From one Abbey to the next

9/16 - Abbadia Sant'Antimo to Abbadia San Salvatore - 19.09 Miles

The least I owed these monks of Sant'Antimo was to attend the mass that morning, and I did so willingly, excited to see the ceremony in such a unique setting, and to hear these talented chanters once more. I won't say that it was thrilling, or that I was on the edge of my pew, but there is something unmistakeably divine in the swirling incense and meditative hum of voices that fill a Romanesque Church. Something tells me that I might have been a devout Catholic had I been baptized and raised in such a magnificent church. Then again, isn't that the point of all this grandeur? Who built it, using what labor, to what end? Anyways, I won't go into the back & forth that I often hold with myself regarding organized religion: this is certainly not the proper forum to do so, and the last thing I want to do is alienate anyone or ruffle any feathers needlessly.

After the mass, I was followed by the priest, who had a quick chat and introduced me to Augustine, the wise and holy church cat, who, judging from all the holy water he has reportedly consumed, is as holy as they come. We talked religion and walking for a bit, I thanked him for his hospitality, and left the Abbey.

Maybe it was just the effect of the first sunny day after three rainy ones, but I was struck dumb by the beauty of this region. Right outside of Castelnuovo dell'Abate, the town neighboring the Abbey, is one of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever laid eyes upon, and this is saying a lot, after all I have seen here. Figuring one last shot wouldn't hurt, I tried my fifth and last Montalcino vineyard attempt, and discovered that a team of professionals was "covering" that particular vineyard. For those of us (for I cannot count myself out of this large and ever-growing group, despite my current disposition - see my vineyard post and the way efficiency saved my body, for example) who place efficiency on a pedestal, come see this view and tell me it isn't a shame that worker-bees come and "get it done" without stopping to enjoy and celebrate their surroundings the way their predecessors have done for centuries. I'll be the first to admit that I had bowed down to that false idol in times past, but can safely say that all this walking (what an inefficient expenditure of time, energy, and resources!) has almost completely freed me, if only for a delicious but short spell, from its mesmerizing allure.

"OK, enough flowery speech, get to the point," says Efficiency Personified, in a curt and staccato clip. "There's lots of work to do and I still haven't gotten through all of my morning emails!"

When I had first plugged in my destination on the GPS, it had recommended a route that veered in a semi-circle that was four or five miles longer than I could comfortably handle if I wanted to reach my destination before nightfall. Studying the paper map, I saw that a road led straight to Abbadia San Salvatore, cutting out those extra four or five miles. This, as I have said before, can mean only one thing: big hills. Still, up and over was feasible whereas around was not, so I prepared myself for a long day and started walking. I was aided by inspiration in the form of my beloved Beethoven, who furnished me some lovely walking music for the entire day. I started with his Missa Solemnis, to see how he treated the same ceremony (or extremely similar) I had just witnessed, and which was therefore fresh in my mind. I must admit that I preferred Beethoven's version of the mass, though I realize that his version does not serve as a replacement, and that therefore a comparison is not quite appropriate. I also engulfed an early string quartet, a piano sonata, a piano concerto, and a symphony, and by the time I was through, it was time for lunch.

Since I did not have much time to spare before dark, I could only take one 45-minute break in about six hours of walking. I spent it on a hill overlooking part of that same view, for the last time on this trip at least, and ate my lunch under a giant oak tree. Whenever I used to picture myself resting on this walk, it was always under a large tree, so I was glad to finally make that image come true in such a picturesque fashion.

The last bit of the walk took me up the biggest hill that I had climbed so far in Tuscany, and included a lovely portion in a shaded forest with a dirt path. To accompany this unexpected walker's treat and round off this long day, I dove into a deep and active listen of Beethoven's grandest piano sonata, the Hammerklavier, a beast of a piece written in four movements, including his longest sonata movement (the third movement), and a ten minute fugue to finish it off. I know this piece well, have laughed and wondered at its different sections, but had not so deeply studied it before. This time, I had a professor in one Andras Schiff, a concert pianist with an encyclopedic knowledge and an intimate love of Beethoven. Months before, my Dad had sent a link to me (thanks again Dad for this precious gift!) which featured a lecture-performance of every Beethoven sonata by Schiff, available for free download. Only now, filthy rich with that priceless commodity, time, have I been able to listen to these brilliant lectures, and accompany them with enlightened listenings of the sonatas.

In particular, Schiff's treatment of the Hammerklavier is awe-inspiring, at times laugh out loud funny, but always engaging. I listened to this 45-minute sonata as I climbed the hill, walked with rapt attention for Schiff's 80-minute lecture-performance, and with an encore listen to the Sonata, I finally approached Abbadia San Salvatore. Why do I spend so much time harping on this one composer? I listen to music every day, most of it very good, but I only seem to talk about Beethoven. Why? Well, first of all, this isn't a music blog, so I can't talk only music, but must pick and choose. Second, most people don't really care for classical music, or haven't yet given it a truly fair shake, putting it in a convenient little cubbyhole as: studying music, dinner music, or worst of all, music for snotty old people wearing pince nez and exclaiming "I declare!" So, better that I stick to one than try to talk about them all. You make plants grow with a watering can, not with a fire hose, after all. Before I move on, let me make one request, so that once and for all I can say that I have tried to share my passion while I had a soap box upon which to stand. Find a Beethoven Sonata, download the corresponding lecture (www.guardian.co.uk/schiff), skim a wikipedia article or something similar about the sonata (feel free to skip the technical parts if you don't understand, and whatever you do, don't let the language intimidate you or turn you off!), and listen to the sonata, then the lecture, then the sonata once more. I know what you're thinking: this sounds like a big investment of time. But I promise you that it is one of the most worthwhile investments you could ever make!

OK, I'm a realist, or at least I try to be, so for the two of you who actually do this, let me know if you want suggestions beforehand, and once you're done, please let me know what you think! Oh, and one more thing: don't start with the last 5 sonatas, Opus 101 or later, since they're pretty far out there, and I don't want to lose you altogether!

Back to the story... after such a peaceful evening the night before, I made way straight to the church, hoping to repeat the experience, and passed through what would be the first of several well-preserved medieval centers in the area. Almost ready to collapse, I knocked on the church doors, and receiving no answer, plopped myself down on the front steps.

Within minutes, an ancient priest approached from a nearby building, and after asking me a few well-intentioned questions about my trip, showed me to another multi-purpose room, much like the one at Abbadia Sant'Antimo, though without a kitchen or hot water. Still, happy to receive a second day of lodging for free, I heartily thanked the priest, and took a well-deserved rest.