Siena and Assisi (Part 2)

SIENA
March 2-4

We arrived, our stuff safe and sound, in Siena and hopped on a bus. We told a young and handsome bus driver we wanted to go to the “ostello” (hostel), and hoped he would simply know where exactly where we needed to be. Turns out, he did. (And by the way, if you plan on doing any traveling in Italy by bus or train, the Italian word for “stop” is “fermata” - learn it, know it, love it. You’ll be light years ahead of where we started.)

When we got to the hostel, they told us our room wouldn’t be ready for an hour. No problem. It was 1 p.m. and we were starving for some lunch. The street was lined with restaurants and so we planned to drag ourselves, backpacks and all, to one of these little places and chat it up over an espresso and panini for an hour. But although there were plenty of restaurants, not a single one was open. We walked up and down the street about three times, checking for an open restuarant, nothing. Things were getting a little desperate. We were famished and couldn’t go far with our heavy stuff. I was about ten minutes away from looking at Henrietta and seeing a gigantic, steaming, cartoon porkchop. But then, we saw it – that universal symbol of deliciousness and satisfaction, that beacon of hope that shines bright in any language - the golden arches. Okay, so we actually weren’t that excited about it. But hey, we were hungry, and it was open, so we went to McDonald’s. (By the way, a number one is nine American dollars. And they charge you for ketchup. No kidding.)

Finally, we checked into our little room. Our hostel was pretty decent for 14 euro a night. We didn’t touch anything and we were just fine. Taking a load off, we were finally free to roam the Tuscan hills that are Siena.

San Domenico
We got on another bus, asked another bus driver where to go, and got dropped off near San Domenico (St. Dominic). You might recall that I mentioned that St. Catherine’s body is in Rome, but her incorrupt head is in Siena. San Domenico is the place. The Church itself is beautiful, but walking inside, I had a one-track mind to see this incorrupt head. (Is there a pun there? You be the judge.) So, I walk past the amazing paintings and stained glass windows, looking around, wondering at each turn if I would suddenly be met by the head of our wonderful Saint Catherine. Well, it didn’t quite go off that way. In fact, just so that nobody reading this will be disappointed should they venture to Siena in the future, I’d say her head isn’t exactly incorrupt, but it’s not really corrupt either. It’s somewhere in the middle. Semi-incorrupt might be a better description. Just don’t be expecting a flawless complexion, rosy cheeks or teeth for that matter. Hey, but you can expect skin. I think actually, the fact that she isn’t Snow-White-in-a-glass-case preserved makes the whole thing a more amazing experience. This really is her head and there hasn’t been any monkeying around to make it something it’s not. She is amazingly preserved considering she died in 1380. Really and truly miraculous.

Actually, her finger appears to be in better shape. It is kept only a few feet away, and aside from a greyish tinge, should in no way be over 600 years old. It is strangely set in this tall vase-like thing, pointing straight up. The whole thing looks like a centerpiece from the Addams Family dinner table.

The next day, we were able to go down into the crypt, where they had Stations of the Cross and Mass in Italian. It was lovely. There was, however, a bit of a ruckus at the beginning of mass. This little, old, bald man was frantically searching around in front of us, as if he had lost something. He was actually being loud enough for everyone, including people on the altar to hear. He kept walking around, touching and rubbing his head saying “mia cappella.” Now, I know that the word for hair, which is always said in the plural, is “cappelli.” Words ending in “a” are singular, so I thought, oh crap, this bald guy has lost his toupee and he’s totally freaking out cause its probably really expensive or something! So, sitting behind these people and watching the scene unfold, I’m scanning the pews for some headless hair. Well, he found it. Only, it wasn’t a toupee. I guess cappella is also the word for hat. He actually just lost his hat. This made me sad. I admired the little old man who was humble enough to ask a bunch of people to help him look for his toupee in the middle of mass.

The City Center
But strange relics and strange people aside, Saint Catherine took amazing care of us in Siena and her city is absolutely gorgeous. On the outskirts of the city center, there are beautiful, lush Tuscan hills. The city center itself is this dense collection of stone and brick buildings with steep roads that tunnel and weave through and around these structures.

Much of the center has been turned into shopping for what is now a University town stuffed with students. But strangely, I don’t think this in any way diminishes the old-fashioned charm that penetrates from every little ally. Perhaps this is because there isn't very much big business in Italy, and no big business in Siena. Even the shopping areas are filled with cute little coffee shops, bakeries, gift shops with cakes and wine and religious items, and meat markets with the meat actually hanging from the ceiling. That last one may not sound charming but it really is quite a sight. I’d venture that even a vegetarian could appreciate the old-worldiness of it all. And of course there are no lack of churches, which is true in any part of Italy. And the churches are just absolutely gorgeous. I think they are even more stunning than many in Rome on account of their Gothic architecture, which Rome doesn’t really have.

Saint Catherine’s House
A two-minute walk from San Domenico and just inside the boundaries of the city center is the house Saint Catherine grew up in. Now a convent and a memorial to her memory, the house is beautifully situated on a little hill with both a view of the expansive Tuscan hills and the dense town center. Not a bad place to grow up...not bad at all.

The Duomo (Cathedral)
Getting to the duomo was very entertaining – thank you Henrietta. A little background: back in Rome, Henrietta had bought an umbrella from a street vendor for a couple of Euro. It looked like a pretty sweet deal, but it didn’t last very long. Before she knew it, Henrietta was minus two Euro, plus one flipped up, broken umbrella. She vowed not to buy another cheap umbrella. Fast-forward to Siena. It’s hailing, hailing hard. It’s windy, real windy. I had I hat, a nice hat, so I was fine. I’m walking a little bit ahead when Henrietta rolls up at my side with another umbrella. This time she spent five Euro – way to splurge Henri. Now, I wasn’t exactly sure what made this a five-euro umbrella because it looked exactly like her old two-euro umbrella. But, I guess since she bought it at a real store, you know, a store where the merchandise doesn’t get rolled up into a big white sheet every time the coppers come by, she figured the umbrella was legit. Five minutes later, the thing is flipped up and broken again. Now, Henrietta is down seven Euro and still doesn’t have a working umbrella. She’s sworn off umbrellas for good. So, I’m founding a Titanium-Umbrella-for-Henrietta fund. Send check or money-order to my home address. Thanks.

So, finally, wind-blown and hail-beaten, we get to the Duomo, which is just absolutely unreal! It has amazing artwork, marble carvings, paintings, gigantic illuminated manuscripts, beautifully laid floors, high vaulted ceilings, strong collumns patterened with both black and white marble, and an amazing dome which reaches to the heavens. Of all the churches going for the grandness theme, this one takes the cake! It’s a truly Gothic-styled church. Henrietta and I took a self audio-guided tour, which means we were running from spot to spot while listening to this little telephone-like thingie. I was overcome with a few sudden bursts of “unbelievable” and “wow,” getting so into the moment that I forgot everyone else in the place wasn’t listening to what I was listening to.

Piazza del Campo
In the middle of the town center is the shell-shaped Piazza del Campo where Henrietta and I sat for over an hour just people (and pigeon) watching. (You know, statistics say that Americans are fatter than Italians. I don’t think those statistics take into account that Italian pigeons are fatter than American pigeons. Eat that Milan supermodels!) We were just hanging out when this little old man comes up to us and starts speaking in Italian. I didn’t understand a word and eventually we managed to convey that to him. He smiled and walked away. We shouted “Ciao” after him...and that was all the encouragement he needed. He turned back around and belted a little song, “Ciao Bambina,” in the middle of the square...er...shell. He went on for a couple of verses, we clapped, then he walked away. It was quite a lovely little encounter.

An Evening with Tony the Bus Driver
We were headed back for our second evening at the ostello. We had already taken the bus there at least three times. Each time we asked the bus driver to tell us when to get off the bus. But we figured by now we ought to know the place, so we didn’t ask for any help. There were several problems with this little plan. First of all, it was dark outside and everything looks a bit different in the dark. Secondly, the windows on these buses are always filthy, making it even more difficult to discern our surroundings. Finally, we were thinking we would recognize the stop when the driver stopped there. Well, I, a public-transportation-incompetent Californian, didn’t immediately realize that unless we requested the stop before it came, he wasn’t going to stop at all and we wouldn’t even have the opportunity to peak outside and “recognize” it. When I finally figured this out, we decided we had better swallow our pride...again...and ask the bus driver, another young male kid, for help. Unfortunately, this bus driver didn’t speak a lick of English, and he said something like "we'll stop there in a little while." No big deal, even if we had to go around the route again it’s not like we had anywhere to be.

Stop after stop comes along, and no ostello. About twenty minutes after our plea for help, the bus driver, now in the outskirts of town, pulls up to a stop and everybody gets off the bus. Then, the bus driver turns off the engine, turns off lights inside the bus and gets off. Henrietta and I are still sitting on the bus, looking at each other like, Oh My Gosh, We Are in the Middle of Nowhere Sitting in a Darkened, Abandoned Bus! What the Heck!?!? Everybody was gone and the bus driver was outside, talking on his cell phone.

Is this the end of the route? Is he waiting to be relieved by another bus driver? But we are not at a bus station, we are in the hills. Oh my gosh, when he kidnaps us nobody will even start searching for at least a week since they think we’re on vacation. But if he was going to kill us, he would kill us and then catch up on his cell phone correspondence. Then again, maybe he’s making arrangements to transport our lifeless bodies. No, he’s clearly talking to his girlfriend. Best case scenario, he lets us live, but we have to walk home and somebody else will kill us on the way. Well, we’re not getting off the bus until he makes us, it’s cold outside.

So, for lack of anything better to do, Henri whips out her phrase book and we try and learn a little Italian, maybe to plead for our lives, in these, possibly our last moments on earth. So, we’re reading in the dim light, and the bus driver comes behind over my shoulder and starts trying to learning some English from the little book. Hey, he turns out to be a fun guy. So, we get into a little conversation with him, and somehow work out that we will indeed be going to the ostello, eventually. Pheww. So, apparently, this kid’s name is Tony and he just loves being a bus driver. It seems to be a rather popular occupation for young males in Siena. Who knew?

Eventually, he starts up the bus and we get on our way again. He’s still talking to us from the driver’s seat, looking in the rear-view mirror about 80% of the time and the road 20% of the time. No biggie, it’s just the two of us on the bus and he probably knows the roads like the back of his hand. Pretty soon, the bus fills up again. He stops talking to us like a good bus driver and starts paying more attention to the road. That is, until, his cell phone rings. And, he answers it! Did he answer it because it was the station calling? Nope. His girlfriend again. And, he talks on the cell phone for the rest of the time we are on the bus! No headset, no nothing! He’s not even shy about it. Henrietta and I are cracking up, hunched over with laughing pains...and we can’t stop as long as he’s talking. We are clearly making a scene, and nobody on the bus can figure out what the heck is so funny. I’m also thinking, oh great, he’s talking on the phone and this distraction will make him forget when to tell us to get off. We’re going to have to go through this whole thing again. Fortunately, he didn’t forget, and we finally made it back, about an hour and half from when we got on the bus in the first place.

You know, I think I’d love being a bus driver too if they let me talk to people all day on the cell phone.

On the morning of our third day in Siena, we got on another bus headed for the train station – we immediately asked the bus driver which stop it was, we didn’t care how obvious fifteen sets of train tracks were – we were gonna make him tell us when to get off. When we got to the station, we caught another bus over to Assisi.