La Chiocciola – It’s Italian for snail.
Not coincidentally, this was the name of my Airbnb in Assisi. But I didn’t discover its meaning until the end of my nearly two weeks in Italy, covering Cinque Terre to Assisi. And by then, I smiled in recognition of how the snail metaphor accurately described my entire trip.
The pace of a snail requires patience, focus, trust that one will arrive where one intends, in due time. All qualities I needed, and acquired – eventually.
It started the moment I realized that my Road Scholar hiking group was not actually prepared to hike the Cinque Terre as planned. It didn’t take long to know this. Our first day – billed as the easiest of our hiking days – folks were getting winded, I heard someone ask “are we there yet,” followed by exclamations that this was supposed to be the easy day. My own frustration and disappointment set in. The hike quickly turned into a stroll as our two guides slowed their pace to accommodate the needs of the majority of our group.
Our pace only slowed further as the days progressed.
One morning I said to the lead guide, as I very slowly lifted my leg to remain in step with him, that we were now taking a meditative walk. And it was true.
An avid hiker and a lover of outdoor travel, I had signed up for this months ago based on it being touted as a hiking tour. Road Scholar had clearly described the Cinque Terre landscape, with its steep stone steps and narrow, elevated trails. They advised that one needed to “get in shape” to prepare to hike long, rocky paths with constant ascending and descending and changes in elevation. I was looking forward to the level of activity.
But I discovered the only thing I needed to prepare for was my attitude.
Early on, I recognized that this could be either an exercise in growing frustration and impatience or an opportunity for spiritual practice. One that required my willingness to let go of expectations and preferences and simply be present to what was in front of me. I needed to release my grip on how to move through the day. Or how to move period.
I’m not saying that was easy. But whenever I became aware of irritation, judgment, impatience, I acknowledged my legitimate feelings and returned to my intention. In the process of releasing, I became grateful, for being where I was, for the gorgeousness all around me.
By the third day, I noticed a softening. The inner voices were quieting down. As I relaxed into the reality, I enjoyed learning about my fellow travelers.
Then came the lessons of Assisi.
After the hiking trip ended, I traveled solo to Assisi – a place long on my list. I had planned nearly three days, and I wanted to make the most of them. Not as an average tourist but as a contemplative, taking time to reflect and “be” in the places where Saints Francis and Clare walked, prayed, and lived.
Still, there was much to see in a short amount of time.
My first evening, I met a young woman from Luxembourg who thought I appeared lost. I wasn’t. Yet.
Since she came to Assisi yearly, Elly was well acquainted with its streets and offered to guide me. I joked that since the town was contained within stone walls, it must be impossible to get lost. She assured me that wasn’t the case.
I discovered this for myself the next evening when I couldn’t find my way back to my Airbnb after dinner. Flustered, I finally asked a couple for directions.
Thus began my awareness that here, too, I was faced with a conscious decision. Would I release the reins of my expectations and accompanying frustrations? Would I open to how the day unfolded?
As I meandered through the town and along the hillsides, taking wrong turns and questioning the direction I was traveling, I experienced a small taste of Francis’s lifestyle. Francis deeply trusted in the abundance of God’s providence. He chose to cling to nothing. Not only material possessions, but also frustration and disappointment, judgments and preferences. He let go of his grasp on everything. Except his profound love for God.
There was something very freeing in that.
I discovered that freedom in the synchronicity of what showed up as I opened my hands and heart in trust.
Late one afternoon I thought I’d walk to a basilica at least 2 miles outside Assisi. As the traffic picked up and the way wasn’t clear, I turned around, thinking this was not a good idea. Then I spotted an Italian woman, about my age, walking towards me, so I used my few Italian words to ask directions, just out of curiosity. Her face lit up when I mentioned the basilica. “Come,” she said.
Although Rosella spoke little English, we really enjoyed walking together and attempting to communicate. But Rosella was a slow walker, and she forced me to substantially slow my pace. Sound familiar?
I was very aware that it was late in the day and, at this pace, I’d have little time to actually visit the basilica by the time we arrived. Thinking she was headed to her hotel, I tried to leave, until I realized Rosella intended to walk the entire way with me.
“This is a happy day!” she said in her limited English. With a broad smile, she added, “a happy day for Rosella and a happy day for Pauline!”
I decided that our slow walk together was much more important than what time I arrived.
And once we arrived, she made sure I knew how to return by bus since it was getting dark. How she would return, I don’t know, for she didn’t buy a ticket for herself. Once inside the Porziuncola sanctuary where Francis had received many graces, she prostrated herself, pressing her forehead to the floor. A hard position to maintain, but Rosella remained there for a very long time. Eventually I wandered off, thinking I’d say goodbye when I returned. But later she was gone, and nowhere in the basilica. Rosella had disappeared as mysteriously as she’d arrived, this woman who’d gifted me with her presence and her joyful faith.
The next morning I trudged another 2.5 miles up Mt. Subasio, to the hermitage in the woods where Francis and his brothers slept and prayed. I spent hours there, opening to the depth of devotion and holy joy of these friars.
By the time I discovered the poem my Airbnb host had written about the Chiocciola, in both Italian and English, I understood the lesson of the snail. My host wanted her guests to travel through her town more like a snail than a tourist, to take time to notice the little things, to get lost on Assisi’s streets, to appreciate the people and the sense of this special place.
She had no idea just how much I’d surrendered to the snail’s pace throughout my visit to Italy. And, in return, the gifts I’d received.
A Journey of the Heart 