today and Tomorrow, I believe). One of the excitable Italian young women in front of me noticed and pointed it out in a giggling stage whisper to her equally excitable confreres (consisters?), and a good time was had by all.

Then out came Pope Benedict. I am absolutely not one to be wowed by great names or personages, and I am generally unfazed by the appearance of people who are famous for whatever reason, but seeing the Pope is an experience not to be likened with seeing some pop star or even a favorite author. I confess I was pretty amazed by the whole experience - here, after all, is the man to whom I owe a very great deal of my intellectual and spiritual formation over the last two extremely influential years of my life, and who just so happens to be the Successor of Peter. The combination is, I think, a uniquely powerful one. The small talk he delivered was all in Italian, as I expected, although I believe it will be translated into English pretty soon. The text of the Italian version, for all the non-existent Italian readers of my blog, is available here. After the talk we said the Angelus, which was my first time saying or hearing it; it was a neat way to be introduced to the prayer, but seeing as we said it in Latin about all I know about it is that you say some Hail Marys interspersed with short prayers, then close with three Glory Bes. Unless I missed something. Anyway, after that he delivered a short exhortation in every language he speaks, or at least every language that had representatives there that day: Italian, German, French, Spanish, English, Polish, and I might be missing one or two others. Impressive. Turns out the Pope's French sounds basically perfect to a non-native ear, as does his Italian, but his English is rather on the heavily accented side. Still, it was great hearing him speak in my language, and there were so few other English-speakers there that it felt almost like a personal address. The whole affair lasted about twenty minutes, but I count it as one of the great high points of my trip so far.

After the talk, I decided that I would spend the afternoon on the beach of the beautiful mountain-encircled lake that Castel Gandolfo is built on. The result was a few hours of gorgeous blue-green water, forested mountains, and cavorting families, accompanied by an impressively patchy sunburn that now adorns my shoulders, the top half of my arms that had not been previously farmer-tanned to an un-burnable brown, and strange patches on my back and legs. Sweet!

And all the sweeter as I went hiking in Assisi yesterday with my full pack on my back for more or less the whole day. Nothing says awesome like a backpack full of books on sunburned shoulders! Really, though, I have no complaints. Assisi is a gorgeous mountain city built on a seemingly never-ending series of slopes that duck and weave in harmony with the narrow, stone streets flanked on either side by two-story stone buildings of 13th- or 14th-century vintage (at least in appearance). The Basilica of St. Francis is a beautiful place, made more beautiful by its effect on the town - the whole place is a haven for monastic life in various forms, and nearly every church you see is supported by some order of monks and nuns. No Dominicans, though - I wonder why. The Basilica also has the bodily remains and personal relics of St. Francis, so I got to see the patchwork habit he wore for most of his life (which is actually grey, not brown, which surprised me) and some other wonderful things, in addition to the joy of being able to pray before the bodily remains of the great saint. Even better than the Basilica itself, though, is the hermitage that the Franciscans have built on the top of a nearby mountain. The place takes about an hour or an hour-and-a-half to walk up, but once there you find a gorgeous hiding place consisting of small trails cut into the verdantly forested mountainside, punctuated every so often by extremely old wooden chapels for masses, with adjoining Eucharistic chapels. After the hubbub and tourist buzz of the Basilica and Rome in general, I can think of no greater rest than to come to such a place and be utterly alone in the presence of Christ, without even the sounds of insects to disturb your prayer. I cannot think of a time or place where I have been more at peace.

All good things must come to an end, however, and transform into new and different good things. Right now I am in Nijmegen visiting my good friend Caroline and her boyfriend, where I plan to remain for a few days. The vague plan includes running up to Amsterdam to check out museums on Thursday, which sounds quite jolly. More on that as it develops.

Well, that was a suitably rambling and stereotypical college-kid-on-European-vacation blog post. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I.