A grey day in Santhià

For the first time since crossing the Great St Bernard Pass from Switzerland into Italy, I'm looking at rain. The forecast for Santhià is calling for 74 mm of rain today (down from 94 when I checked my weather app yesterday) with temperatures remaining steady at 12 Celsius. So far it's been a light steady rain all morning. When I got my morning cappuccino, Enrico told me the heavy rain is supposed to arrive tonight.

Like most businesses in Italy, the public library closes for a few hours at lunch time. Tuesday is the exception, when it remains open all day until 6:00 pm. On my way here from the hostel, I stopped to buy two small pizzas from the panetteria on the main street‎ for lunch, and I packed along an apple and an orange. There's no need to leave my haven until closing time.

Tomorrow I'll see the doctor again, and at that point I'll ask him about the wisdom of my plan to do daytrips to both Milan and Turin later this week. My original plan of following the Via Francigena straight through to Rome would have meant missing both of these cities, so my enforced sojourn in Santhià is not at all unwelcome. (Although I'd ‎still rather be walking.) 

Once a computer terminal in the library opens up, I'll check the official website for the Shroud of Turin. According to Wikisherpa, it's not normally on display except by special order of the Pope.‎ I'm hoping to find more up-to-date information on their website.

Other than all that, I don't have any exciting plans for the next few days. The forecast is for rain until Friday in Santhià, so I'll be splitting my time between the café, the library, and the hostel. I expect to get a lot of reading done, and also to add to my slowly growing store of Italian words and phrases.

Ah, there's an open computer! I may not have all that much to say over the next few days other than to report on the doctor's prognosis. ‎Ciao!

On the necessity of History

To study something of great age until one grows familiar with it and almost to live in its time, is not merely to satisfy a curiosity or to establish aimless truths: it is rather to fulfil a function whose appetite has always rendered History a necessity. By the recovery of the Past, stuff and being are added to us; our lives which, lived in the present only, are a film or surface, take on body— are lifted into one dimension more. The soul is fed. Reverence and knowledge and security and the love of a good land— all these are increased or given by the pursuit of this kind of learning.

- Hilaire Belloc, The Old Road

Santhiàtese celebrations

This is Enrico. (Sorry if I spelled your name wrong!) He works at the Café della Piazza six days a week. He has been kind enough to translate for me, answer my stupid questions, and serve me cappuccinos for the past six days. (The café is closed Mondays.) 

Today after attending the 11:00 Mass, I walked across the square through the hubbub of TV crews, agricultural displays, the local marching‎ band, and many Santhiàtese milling about excitedly, and entered the friendly confines of the café. Today it was almost as crowded and noisy inside as it was out on the square, because the TV was tuned to the network programme Mezzogiorno in Famiglia (http://www.mezzogiornoinfamiglia.rai.it/dl/portali/site/news/ContentItem-af6590dd-c042-4c00-a0d8-ebec436ef3cd.html), which was showing live clips of the scenes outside. Apparently two towns are selected to compete in various activities, and this week, Santhià was in it to win it.

When I didn't ask for my customary cappuccino, Enrico offered to prepare an Italian aperitif for me, known as a Spritz. It was cool, light, refreshing, and a little bitter. When I expressed my appreciation, he offered to fix me another drink, this one made with a lemon garnish instead of orange‎. The "udo" (I forgot to ask him to write down the name for me) was even better than the Spritz. When I went to settle my account, I discovered that it was also on the house. Grazie, amico mio!

As was the case yesterday, I was up and out the door before the church bells began to chime for early Mass. As I left the hostel, I observed two municipal workers cleaning up the road apples that had been deposited the day before‎ by those beautiful horses. (On Monday I plan to upload a few dozen photos from Santhià to my Flickr account. That work crew won't be featured, but the horses and carriage will make an appearance.) At 8:30, a tractor drove into the square, towing behind it a fairly old and rickety looking piece of machinery. Once that was in place, I looked it over and decided it was a thresher. Later events proved me correct. 

Just as they were on Saturday, the network crew was scurrying around the square, setting up lights, laying cables, and generally looking very productive. The tractor was driven around the corner out of sight, but a much more venerable looking machine took its place. This was eventually connected to the thresher with a broad drive belt for the televised demonstration. A few bales of hay were set up as props. Into one of them, several hand sickles were planted point-first. The other display area featured some very beautiful wood-frame lacquered wicker furniture‎. 

The final "display" was set up later.‎ It featured two trestle tables placed end to end, with two bowls, a stack of apples, and four teens wearing bright yellow Santhià t-shirts. Before the cameras started rolling, they had been transferring apples from one bowl to the other, using only their mouths. (The first bowl was eventually filled with water.) This was apparently one of the events in which they were competing. (The backwards hoop-shooting yesterday was another.)

All of this was very fun, but there was a more sombre side to the‎ morning's festivities. In the western Christian tradition, the day after All Saints' is known as All Souls' Day, a day to remember all the faithful deceased. There was a dual observance today, both in the Mass and outside in the square afterwards.

On the 3rd of November, 1918‎, the Austro-Hungarian Empire signed an armistice with Italy, which took effect the next day at 3:00 pm. Just as with Canada's observance of Remembrance Day on November 11, until just a few decades ago November 4 was a national holiday.

Giorno dell'Unità Nazionale e Festa delle Forze Armate (National Unity and Armed Forces Day) ‎was observed today with a laying of a wreath and lighting of a candle at the memorial at the town hall. (There is a shocking number of teens named on that memorial plaque.) There were a few veterans in uniform, as well as members of the various police forces and the local politicians. And did I mention the marching band?

I'm able to follow the flow of the modern Mass in Italian, but I wasn't able to pick up what the Epistle reading was. The Gospel text was the passage of the Last Judgement (Matt 25:31-46), and in his homily, the priest quoted one of my favourite passages of Scripture, from Romans.

"Who then shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation? or distress? or famine? or nakedness? or danger? or persecution? or the sword?  (As it is written: For thy sake we are put to death all the day long. We are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.) But in all these things we overcome, because of him that hath loved us. For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor might,  nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

* * * * * * *

By 1:00, the crowds had dispersed, things were being swept up, and the tech crew from the network were busily coiling cables and stowing gear. I wandered back to the hostel, had a bit of lunch, and then spent most of the rest of the afternoon reading. I did emerge at one point and walked over to the library. I didn't expect it to be open, but I wanted to check the hours. (I also wanted to see whether the nearby residential WiFi access point was ‎still wide open and available. No such luck.) 

On the way over to the library, I spotted a group of six women on the street, all wearing backpacks and hiking gear. I walked up and greeted them and apologised for my non-existent Italian. One of them replied in English. I didn't catch where they had started from, but they were making their way to the train station to make a side trip to Milan before continuing on. This makes the third time I've met a group of pilgrims wal‎king at least partway to Rome.

Santhià beat the other town in the network's competition, and so to celebrate all things local and excellent and Santhiàtese, I returned to La Vecchia Taverna for dinner. As before, I took my pizza to go. Passing by the café on my way back to the hostel, I exchanged waves with Enrico, who was on the verge of closing up. This time around, I splurged and ordered a "2014 Santhiàtese," which was their entry in the 23rd World Pizza Competition. The chief pizzaiolo, Alex, has been invited to participate several years now. I don't know if this particular creation won anything, but I certainly enjoyed it!

Ever since I walked across the Great St Bernard Pass into Italy, I have had a string of over two weeks of gorgeous weather. That's set to change at some point overnight, with the weather app on my phone calling for six days of rain. (I checked the forecast for both Turin and Milan, and it must be the same‎ weather system.)

Tomorrow afternoon I return to the hospital for my follow-up appointment. To my untrained eye, the amoxicillin ‎has done a good job of bringing the infection under control. The wound still looks messy, but that's probably due to the antibiotic cream they have me (oh so gingerly) applying every day after a 10 minute footbath. 

If the rain isn't too bad, I intend to spend the morning at the library making use of their internet and perhaps even reading more children's books. I don't relish the idea of splashing through puddles with an open wound on my foot, even with it safely wrapped, so I may just stay indoors all day except for a brief excursion out. I'll probably stick my foot in a plastic bag for the trip.

And that is all for tonight. Ciao ciao!

Festa dei Santi, Piazza Roma

Happy feast of All Saints to those of you in the western Christian tradition!

This morning I was awake early, so the sound of the church bells ‎calling the faithful to the early Mass at 8:00 didn't bother me at all. In fact, I was already heading across the square for my first cappuccino when they started. Turns out I was wrong earlier about it being a recording, since I could see the largest of the bells swinging as it tolled.

This was the first of three Masses this morning, the last of which began at 11:00. By that time, the media crew from Rai (an Italian network) had already set their lights and the stationary cameras, and a few cameramen (no women) were working the crowd. A two horse carriage had entered the square at around 9:00, but apparently they were early, as the liveried drivers parked it directly in front of my window on a lane beside the church leading to the square. (The evidence of their stay is still present.)

There were a number of displays set up in ‎the middle of the square. One local craftswoman had samples of what I assume was hand-painted china, all bright flowers and sunbursts. The local youth basketball association had set up a portable backboard, and for quite some time, two of them were taking turns doing backwards free throws. There was a bevy of little kids fetching balls and passing them to the shooters, so it was a continuous display. Another table had an assortment of antique woodworking tools, grindstones, and even an old anvil. The final display was manned (and I use the term advisedly) by a local alpine club, complete with matching blue plaid shirts and feathered Tyrolean hats. Beards and suspenders were optional.

The blonde in the photo of this group is the network's anchor personality who is covering this weekend's events in Santhià. I have no idea who she is other than that, or how well known she is, but even before the cameras had started rolling I'd picked her out of the crowd as the anchor. The whole time she was on the square, she carried herself as though she were on camera.‎ In fact, that may very well be true, given how many people had cellphones, iThings, and actual cameras out and in play. (Your correspondent not excepted.)

Eventually the crowd was marshalled to stand in front of the church, on either side of the vehicular right of way. Two senior police officers took their place in the sun beside the town banner, and the horse-drawn carriage made its entrance into the square. I'd been expecting the mayor, or perhaps the local bishop, to be the honoured passenger. It was with equal parts amusement and dismay that I saw it was the reporter. She had walked around the corner of the church to where the carriage and attendants were waiting, hopped in, and was given a 30 second ride so she could be helped from the carriage for the TV cameras. Applause from the crowd greeted her "arrival" and she was welcomed by an elegantly dressed older gentleman, whom I assume is the mayor.

(If you've not read Neil Postman's brilliant book on media, Amusing Ourselves to Death, I highly recommend it. One of my high school English teachers had called it one of the most important books of the quarter century. I won't disagree with Mr. Kahnert, even though he made the statement nearly 30 years ago.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neil_Postman#Amusing_Ourselves_to_Death )

I retreated to the hostel soon afterwards. I'd been upright much of the morning, and needed to get my foot out from underneath me. To my surprise, I fell asleep reading in bed, thus combining two of my favourite things. 

By the time I re-emerged at 2:00, the square was empty except for the media trucks and the wiring they'd put down Friday evening. I was impressed at how clean the square was - no more mess on the ground than there had been six hours earlier (with one notable, steaming exception near the hostel), and there were no overflowing garbage bins anywhere in sight. Then I realised that there had been no food or drink and no vendors‎ selling trinkets, and therefore no mess.

I headed off to the supermarket to buy some food for the rest of the weekend. I'd be very surprised to find anything except cafés open on a Sunday here, so I bought some cheese, yoghurt, more cheese, a third kind of cheese, 2 kg of Valencia oranges, two tins of reheatable soup, and some tea. Since the small package of Lindt chocolate was 18% off, I tossed that in the cart as well. I had bought bread earlier from the local paneteria - I got there in time to see the delivery van pull up in front of the "bakery." It'll be a day old tomorrow, but these buns have a nice thick crust, so I know they'll still be good.

For the first time since arriving in Santhià on Monday, I saw a beggar at the door of the church before Vespers. (Maybe it's only worthwhile coming out on the weekend.) Certainly there was a good crowd at Vespers, and the organist did another competent job. I'm delighted to be where I am and doing what I'm doing (sort of - this infected foot is something I'd be willing to forego), but it's most especially on Saturday evenings that I get a little homesick for the people and our prayers together at St George.‎ (I'm sure last night's Harvest Fest went well, and hope that the teens and advisors had a great time at the sleepover afterwards. I was thinking of you guys! Just don't let Angela handle anything sharp or flammable, and you'll be fine.)

Since I've already soaked and re-dressed my wounded foot, I won't be wandering too far this evening. It's 8:30 as I type this and the sound of bells is filling the air - perhaps an evening Mass is about to begin. I'll be using the Daily Services booklet compiled by Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick to do a reader's version of Vespers. 

"Pregate per me, per favore!"

My tastebuds wept for joy

(I fell asleep while composing the following on  Friday evening. Twice. Here it is now, twelve hours after I began.) 

As I mentioned in my last update, I had planned to return to La Vecchia Taverna for dinner this evening. As the more astute amongst my readers may have guessed from the title of this post, I did so.  

http://www.ristorantepizzerialavecchiataverna.com

Two nights ago when I dined there, I used the pilgrim discount card from the hostel. That gave me access to a €10 "menu pellegrino." My expectations had not been all that high. On the Camino, most pubs and restaurants offered this sort of thing at about the same price point, but there it was generally solid fare, without style or grace. I've never eaten so many french fries in such a short period of time.

La Vecchia Taverna, on Via Svizzera in Santhià, doesn't look like all that much from the outside. There's a largish neon sign projecting from the second storey (first floor if you're European), and entering from the street you find yourself in a cramped-feeling room that has a small bar, a small ice cream freezer, a cash register, a pizza oven, two pizzaioli (in this restaurant, they don't toss the dough up in the air like you've probably seen in commercials), and a lot of empty pizza boxes waiting to be filled.‎ 

The restaurant is actually upstairs. I'd manoeuvred myself up the steps two nights ago, not knowing what to expect. The large room was full of tables, and many of these tables were already occupied, even though it was only ten minutes past their evening opening time. Always a good sign!

I was shown to a small, two seat table near the entrance. The table setting was nice, but nothing fancy - just what was needed. Clean linen, packaged bread sticks‎, salt, pepper, toothpicks. My first real surprise was when the waitress came and asked what I'd like. On the Camino, the menu pellegrino usually has very limited options - soup or salad being the most common choice I had to make in Spain. 

Welcome to Italy! For the first plate, I was given five or six options to choose from. I went with the pesto, and for "secondo" I just repeated one of the items the waitress had rattled off for me. (It turned out to be a perfectly grilled pork chop.) I was also given the choice of insalata (take a guess!) or something I didn't understand. When I looked confused, the waitress said, "French fries." I went with the salad. (Photos will be uploaded to Flickr once I get a good legit WiFi connection again. If I remember two weeks from now when I finally reach Vercelli.) 

Shortly after placing my order, a bread basket was set on the table, and I began stuffing my face. (I'd managed to somehow miss eating lunch.) And then the pesto arrived. I‎'m not a foodie, so I have no idea what herbs were involved in the sauce, but the plate of penne was a rather unappealing greenish-gray colour which tasted like the best movie theatre popcorn had been transfigured. All I know is that there was plenty of olive oil involved, and that when the pasta was gone, I used the fluffy soft white bread to sop up the remaining bits of glory. The pork chop came soon after, with a lemon wedge. As is standard in these civilised parts, a jar of olive oil and one of vinegar arrived for me to dress the salad to my taste.

That was Wednesday night. (And let me apologise to my Orthodox readers if I have caused offense by not keeping the fast. If I do make it to Jerusalem in time for Holy Week, be assured that I will follow the canons to the letter.) 

This evening, I chose a more restrained course, ordering a pizza for take away. While I was waiting, I observed something which I'd missed on my previous visit. La Vecchia Taverna in the small town of Santhià has been a participant in the Campionato Mondiale della Pizza for the past twenty years. (I'm not absolutely sure that they won in 2014, but their entry was featured on a large sign. It's called the Santhiàtese, and I think I'll be trying that at least once before I finally leave this town.) The pizza I ordered was so good, my tastebuds wept for joy.

I felt I had earned a bit of a treat, since there was a fair bit of pain and nastiness involved when I went to see the doctor at 1:30. My dressings were cut off, and for the first time I had a good clear look at the horrific mess my foot has become. This time there was no local anaesthetic when they peeled the inner layers of the dressing off my flayed foot. The horrid menacing colours which showed the progression of the infection had not diminished any, but I'd only taken two doses of penicillin at that point - one last evening shortly after dinner, and one this morning with "breakfast."

My next appointment is still set for Monday, but until then, I'm supposed to soak my foot in a footbath for at least ten minutes everyday. I ‎bought the necessary supplies at the pharmacy, including a package of antiobiotic-infused gauze dressings to bind up my wound afterwards, and set about the task after dinner.

It wasn't as unpleasant as I had expected. The really encouraging thing was seeing how much improvement there had been in only eight hours. The amoxicillin is starting to do its job!

In the meantime, the satellite crew from Rai has arrived in the town square and parked their trucks opposite the church. Apparently the network has a show which features life in small town Italy. Since this weekend is a major feast on the Roman calendar, they'll be filming right here in Santhià. I asked my bilingual friend in the café about it, and then chided him gently. Just the previous day he had been complaining that Santhià is too small, too quiet, and that nothing ever happens here.

So, a mixed day. I spent some time on a park bench consoling a very friendly stray cat. As I type the last of this update‎, the sun is just hitting my table on the sidewalk in front of "my" café. The film crew looks to be all set up and ready to capture the excitement of All Saints' Day in Santhià. 

‎