Sunday was a day of rest; Frances, her friend, and I decided to go to an English mass at one of the churches nearby. 9:00 found the three of us sitting in a dimmly-lit side chapel of the church of St. Francis with no one else around except for a cute old man reading his Bible in the back. At 9:15 it became obvious that we were the only people that were going to show up. The old man came over to us and asked if we were here for the English service. In response to our excited head bobs, he glanced at his watch, sighed and said "Alright, quickly then," and went to the front to light some candles. Kira decided we should tell him that we weren't actually Catholic and wouldn't be taking communion. In response, he stopped lighting candles and told us the Italian mass would be at 10:00.
We stuck around and it was worth the wait. Even though I speak very little Italian and was lost for most of the service, it was beautiful to watch and listen to the small group's well-rehearsed Sunday ritual. The songs and readings and recitations flowed seamlessly in rapid Italian, with us rising and falling to our knees with the rest of them. It's true that there is no better way to experience a culture than by participating in their religious rituals.
After church Frances and I went to one of her favorite cafes to do homework. Over the best (and only) banana cappuchino I've ever had, she told me interesting tidbits as she studied for her Italian culture test: 95-98% of the country is Catholic, yet abortion is legal and they have one of the lowest teen pregnancy rates. We had dinner at her place and talked w/ one of her Italian roommates who warmed up some roasted chestnuts for us to taste. It was nice to experience the everday side of Italy...it was a homey day.
Monday Frances and I said our good-byes and I got on the bus back to Florence. I spent the day wandering around snapping pictures of statues, the Renaissance in the making, the leather markets, etc. I went inside the duomo and teared up. See video.
On the plane ride back we flew over Paris at night - it was beautiful, all lit up. I sat next to Luca, an interesting guy w/ dual citizenship (Italian and American) who guessed that I was from MN. We chatted about how much we loved Boulder and San Fran, and how both of us grew up on farms...except his grew grapes. To Annie's question, I would say that yes, people kind of are all the same no matter where you go.
As I got on the tube back in London, "Mind the gap" floated like familiar music to my ears. It was nice to discover how much like home London has become.
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