HOLY S***
So what was your favorite part of the trip?
That’s definitely the most asked question since I got back from Europe. My answer has actually changed over the last couple of weeks. Initially though, it was a quick and easy reply:
The churches.
The churches were so overwhelming.
Overwhelming and unexpected.
Each time I stepped into one of them, from Sacro Monte to Macugnaga and Isola San Gulio, it took my breath away. I was overcome with emotion. I was moved to tears.
The scale and scope were astounding. The magnitude of vision; to think this big and then see it through is, well, just crazy. The hard work and determination needed are almost incomprehensible, especially considered the eras and remote locations that they were created in.
Miracles, on full display.
The first was the church at Sacro Monte di Varese, which sat above this small village in northern Italy. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, which means that it’s very old and someone has deemed it very important to the planet Earth, covering it under international treaty. I didn’t initially realize it’s significance when I saw it listed on the trip itinerary. It just seemed like a post-lunch suggestion, something to pass the time after our meet-and-greet. An afterthought on the list of the week’s exciting activities.
I was wrong about that.
As we got out of the van in Varese, at the base of the mountain looking up at Sacro Monte, one of my new fellow travelers says to me:
I hope you walk slow.
Well, no but I stop to take a lot of pictures, I tell him with smile.
Good because I am NOT a hiker, he says. My smile twisted and faded. I must have looked at him like he was speaking in Mandarin.
What? We are in the first hour of a week hiking the Alps. What an intro.
It was a short but steep hike to our first Italian lunch [Editor’s note: more on those later] at Albergo Sacro Monte, a restaurant located right next to the chapels, and he proved his words to be true. He was not a hiker.
It was the first time that it occurred to me that no matter how much I readied myself for this trip, there were some things that you just can’t prepare for. The group is one of them.
After lunch [Editor’s note: I didn’t know peppers could taste like that] we were given a guided tour of the sacred grounds. The area includes fourteen tomb-like buildings, showcasing centuries-old sculptures and paintings depicting the life of Jesus, from birth to death.
The beauty was always slightly hidden away - they each had in common humble, unassuming exteriors.
Books that could not be judged by their covers.
Shooting into the chapels was a unique challenge. Each one was entombed behind a different type of ornate metal grate. That allowed for framing particular portions of the scenes using the grating as the foreground, but made it very difficult to capture the entire scene.
Here are some of my favorites using that technique.
This is how I looked when I walked in the church shortly after.
While that was a cool way to showcase some of the chapels, it really didn’t do them justice.
So I risked it all one time and stuck my cell phone through the metal grating for a shot. If you drop it, the trip isn’t necessarily ruined - but it’s a lot tougher, and you are NEVER seeing that phone again.
But I wanted to capture the full scope of one of these chapels, so I went for it.
I’m not a biblical scholar but I believe he made an unlikely comeback from this situation.
Stone shingle roofs from the 16th century sit on castle walls overlooking the Italian village of Varese. I bet the stones were a hundred lbs a piece.
Capturing a nun on Facetime at the Sacro Monte chapel is an all-timer for me.
“I probably remember the times that I missed out on more than the ones I lived”
While the quote is not a perfect 1:1, the sentiment is the same.
I have a Mt. Rushmore of missed opportunities, shots that I could have but missed, chiseled into my mind like Badlands rock. They stay with me more than some of my favorite shots that I actually did take. And my George Washington is the time I missed four nuns crossing the street, Abbey Road style, underneath the L in downtown Chicago. I simply didn’t get my camera up fast enough, and I’ll never forget it.
I don’t consider this shot a full redemption, mostly because I didn’t have a zoom lens, which would have helped emphasize what was happening. [Editor’s note: A nun group selfie would have been full redemption, for example.] But let me tell you - I got the lens that I did have up QUICK when I saw one on an iPhone. Gotta stay ready.
Then, after sipping some holy water out of a Gatorade Zero bottle from the Philadelphia airport (as God intended) I finally made my way into the church itself.
This is where I became overwhelmed with emotion. Overtaken.
The other stuff was great, but this!?
Holy s***.
I gasped. I wept. I prayed.
I tried to live in the moment; to appreciate the time taken, the skill needed, the heavenliness that exuded from the results. It was literally breathtaking.
Everywhere you looked was the most detailed, spectacular, heavenly imagery. 50 feet into the sky. Gilded in gold, hundreds of years ago. On top of a mountain.
How did they get all this up here? The hike that we made before lunch!? Must have taken a hundred years.
After finally getting myself together I stopped in the gift shop, a tiny little room in the corner of the monastery. The woman in there spoke some English but I wasn’t interested in that. I bought a bracelet and two rosaries and got them gift wrapped, all in Italian. She gave me a smile that said she appreciated the effort. Those are universal.
God is in the details.
Photos and prints don’t do it justice, but I tried.
When I got Home (capital H) I paired the rosaries with some prints of the chapel interior and gave them as gifts for a couple of loved ones. The prints turned out a little dark but I just wanted to them to know I prayed for them in there - the definition of ‘it’s the thought that counts'. We can get reprints later, Walgreens does what they can and I needed them quick. [Editor’s note: It’s where I got my first print done a decade ago, never forget where you came from.]
The next stunner was found in Macunaga, Italy. Chiesa di Santa Maria Assunta.
It was once again an unassuming, humble exterior. Not a single clue as to the beauty that lied inside. I actually snuck in a [very loud] side door, not knowing it was a church at all. My faith (in trespassing) paid off. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. [Editors note: there were wide open front doors right around the corner.]
The painting on the left was probably 25 feet tall? Seems like it would take a decade just to make the frame.
I saw a painting half that size in Savannah and I stared at it for a half hour. This ones bigger, in a gold frame… and there are TWO of them.
I couldn’t comprehend this being here. Macugnaga is a tiny commune in the mountains, largely inaccessible by anything but foot, especially several hundred years ago.
How did they do this?
The funny thing about this one, which is from the 16th century, is that it’s called Chiesa Nuova, which translates to New Church. That’s because it’s a pup compared to Chiesa Vecchia (Old Church) right around the corner, which was built in [checks Wikipedia] the year 1250. Holy s***!
I didn’t take any pictures of Chiesa Vecchia because it was about the size of my living room [Editor’s note: Although it had considerably more gold] but I did take a moment to bow my head acknowledge the history of it.
The final boss.
The last church was the hardest to get to and involved no hiking at all.
It was the chapel on Isola San Gulio, a tiny island on Lake Orta.
How do you get there you ask? Divorce canoes!
That’s right, my aunt and I got a chance to redeem ourselves. Double-kayaking was our most challenging activity during our first adventure in Iceland. This had been a long time coming.
Wide shot of the island from Sacro Monte di Orta. I was talking to the sky a lot that day.
Sacro Monte di Orta, the second UNESCO site that I overlooked on the itinerary for the week, was perched on a hillside overlooking the island, and was our only plans for the day other than kayaking. The grounds were set up similar to the one in Varese, as were the tomb-like displays, so I used the same framing technique when shooting the scenes. Just like kayaking, I got another chance, and just like the kayaking, (spoiler alert) I am happy with the results.
Some of the ceilings of Sacro Monte di Orta. Molte belle.
The last one goes so crazy. Like what kind of vision are we even talking about here? The scale, the proportions, the execution. Nothing is symmetrical yet it’s perfectly balanced. Heavenly.
Nun of that Facetiming business here.
I have mentioned many times, both jokingly and as serious as I’ve ever been, that I felt the spirit of my grandma when I was in Iceland. My aunt and I even have a running bit that she has kept the rain away for us on our travels.
This trip was something we’ve both been looking forward to for a long, long time. And with that, dreading certain portions of it. For my aunt it was the bridge, for me it was these kayaks. So on this day, I asked my grandma to make it rain. Many times.
“Give me the shade of a thunder cloud”
While it looked like my wishes might be granted most of the morning, the skies eventually cleared and we got the orders to suit up. I was two inches too tall for the kayak [Editiors note: that’s 5 cm in Italy] but it had pedals, something I didn’t have in our first experience. This negated the need for team-steering, which proved to be a ‘game changer’. So even though I was folded up like a size 13 foot in size 11 shoe, we found our groove pretty quickly. After a couple floating history lessons about the lake from the guide, we made our way to the island.
It’s said to have 72 nuns that live in the monastery there, and that they try stay out of sight from the public. If you see one, you’re lucky.
We beached our kayaks and began to stroll through this tiny commune, on an Italian island from [switches to Wikipedia tab] the 6th century. The guide mentioned this but it didn’t even seem plausible. The Romans built this.
Ancient alleyways snaked around la isola. Lanterns hung off of cobblestone walls. A cat peered out through some vines that twisted up to the monastery walls. It was straight out of a fairy tale.
Then we found the chapel.
I didn’t bring my camera to the island and I only took one cell phone picture inside the church. Probably because I simply couldn’t keep it together in there.
The spirit of my grandma. The overwhelming sense of accomplishment, of history, of God. I hugged my aunt and thanked her.
I can’t believe we are here right now.
Thank you Grandma, for keeping the rain away. You knew better than me.
I didn’t see any nuns before we hopped in our kayaks and headed back for the main land.
But please believe me. I know just how lucky I am.