Today we ventured to the Italian city of Pavia. Home to one of the world’s oldest universities, final resting place of St. Augustine, and the Southern seat of the Dukes of Milan; Pavia has a long and interesting history. The Castello Visconteo di Pavia was our first stop. Built in 1360 by the Lord of Milan, the castle hosted Petrarch and other notable Italians. Lovingly restored by the city of Pavia, the castle is now home to a civic museum.

The bottom floor of the castle was full of broken statues and pottery. An ancient crematorium, filled an unusual exhibit space. I didn’t know how to feel about standing next to the ovens and urns.

I loved that the museum rescued pieces from the rubble of ancient churches and historic sites damaged by time and war. The best surprise was a wonderful fresco rescued from a demolished local church and preserved on a specially designed wooden frame. Walking under the half dome I experienced a rush of color. Paintings depicting the four “doctors” of the church jumped out of the frame. Scholars recognized in a town of ancient scholars.

The second floor of the museum had an incredible collection of medieval and renaissance art. It also had random items, like a preserved ladies shoe from the 1300’s. I was left speechless at the colorful renderings of all aspects of life.

Another unexpected treasure was a portrait of Anne Boleyn done by an Italian artist hired during her lifetime. The portrait shines like a photograph, capturing a wistful looking young woman in an overly large white starched collar. More galleries continued with 1800’s portraits, landscapes, and even impressionist paintings.

Finally, the upper attic floor was dedicated to the world wars and Risorgimento or the Italian reorganization. Pavia played a leading role in the movement. As a former history teacher, I was very interested in the artifacts, especially the “red shirts” that identified Garibaldi’s followers. They were even more vibrant than I had imagined.

When we had enough museum time, we ventured over to take a peak at the university which sprawled across the town. We grabbed a slice of pizza on the walk back to the car. The local Gorgonzola was heaven, even if the slice was cold.

Just a few miles up the road, we stopped at the Certosa di Pavia, a monastery. Founded in 1396 as a mausoleum for the dukes of Milan, it was built to rival Milan’s famous and publicly built duomo. Today, just as in prior centuries, it is the home of Carthusian monks who farm the surrounding land. They grow rice and keep bees.

We had trouble parking, as we followed the gps to a road we weren’t allowed to drive. We turned around and backtracked to a parking lot that was doubling as a small lake. Since the car didn’t sink, we parked and walked to the impressive monastery that dominated the landscape. We queued to get a ticket from the machines. It cost zero dollars!

The sanctuary looked beautiful but the mausoleum and high altar were behind iron fences. We tried to look into the dark side chapels and peer through the bars into the incredible interior. A security guard leaned over and told me a monk was coming and we could go in with him in a few minutes. At least, I am pretty sure that is what he said. Everyone only spoke Italian. I stood next to some grannies in wheel chairs who were eagerly waiting. They were very excited and I trust the judgment of grannies. They know stuff.

Sure enough, within minutes an elderly monk appeared and the gates were opened. All fifty or so of the visitors were invited inside to follow him on a tour of the interior spaces. No matter that we couldn’t understand a word he said. We followed him into the sacred and restricted spaces. When the crowd smiled, we smiled.

I tried to stay to the fringes because I wanted to take advantage of the viewing opportunities. I also wanted to make sure that we weren’t asked any questions. After about an hour of understanding every third or fourth word, we finally ended the tour in the residential quarters of early monks. Each small room was cozy and had a private garden.

I understand the appeal of a simple life in a beautiful place. Caring for bees and rice fields, the monks were rich in contentment. We could all use a dose of that.

We visited their small shop and bought homemade soaps and candy. The hard candy was tasty with a soft center. It was a beautiful unexpected treat.

As we drove home, I reflected on the community pride and strong traditions evident in Pavia. The citizens sacrificed to restore their castle and turn it into a civic museum. They rescued fragments of art out of the rubble of war to honor their cultural roots. The celebrated learning and promised free university to those willing to study. They preserved ancient buildings, but modernized interiors without damaging the architectural integrity. The monks lived a quiet existence of simplicity and splendor as they had for centuries. Food was prepared with fresh, local, and natural ingredients just as it had been forever. Americans have a lot to learn about tradition, civic pride and quality of life.