Barb Voyage!

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Adriatic Layers

We have heard stories of Europeans laying around on crowded beaches, mindlessly, bare-breasted, sipping Prosecco and lowering their sunglasses to gaze at bronze gods in Speedos strolling along the water.  I have yet to see this.

However, on the train to Loreto, an easy hour-long jaunt on a slow regional train from Roseto, I got a few unexpected glimpses of bronze - bottoms up.  The more north we travelled, the more exposed bodies I saw.  Sorry, no pics! 

Along the wild stretches of lido-less coastline, rivers rolled into the Sea,

rocks piled up to the railway tracks, followed by sandy beach (or stony in some places), many naked tanners lay oblivious to the train passengers’ glaring eyes, as they sunned their corpuses freely.

Sunflower fields on the west hills, created a luminous glow for the inhabitants of tiny twenty-building towns.  On the east, the shine of lotion-slathered bottoms lit up the scape.  Young, old (many old men), couples, and some quite “worn” elderly women, provided an entertaining view and insight into human behaviour on the way to a sacred place, Loreto.

Panorama Around Loreto

I ran immediately to the Tobacco shop in the train station to get my bus ticket up the hill.  Can’t understand what smoking and transportation have to do with each other, but…it was closed - as in empty - with a sign on the window directing buyers to the travel agency across the street.

The shuttle bus was right in front of the station, so I confirmed with the bus driver that I had to buy a ticket across the street.  And I did.  It was minutes before afternoon “nap” time, but thankfully, the agency was open.

As I exited the agency, the shuttle, carrying no passengers, was pulling away from the station!  I whistled with all my might (thanks, Dad), and he stopped for me.  Once again, I had made a connection just in the nick of time.

A Miniature Creche

Tiny Baker

Before entering the Basilica, I made a Euro offering and visited the little underground mechanical presentation of life as it would have been during Mary's young years.  I giggled a bit, considering how many Pilgrims must come down here expecting something far more glamourous than the childlike  display.  

Moving parts, hee-hawing donkeys, and "clicking" sounds of "smiths," would have delighted my granddaughters.  I spent about five minutes here, and headed to the main draw.

Like many Catholic Pilgrimage sites, Loreto’s Basilica de Santa Casa (Basilica of the Holy House), was built based on legend.  It was said that the very house in which Mary, the Mother of Jesus, received the Annunciation (the message from Gabriel that she was with Child), was converted into a Church by the twelve apostles.

Panorama from John Paul II Piazza

After Empress Helena made a pilgrimage to Nazareth in 336, she directed that a Basilica be built over the Church.  This sacred place was an active place of worship until 1291.

Legend also has it that the house, just prior to invasion by the Turks, was miraculously lifted by four angels to a place in what is now known as Croatia, where many miracles occurred. Because of this "flight," Our Lady of Loreto is known as the "Patroness of Pilots!" with an actual full airplane perched at the entrance to the road up to the Basilica.


Mary's house was later transmitted to a wooded area in Recanti, Italy, then finally moved to beautiful Loreto, surrounded by green hills and a view of the sea, where it stands today, and where thousands of pilgrims come to pray before the Black Madonna.

The Mother and Child statue, the first of which became darkened from the many votive candles of pilgrims in its tiny worship space in Nazareth, was replaced with a more colorful one in 1630, but with Mary and Jesus’ faces painted a rose/black tint.

Once again, as was typical of many statues, and even marble walls, it darkened, but was then destroyed by fire in 1921.

The final and current statue, made in 1921, is of Lebanon cedar, painted a black tint, reminiscent of many icons of the Medieval period.  In all, there are between 450 and 500 Black Madonnas in the world. 

Why the history?  For “exposure’s” sake.  Indeed the house was transported, but later more modern study of the charred stories written on the walls of the little house, revealed that an aristocratic family named the Angelo’s were actually responsible for the move and preservation of the sacred edifice.

Over the years, many believed that this particular Black Madonna was the only one of its kind, but it takes little research to learn otherwise.  Many icons were created with visages similar to indigenous peoples.  

The point being, to Catholics, whether the house was carried by angels or the Angelo’s, whether the Madonna was black due to the “big fire” or to paint, like most miracles, these are not “matters of faith.”  

I find it inspiring that for hundreds of years, based on the miraculous “angels” legend, people gathered, prayed, believed, and were healed in this place, and that today, with the truth exposed, they still do the same.  

The immense piazza in front of the Basilica reminded me of the Castle of Heidelberg.  A staged production of Disney’s “Frozen” was to open that night!


There are huge healing Masses held here in this multi-purpose area, inside the walls of the Basilica’s surrounding village of homes and shops.
There are huge healing Masses held here in this multi-purpose area, inside the walls of the Basilica’s surrounding village of homes and shops.  

I strolled among the mostly closed shops, and managed to buy a second China-made bracelet.  I decided I deserved these little mementos.  However, as I slipped it on my wrist, I noticed my Padre Pio medal was gone.  

“No worries,” I thought, “I know the blue and white pearls are from San Giovani.”  I grabbed a quick dried out baguette sandwich of tasteless mozzarella, pin, watery tomato slices, and some iceberg lettuce (I had asked for basil).  It reminded me of the same kind we buy on the streets of Paris - no mayonnaise, mustard, pesto, or anything moist!

It was then that I noticed I had already lost my Loreto medal!  So there I sat, with three Chinese bracelets, loping like a twelve-year-old, an only lone Saint Gabriele still dangling.  I promised myself I’d buy myself a dainty gold charm bracelet for Christmas, and add to it as I go.

Time to go, once again, I was the only passenger on the ride down the hill to the station.  I connected easily back to Roseto, and even remembered to stamp my train ticket in the machine before I boarded! (Forgot to do that on the way to Loreto, but the guy had mercy on me, an American). 

Spiral
Stairway to Heaven

Enjoying the quaint homes along the coast, colorful and artsy, I reminisced about my own home and picket fence, the loss of this treasure, and the opportunities that followed.  


"Making lemonade out of lemons," is what my ex said when I found him standing in my garage, re-claiming a home he fought to get rid of for six years in court.  The pain lessens, as I breathe in the beauty of the people and places I am discovering on this new homeless journey.  I, however, am making wine out of sour grapes!

One day, I will return to experience Mass in the piazza at night, which many, including non-believers, say is a piece of Heaven, as candles light the faithful faces, choirs echo chants of praise, and people go away, having been exposed to angelic song and Heavenly blessing.