DAY NINE

Great sleep. Up and at 'em the next morning. Cathy is tired of driving, so we decide to take the train to Assisi, home of St. Francis, and presumably, all the birds and woodland folk he liked to talk to. We have to change trains,  - no problem – and we get there and up to the basilica, which in fact is two: the lower, older one, and the upper, a completely different architectural style. It's almost difficult to continually see the amazing constructions and woodworks and paintings and colours – so ornate and detailed, and such a display of craftmanship and skill. It's almost too much, but it's not; it's just beautiful. We take our time there and in the shop. “Do you have any other saints besides St. Francis?”, I asked, practicing my Italian and my wit in one stroke. I don't think the guy appreciated it.

Off to eat again, and I won't keep on and on, but it was delicious. The chef/owner, named Francesco, by coincidence (or was it???) was lovely, and made a special salad for Cathy,  (her and himself pictured, separately). Filled once more with the wonders of Italy, we set off for the train station, little suspecting that the adventure of the day was only just beginning.....

“We'll take a different route back,” Cathy suggested, and we got on the train to Orte, where we would switch to a second one. Trouble was, the first train was late (how unusual for Italy! But no complaints, eh? Last time I was there, the trains weren't even running; it was always “schiopero” - on strike). So, new century, new country on this trip, but same trend; we miss the train. We wait; it's growing quite chilly; the halls of the station are drafty. We hear a garbled announcement – in Italian, of course – about another 20 minutes; the train is already 'scheduled' for a thirty-minute delay.  “Dio!”, we exclaim, and run upstairs to a little shop/bar to escape the cold, where we see, to our delight, a bottle of Jameson's Irish whiskey.

And they have hot water, lemon, and honey too, so very quickly we are both downing a warming hot toddy. “Mmmmm,” I murmur, taking my time until I notice a huge crowd spilling into the cafe. My brain slowly starts to engage. Where did they all come from? Did a train arrive? I try to ask a couple of people, but they're all in a huge hurry, until I finally corner one man, and ask about the train to Fabro/Ficulle. “Sta partendo”, he answers; - “it's leaving now”.  Down the hatch with the whiskey, and a furious run to the platform, to find it ominously quiet and empty. “No, God, please.” But it was gone, gone, gone. Whoopshy Daishy. And we were stranded there with the couple who had been waiting for their connection for over two hours. (lovely people, by the way). Two hours, and a long long time until...., - no, in fact, never, for another train to Ficulle. They're done for the day. Just like us. We have to text Marina, whom we were supposed to meet for dinner, and arrange for her to drive to the station past Ficulle, and pick us up – another hour and a half later. She does, bless her, and we get back to our car, make plans for a breakfast meeting the next day, and get home to leftover carbonara and bed. “lotsa fun, eh?”  

waiting for the train; trip to Assisi

cathy flirting with the guy by the window across the aisle

 building/ruin out the train window

I'm flirting with the dream of voluminous, wavy hair

station sign in guess where

piazza leading to the basilica of St Francis

inside the basilica

loved this wooden carving

look up; look way up; the blue is gorgeous

after the basilica;

cathy, coke, and a crucifix; she's flirting with the chef now

me flirting with the idea of a face-lift

francesco the chef, who fed us very well

panel painted by Giotto - St. Francis, of course, inside the basilica

        THERE ARE NO PICTURES OF THE TRIP BACK BECAUSE EXCEPT FOR THE WHISKEY AND THE NICE COUPLE WE MET, OH, AND THE GUY ACROSS FROM US IN THE TRAIN THAT CATHY FLIRTED WITH, (me flirting with a career as matchmaker) THERE WAS NOT SO MUCH "lotsa fun, eh?".