Ed and I often return for the immense pleasure of seeing this pale stone town dramatically positioned against its hillside. We come here to venerate San Francesco and Santa Chiara, immortalized in their own churches, to see the Romanesque facade of Duomo di San Rufino, and to gaze at the Tempio di Minerva, whose severe columns stand strongly for the ancient world. We’re only an hour away, so this is a gift we often exchange. “Why don’t we drive over to Assisi,” Ed will say on an idle day.The main parking lot heaves with buses unloading religious tour groups and art lovers who throng the lower church of Basilica San Francesco for the Giotto frescoes. We all file onto the outdoor escalator that raises us (assumes us?) into town. The great pilgrimage sites always have been crowded with seekers and sellers. Seeing nuns from all over the world in their various habits, watching pilgrims buying wooden San Francesco crosses, hearing bearded young men singing and strumming in the piazza is part of the experience.
