As the lazy days of summer wind down and travel plans shift from weeklong vacations to weekend getaways, it’s nice to know that a short hop on a direct flight from Albany International Airport can get you to the Windy City, where there’s something for everyone, whether your interests run toward sports, art, food, architecture or shopping. And, if you’re interested in tackling two cities, a quick and inexpensive Amtrak ride will take you from Chicago to Milwaukee, where more of everything awaits on the banks of the seemingly endless Lake Michigan.

Chicago is one of those cities that almost everyone has been through — even if only on a layover at one of its twomajor airports — but doing a deep dive into the city of deep-dish pizza can fill a weekend to overflowing.

Having a game plan is a good bet. Start by choosing from one of the many hotels that are within walking distance of most major sights. Somewhere along the Magnificent Mile, known for its upscale shops, is the perfect location for navigating the must-see attractions. Purchase the Chicago CityPASS, and you’ll save money and time by getting one ticket to access five key attractions.  Continue reading…

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GPS: Once we dropped the girls off at grandma’s house, we headed to the Marriott at 49th and Lex, where we scored an amazing 30th-floor room with a slim view (see photo above) for only $3 thanks to Dennis’ reward points. Great room, great location. From there we took the train down to Greenwich Village, one of our favorite haunts from our dating days. We shopped, strolled through Washington Park, had cocktails (a Manhattan and a French 75) at the Malt House, and wandered into St. Anthony of Padua Church on Houston and Sullivan streets just as the choir was warming up for the Easter Vigil. Then we headed to Villa Mosconi, our all-time favorite Village restaurant, for an amazing dinner, which brings us to our next section of this post…

Menu: You know the food is good when I forget to take photos. We had an appetizer of carciofi (artichokes) that was out of this world, followed by zuppa di pesce (Dennis) and fettucini verdi alla bolognese (me), all washed down with a carafe of Chianti. If you get the chance, go to this wonderful spot on MacDougal Street, where the pasta is all homemade and everything is about as authentic as it can get this side of the ocean. Here’s the zuppa di pesce:

Viewfinder: Some other shots from our weekend…

A window of St. Anthony’s shipwreck off the coast of Sicily, from St. Anthony of Padua Church in Soho:

My steampunk bracelet, a gift from Dennis from one of my favorite Village shopping spots. (I also scored two dresses — only $10 each — at the same market and a beautiful red leather bag from another Village shop.) “Sculpture on your wrist,” that’s how the salesman/artisan described the bracelet below, which caught my eye as soon as I walked into his stall of goodies. The warped antique watch face is supposed to be reminiscent of Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory,” with its melting clocks. The blue piece is for the earth, and the middle piece with the gear in between is the moon, or so he said. True or not, I loved the story and the bracelet.

Dining at Villa Mosconi:

On Easter morning, we grabbed delicious New York bagels at Zucker’s Bagels & Smoked Fish before heading to St. Patrick’s Cathedral for Mass with Cardinal Dolan. Although the altar is still covered in scaffolding, you can see in the photo how beautiful the restored portions of the cathedral look. It’s breathtaking, as is the exterior.

We capped off our morning, before heading to Dennis’ mom’s apartment for Easter dinner, with a double cappuccino. Check out that foamy artwork:

Soundtrack: So many songs could fit this past weekend, from Handel’s Messiah, which the choir was singing as we recessed out of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, to John Lennon’s Imagine, which a street artist was performing on the subway platform as we waited for the E train. But this is what popped into my head just now when I tried to sum up this weekend with a song, only we took a Chrysler minivan rather than a Greyhound bus down that Hudson River line.

https://youtu.be/UFlsXgw_SFE

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Our trip to the Hermitage of St. Francis (Eremo delle Carceri) was well worth the early drive via taxis (because the road is too narrow and winding for a tour bus) to the retreat on the slope of Mount Subiaso. This is where St. Francis and his friars came to get away from the busyness of life and pray in silence and solitude. The views were stunning, but the fact that we were able to touch the walls of the cell where St. Francis once slept was pretty overwhelming. Here’s a quick visit to the hermitage in photos.

Entering the hermitage. Can you tell I can’t get enough of this St. Francis stuff?

The chapel where St. Francis prayed…

Looking out from the hermitage…

Narrow stairs leading to St. Francis’ cell…

St. Francis slept here in this little cave. I just kept running my hand over the wall, trying to grasp the fact that I was actually touching a wall that St. Francis surely touched as he came and went from this cell.

Exiting the cell. Obviously St. Francis wasn’t a very tall fellow…

Hermitage beauty…

Out on the grounds…Imagine St. Francis looking out at that view and praying his Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon.

After the hermitage, we headed to the Church of San Damiano, where St. Clare and her Sisters lived. We attended Mass while we were there. Here’s the spot where St. Clare died:

Here’s the window where she stood holding the Eucharist, eventually turning back attacking forces.

The flowers mark the spot where St. Clare prayed each day.

Me with my godmother, Aunt Margaret, in the cloister garden at San Damiano.

From there our fearless bus driver, Sergio, managed to drive our giant bus up some very narrow, winding country roads and around hairpin bends — even backing our bus back down a road that was just too small — so that we could eat lunch at the Arnaldo-Caprai winery, an agriturismo that serves only what it grows and makes on its own grounds. Here’s one view:

Our antipasto. Actually this was just one small part of our first course. Not enough room for all those photos.

Our segundi — the best rigatoni I have ever had.

Our favorite of the many wines we tasted.

Back out on the grounds…

Me and my sweetie at the winery.

The best bus driver ever: Sergio.

And…the three musketeers of the pilgrimage: On the left, Melani of Joyful Catholic Journeys — the one who got this whole food-faith pilgrimage rolling two years ago; yours truly; and Isabella, the most amazing tour guide ever. She MADE this pilgrimage. So talented, so hard-working, so funny and knowledgeable. We were truly blessed to have her as our guide from start to finish. To be honest, I can’t imagine going back to Italy with out her.

And finally…a return to our hotel for a last dinner in Assisi. This is taken from the window of our room with a view. Yeah, amazing.

Next up: ROME, one of my favorite places on earth. (Assisi being the other.) If you missed yesterday’s Assisi post, click HERE And if you want to go back to see any of the earlier pilgrimage posts, click the “Travel” or “Pilgrimage” tabs at the top of my blog menu. Ciao for now!

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This is, of course, just a sampling of what we had. Multiply what you see here by 13, the number of days were were traveling. Even on the plane (Alitalia), wine is free and free-flowing. It’s a beautiful thing. So many beverages, so little time.

Vino rosso in Florence with my sweetie.

Siena wine, straight from the source.

Such a pretty cappuccino…in Assisi.

Cappuccino in Assisi, take two. This time with an accidental heart in the foam.

Switching things up. Birra Chiara in Assisi. We HAD to order it; it’s named after our child, for goodness sake.

The look of pure pouring concentration.

It was a warm fall day in Assisi. Beer with a view.

Okay, this one didn’t even make the blog headline. After days and days of wine, we decided to go a totally different route on our last night in Rome at La Botticella, a little Canadian-owned bar in an alley off Piazza Navona. Amaretto and Jack Daniels on the rocks. And, no, that is not our ashtray. Just comes with the territory in Italy.

Truck stop espresso on our way to Pompeii. Real glass cups. So civilized.

Espresso in Naples, as we wait for the boat to Capri. With a side of sfogliatelle. Yum.

White wine in Massa Lubrense to go with our delicious antipasto and seafood main course and glorious view. Perfect.

Assisi posts will go up on Monday and Tuesday, so be sure to come back.

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I loved Siena. It was so much more manageable than Florence — quieter, not as crowded, fewer panhandlers and potential pickpockets, more medieval. I could stay in Siena for a few days and just soak up Italian life from my seat at an outdoor cafe in Piazza del Campo.

Although we had only about four solid hours in the city of Siena itself before heading to the outskirts for lunch at a winery and agriturismo, we packed in a lot of great sightseeing. We started with Mass at the Basilica of San Domenico, which is where St. Catherine’s remains are located. Visiting this basilica was probably one of the most unexpected emotional moments of the entire pilgrimage for me. I was so moved by the experience, not just praying before St. Catherine’s remains, but touching the pillar that she once touched when she prayed, being in this space that was so special to her, this great woman saint and Doctor of the Church. If you are in Florence or Assisi or the general Tuscany region, be sure to set aside at least one day for this beautiful city. Here is a quick photo journey through Siena. (As always, you can click on the photos below to enlarge them.)

The Chapel of St. Catherine inside the Basilica di San Domenico.  We had Mass at the basilica’s main altar.

Basilica San Domenico

The street where St. Catherine lived, just beyond the umbrella on the right.

St. Catherine’s street

A gelato (or two) a day keeps the doctor away.

Gelato in the piazza

The main cathedral in Siena. Stunning.

Siena Duomo

Lunch of wild boar at the Badia a Coltibuono winery in the outskirts of Siena.

Wild boar for lunch

The winery was a former abbey. Breathtaking view, beautiful buildings.

Former abbey

The winery’s garden.

Italian garden

My vintage in the wine cellar.

A very good year.

Next up: Assisi. Stay tuned. (If you missed my post on Florence, you can find that HERE.)

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Our tour guide was moving us along because we needed to go to a different location (and because the law governing tour guides forbids her from speaking about the Duomo because she is not a local Florence guide). And I said, “I’m sorry but I can’t just walk past this, even if we’re coming back later.” This was my first time seeing the Duomo up close and personal. No way was I just walking on by without taking it all in for a moment or two. And taking a photo or two.

Here’s a quick visit to Florence in photos. Enjoy. (You can click on any of the photos below to enlarge them.)

The famous Duomo…

A fountain…

Ponte Vecchio…

Galileo’s tomb in the Basilica of Santa Croce, where we also saw the tombs of Michelangelo, Rossini, and Machiavelli.

Basilica of Santa Croce in the distance…

Michelangelo’s David…

A typical street…

Wine for two…

Next up: Siena. Stay tuned.

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It’s interesting how, even when we’re far from our loved ones and friends, we often find ways to create family right where we are, without blood connections, without a shared history. Whether we’re students living in a college dormitory, workers temporarily assigned to a far-off location, or pilgrims traveling in a strange land, we tend to seek out community, a place where we feel accepted and protected, or at least a little less alone.

When I led a 13-day pilgrimage to Italy recently, our group of 37 pilgrims, one full-time English-speaking Italian tour guide and one Italian-speaking fearless bus driver became a family of sorts. Although we started as strangers – with only a few personal connections among the group – as the days and weeks progressed, you could see signs of family emerging.

As group leader, I was in a parent role of sorts, separated a bit from the rest of the group but at a perfect distance to watch relationships as they developed. I remember the quiet joy I felt one night, about halfway through our pilgrimage, when we sat in a restaurant in a remote part of Rome. We almost didn’t make it to dinner that night since our driver could barely fit our bus through the narrow roads, and then a brief rainstorm scrapped plans to eat dinner outside under a vine-covered portico. I worried about the group’s mood, but a few minutes later, I watched these former strangers gathered around their tables (photo at top), heads bent together, glasses raised in a toast, laughter echoing throughout the rustic Italian dining room. We had become a family.

Of course, family isn’t all sunshine and happiness. There were moments of frustration, like when yours truly was exasperated over another inopportune bathroom break. (I told you I was like a parent. And a sometimes-impatient parent at that!) There were moments of worry, like when a man in our group fell on the cobblestone street just beyond St. Peter’s Basilica and when a few others had to remain back at the hotel because of leg problems or sheer exhaustion. But as with our families back at home, joy and love overcame everything else. By the end of our journey, we knew these new friends would watch out for us, care for us, and make sure no one was left behind or lost.

And that’s really at the heart of the pilgrim journey: community, family. Yes, we go on these journeys – whether overseas or closer to home – to grow in faith, but we also go to meet others who share that faith, people who will walk with us, both literally and figuratively, as we travel our spiritual path.

As we prayed together in Siena, Assisi, Rome, and Salerno, our faith forged a bond, one that will tie us to each other forever because of the powerful experiences we shared — being only a few feet from Pope Francis when he rode by in the popemobile at the papal audience, attending Mass celebrated by Cardinal Dolan at St. Peter’s Basilica early one morning, kneeling before the tomb of St. Clare in Assisi, standing in the tiny cave where St. Francis once prayed.

As we broke bread on our last afternoon in Massa Lubrense, the town where my grandfather was born more than 100 years ago, the sun beat down with a summer-like intensity, the Isle of Capri was so close it seemed as if we might touch it, and the long tables were piled with family style platters of southern Italian specialties. Just before leaving, our tour group witnessed my “reunion” with Pietro DeTurris, a man who may or may not be a long-lost relative. The family tree seems to point to a connection, but the line of ancestry really didn’t matter at that point. There, under a Sorrentine sky, my real family, my pilgrim family, and my ancestral family merged, and I felt whole and at home.

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But the reality is that true pilgrimage doesn’t require a passport. In fact, it doesn’t really require any travel at all. True pilgrimage is as much an interior journey as a geographical one. If we approach our entire lives with a pilgrim mindset, we can find places that will feed our hearts and spirits just about everywhere we turn – from the little shrine in the next town to the cathedral in our diocese to that historic church near our favorite vacation spot.

My first “real” pilgrim journey was to the National Shrine of the North American Martyrs in Auriesville, New York, where St. Kateri Tekakwitha was born and where Jesuit missionaries St. Isaac Jogues and St. Rene Goupil and lay missioner St. John Lalande were martyred. Although this beautiful and sacred place overlooking the Mohawk Valley is only 45 minutes from my home, it took me eight years to “discover” it, and even then it was only because I was joining my son’s Boy Scout troop for their annual retreat.

Walking on holy ground, praying with other pilgrims, sleeping in a tent not far from the ravine where Rene Goupil died for the faith gave me my first taste of just how powerful the pilgrim journey can be. I felt a sense of oneness with everyone around me, with all those who came before me and all those would come after me.

Pilgrimage has the power to take our spiritual journey to a new level, but without careful and prayerful planning, a pilgrimage can quickly go from spiritual bliss to tourist nightmare.

I was fortunate to go on a 10-day trip to Rome in 2010. It was not arranged as a pilgrimage, and yet I hoped that’s what it would become. It didn’t take long for me to realize that without a willingness to step outside the tourist box, my “pilgrimage” was going to turn into a parade of indistinguishable ancient churches. Even my first trip to St. Peter’s Basilica at noon on a Tuesday left me somewhat disappointed. I was crammed against thousands of other tourists, unable to get near Michelangelo’s Pieta or the main altar. I vowed to come back and experience the basilica as church rather than museum.

The next morning at 7 a.m., I returned to St. Peter’s with a friend. In each of the more than 40 chapels lining the sides of the basilica, priests, many of them tourists themselves, were celebrating Mass in their native languages. We became a congregation of two in one chapel where a Nigerian priest was offering Mass in Italian. This was the St. Peter’s I had longed to experience, one where the heart of the Catholic faith could be felt beating powerfully in the familiar refrains of the Mass, even if the languages were unfamiliar to my ears.

So sometimes it takes a little creative thinking on our part to get a true pilgrim experience. Talk to locals and find out when the church or shrine is less crowded. Ask when Masses or other special services will be celebrated. Try to enter into the local community’s celebrations rather than watching from the outside. It can make the difference between going home with nothing more than a few nice photos and going home with a sense of spiritual renewal.

If you don’t have any plans to travel to a pilgrim site in the near future, look for opportunities closer to home. There are so many wonderful Catholic shrines, churches, monasteries, and chapels to explore, some probably right in your own backyard. That church in the photo on the right is just across the Hudson River from us. Dennis and I spotted it one evening after a dinner out. As I stared off at its spire in the distance from our spot along the Corning Preserve, I wondered aloud what church it might be. Dennis suggested we just get in the car and find out. So we did. A pilgrim moment right at home.

If all else fails, become an armchair pilgrim. Read pilgrim accounts of places you’d like to visit one day and begin to plan. That’s what I did with Assisi. I read and I dreamed and I hoped — for years. And now I am packing my bag and heading back to Italy in two days. God willing, my Assisi dream will become a reality later this week, when I visit the sacred city of Francis and Clare. But my pilgrimage to Assisi really began long ago, long before I ever purchased a plane ticket, because pilgrimage is not just about physically traveling to a different place. It’s an interior journey that requires no passport.

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Although our itinerary is jam packed with lots a great sites — duomos and art, monasteries and agriturismos, wine tastings and cooking class — there’s also plenty of time for wandering around on our own. I have yet to sit down with some guide books for Florence or Capri to see what I might want to do when I have a few free hours. Rome is no problem. Having spent 11 days there four years ago, I’m eager to get back to some of my favorite spots when the walking tours, Masses and museums are done.

I know some of the pilgrims — those who may not have been to Italy before — may be a little nervous as our departure date approaches. To them I can say only one thing, based on my own Italy experience: Let it go. (And if you need to sing that to the tune of the “Frozen” mega-hit, be my guest. In fact, I encourage it.)

Seriously, do not go to Italy and expect United States. It is vastly, wonderfully different, and that’s a good thing. You wouldn’t want to travel all that way for more of the same. The food will be different (and fabulous, every meal). The hotels will be different. The schedules will be different (meaning a shop’s posted hours are totally useless because they will open when they feel like opening). Let go of all your pre-conceived notions. Let go of all your worries about food and clothes and jet lag and throw yourself into Italian life. It could make the difference between a totally glorious and never-to-be-forgotten adventure and a tense, worry-filled trip. You’ve got “only” 13 days. Revel in every single one of them.

When I went to Rome alone four years ago, I couldn’t speak the language, had never been to Italy before, hadn’t traveled out of the country since college, had no one there to meet me at the airport or even share a cab to my hotel, and had 10 days to see everything I wanted to see and still get to my daily (all-day) sessions and lectures at Santa Croce University. I quickly realized I could either stress the entire time or let it all go and take a chance. I opted for the latter, and what a wonderful experience it was. I left a piece of my heart in Roma.

Here’s a story I wrote about that experience, in case you want a taste of what’s ahead. (Read all the way through to the third page on the website for travel tips.) And, if you’re not joining us on the pilgrimage, be sure to follow this blog and our Italy: A Feast for Body and Soul Facebook page (by clicking HERE) to see photos and hear about our adventures — spiritual and otherwise.

Ciao, for now.

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