Sunday, June 2, 2013

Days Just Happen

This is the part of the story where cataloging each day’s activities would be fruitless.  The residue of my first two weeks in Guardia is more like great, warm blanket than a grocery list of things seen and accomplished. 
Priority one was Decompression.  To me, this meant creating an atmosphere of little or no expectation by or of me.  No schedule, no “must do” or “must see” or “must eat” for me.  Just breathe.  Live the life. Every day I woke up with only the scantest of plans for the day, or, in most cases, no plan at all.  Every day took care of me by laying before me a beautiful, warming winter sun, a Centro Storico which begged me to deliberately explore it’s eon-old self, the friendly, if not bemused, faces of the Guardiese and the smells of fresh food prepared over hours for the families that eat together during the typical three hour lunch time or the untimed, but equally social, connected evening meal.

Inside the Ave Gratia Plena

Even without a plan, the days just happen in Guardia.  One morning, I left Clare’s to explore the old Central Historic District, armed only with my Nikon D90 and only a vague idea of what I wanted to shoot.  Mentally flipping a coin, I chose “left” and headed downhill (there are no flat places in the Centro Storico, only up or down).  After about ten paces, I saw several people heading my way and recognized Roberto and Carlo from the house-warming at Laurie’s.  They greeted me like I was already family and since he knew from Clare that I was interested, Roberto spontaneously decided to drop whatever plan he had and give me a private tour of the Ave Gratia Plena, a 17th century former Catholic church.

Following Roberto and Carlo, I snaked my way through a side entrance, dodged a few sheets that were probably related to the ongoing renovation, then through one more doorway and there it was – a treasure chest of photographic opportunities.  The guys left to fetch an easel from Clare for a town meeting that was to occur that night, waving their hands as if to say “go – take pictures – knock yourself out” (which they probably did say in Italian).  So, for about twenty minutes, I was left alone to take any picture I desired.  I had only natural light to work with, which is the way I like it and, to me, made the experience more authentic.  The daylight shone through the windows, the air was still and cold and the only sound in the old church was the sound of my Nikon’s shudder, the shuffling of my feet and the sniffling of my nose, as I was too entranced to bother searching my pockets a tissue.

"Hey, Joe - you wanna see the old church?"

Roberto and Carlo returned with the easel and were in mid-conversation as they re-joined me in the AGP.  I had just about finished shooting everything in the AGP, when Roberto said something to me in Italian.  I looked at Carlo for a translation and he said “he wants to know if you want to see the old church”.  I was confused and pointed out what I thought was obvious as I spread my hands and looked around – “I’m already in the old church.”  Carlo explained “No, the old church.  The one behind the secret panel.  It was built in 623, A.D.”  I blurted out “Sure!” as I tried to process this:  The other, old church was 1000 years older than the one in which I was standing.  The time scale that is “normal” in Guardia takes a while to grasp.  Obviously.

A sealed off passage in the old church. 
Roberto insists that the area pointed to by the
arrow is made of rocks and human bones.  Cool. 

In a side alcove, Roberto pulled a panel out of place to expose a completely dark, wet mystery that was the early-medieval church. The only light in the cave/tunnel was from the flash of my camera.  I had no idea what I was shooting, I just knew that I had to shoot whatever I could, and then figure it out later.  I gathered from my miserable command of the Italian language (and the occasional assist from Carlo) that this was an area in the process of being unearthed and that no one really knows the full story of this amazing discovery.  I later learned that the “old” church tour was something that not many locals have ever seen.
The only clothes I had were now cold, wet and dirty after this completely unexpected experience and I was thrilled.  It’s really trite to talk about how humbled I was by the whole thing, but that’s the word that keeps pushing itself to the front of my mind.  I was humbled.  Also, even more pissed off at Delta and Air France for holding hostage the collection of random laundry that I slung into my suitcase.  But, mostly humbled.

One thing I saw repeatedly was that once the residents of Guardia see that your interest in the area is genuine, that you have a real passion for the “art” of the place, and that you’re not some asshole who wants to take advantage of them, doors open, toasts are given, invitations are extended, backs are slapped and proclamations of adoption into the Guardia familia are made.
It’s a beautiful thing.   

No comments:

Post a Comment