Saturday, September 24th:
It's a good thing that I'm writing this blog, because I'm using the tour's daily summary handout we all got before we went to make sure I'm spelling things correctly and to give me a brief summary of events of the day...and we didn't really keep to the schedules very closely. For example, it says for this day we were going to attend Mass in the morning, then visit the friary, St. Padre Pio's tomb, and then the confessional. Well, we attended Mass after visiting the friary. I would know: I went to the friary, Mass, and then I went on my own special excursion to the "Pharmacie" and didn't get to go see St. Padre Pio's tomb.
I must keep things interesting, after all.
Here's the hospital that Padre Pio wanted/asked to have built. It's huge. I was joking around with Mom that it is San Giovanni's Parkview and she needed to go see what it was like in there.
I'm pretty sure this is the "old church", though it is really three different buildings in one.
The middle church:
Why is every church associated with Padre Pio obsessed with the creepy stigmata hands on the side? We need to introduce Europeans to Phantom of the Opera.
Time to go down and see where Padre Pio used to be resting...they moved his body under the new church after it was finished.
Off to see his cell...
But first, another of his confessionals:
And an exhibit with a lot of his clothing, pictures, and other items, like monstrances and chalices...all in Italian, of course, because we have to leave the foreigners incredibly ignorant about everything.
Finally, we've arrived at his cell. So, one of the walls was taken down, obviously, and a glass wall was put up in place. Look, but don't touch. Actually, don't even enter. Just look. Mom immediately noticed the oxygen tank in the right corner next to his bed to treat his TB. Again, just think it's weird that they said, "Oh, you have tuberculosis? Higher altitude. Yes, that will make you better. But, we'll give you an oxygen tank..." SINCE there's less oxygen in higher altitudes...I am confusion. Maybe it's an Italian way of thinking and I'll never ever understand.
And his cell had an actual cell door...like it looks like they could have locked him in there.
More clothes and items with explanations...only in Italian, though.
Okay, so when I was in junior high, my religion teacher had us watch clips of the 2000 Padre Pio movie. I'm pretty sure we didn't see the entire movie. And the DVD she had was only in Italian, so we had to watch it with subtitles, which, at the time, was penance. (And now I watch Japanese anime and French films with subtitles all the time and it doesn't bother me at all). The only scene I really remember was when Padre Pio got his stigmata. According to that film (I just went back to watch it again to make sure I'm remembering correctly), Padre Pio was in front of this crucifix and saw actual blood coming from the wounds of Jesus. This was when he received the stigmata on his hands and feet. (I'm not sure if he also had the wound on his side).
And if I hadn't seen that film, we would've just walked right past this crucifix not knowing a thing. There wasn't even a sign in Italian around it. I vote that this whole setup in San Giovanni gets a grade 'F' for 'Fail'.
It started to become time for Mass, so Mom and I headed over to the new church, called St. Pio Pilgrimage Church. We had Mass on the top floor and St. Pio's body is downstairs. I think the church is hideous. What do I know, though. I prefer French Gothic Cathedrals.
After Mass, everyone but Heather and me went downstairs to see St. Pio. For pictures of him and the gaudy place his body is resting (someone commented that the poor man not only suffered in life, but has to suffer being in such a hideous resting place in death too), you'll have to ask my mom. Because, remember, I was sick. I sure didn't forget.
Just so you know: Heather was a former parishioner of the group of people that came to see Zane get ordained (the other seminarian, now deacon, from our diocese). She now lives in North Carolina. She came on the trip with her mom. She was the closest in age to me in the group...and the exact same age as my oldest sister, so it was like having another sibling around. I'm always the youngest, no matter who is around, I guess.
Apparently, "pharmacie"s in Italy run their businesses just like all others: it's lunchtime, so we don't want to work. It's the weekend, so we don't want to work.
Apparently, the Italians don't get sick on the weekends. Or stock up on all medicines so it doesn't matter. Or just go to the emergency room even if it isn't an emergency (Hmmmm. Wonder who that sounds like *cough*DumbAmericans*coughcough*.)
Francesco saved the day. Heather needed sudafed and pain killers because she also had a cold and has ear problems when traveling. I needed anything to feel better...anything. Francesco, being our hero, called us a taxi and looked up which pharmacy would actually be open on a Sunday (spoiler alert: only one in the enter town of San Giovanni...for only a couple of hours, which is why we had to go then and not later and I didn't get to see Padre Pio).
Did we understand a thing that the taxi driver said? Nope. Did we understand anything the pharmacy workers said? Nope. Did they understand us? That would be "No," but in Italian. Thankfully, Heather had her original medicine bottles and pulled them out and they knew what was on the bottle. Isn't the dead language of Latin amazing? While they figured that out, I walked around and tried to find vitamin C of some sort. I was able to find something that reminded me of Airborn, but for kids (it was dinosaur gummies). And I thought I found cough drops, but that turned out to be more gummies, but with zinc. In hindsight, I really just should've got what Heather got: a combination of sudofed and ibuprofen.
On the taxi ride back to the main meeting place, the driver handed us this card. Heather took it to understand that it was a picture of his dad, who was one of Padre Pio's chauffeurs. I think that she understood him correctly...but I was trying so hard not to cough and get him nervous. It's cool if it's true.
We got back to the bus just in time to drive to the Shrine of Monte Sant' Angelo. When we arrived, we saw an old castle:
A lookout point:
Map of the town:
Walking down the road:
We got a little lost when we went inside.
We thought we were in the right place, but it just happened to be a side-chapel...if that's what you want to call it inside of the cave:
Thankfully, Francesco came to tell me, Mom, and a few other tourists that we were in the wrong place and to go over to the other, bigger cave.
So, according to our papers, it is "one of the most celebrated shrines, where St. Michael the Archangel appeared in 490, 492, and 1656." Do I know anything else? No, I do not. But Mom bought a book so we can read about it. Isn't it fun to go to places and then learn about them after going home? I really need to tone down my sarcasm in this post. Sorry.
Here's to the end of the day that I have pictures of on my computer! At this point, I gave up even taking pictures off of my phone and onto my computer because I felt so awful and I didn't see the point because Italian hotel wifi is slower than slow.
Until the next post!
It 
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