Elder Travel–Silver Winner: Il Papa
By Jan Burak Schwert
An encounter with a stranger in a small Umbrian town helped me understand the depth of a country’s grief.
Even in medieval Trevi, I wanted to check my email.
“Intairnet?” I asked, arms outstretched, typing in the air. Several people pointed to the north edge of the village, but I couldn’t find an internet cafe.
The tiny town, perched on a hilltop in Umbria, sat quietly inside its walls, offering spectacular views but little else to attract the casual tourist. The sun headed down on this April afternoon and cast a warm glow on the aged limestone as I strolled along the cobblestoned streets.
I poked my head into a little cafe and repeated my question. The dark-haired, dashing barista waved his arms and spoke rapid Italian. When he saw my blank look he stopped mid-word.
“Alberto,” he called.
An adolescent appeared from the kitchen and was given instructions. He motioned for me to follow, then shot down the street and pointed triumphantly to a place called Planet Fun. I peered inside and saw only videogames, but smiled at the boy and said “Grazie.”
I ventured in. Shouts from a pack of school children competed with a dozen noisy machines. The place was windowless, and the only light came from the games, whose bright consoles looked like spaceships. I was torn between wanting a computer and hoping not to find one – how could I concentrate here?
I made my way through the gamut of kids and saw several outdated PCs set up against the back wall. Nearby a few older men had propped themselves up at a bar. They glanced my way and went back to their conversation. Typical Italians, I thought. No outsiders, and especially no women, allowed.
“Lucio!” called one. The owner emerged from under the counter; his plump face broke into a grin.
“Buon giorno!” he said, escorting me to a computer. “Il costo e tre euro all ‘ora.” Four bucks an hour was OK with me.
Every day my husband and I would explore a neighboring hill town and return to our rented apartment laden with fresh ingredients for dinner. We’d make tortellini with pesto sauce, rigatoni with a salad of arugula and radishes. I’d linger over the food and wine, then wander over to Planet Fun. The Italian men ignored me as I surfed and emailed.
During our week in Trevi, news arrived of the rapid decline of Pope John Paul II. We could feel everyone in Italy holding their breath. Daily masses were held throughout the country as people prayed for the Pope’s recovery.
We’d been out of radio range the day I hit the internet early. Planet Fun was eerily quiet; the games had been turned off and the kids banished. The regulars were on the couch or standing nearby, glued to the television set, not saying a word.
As I walked towards them, the bartender turned and said, “Il Papa…” His face was ashen, the picture of worry and sorrow, as he extended his arm toward the television. Even I could tell the end was coming.
Not wanting to intrude, I turned to walk away. But Lucio intercepted me and led me to a computer in the corner. The men forgot I was there, and I worked away quietly.
All of a sudden the first notes of a requiem poured out of the television, and the men, as one, put their heads in their hands and wept. When I looked over at the broadcast, the depth of my feelings surprised me as I remembered Pope John Paul’s enormous impact on Italy, Poland and the rest of the world. I felt humble and filled with compassion. Did I have something in common with these men after all?
Walking softly toward the group, I saw that Lucio now seemed like an old man, his body stooped, his face collapsed.
I placed my hands on my heart, then extended them toward him and toward the others. They seemed grateful for my wordless gesture. Lucio nodded and, with tears streaming down his face, said “Il Papa li amava tutti….” He loved us all.
Jan Burak Schwert was born in the shadow of Yankee Stadium and now calls Seattle home. An independent traveler, she likes to wake up each day not knowing what will happen. Whether finding a hidden pub, walking on glaciers in New Zealand or riding the Paris metro, she enjoys meeting locals and learning about their lives and culture. A Solas Award winner, Jan has written for the Seattle Times, the San Antonio Express-News, Journal Newspapers, Travelers Tales.com and Bedandbreakfast.com Report.
