TUSCANY: February, 2003 (Part 1)

From my train window I saw the destination high upon a Tuscan hill: Cortona. A medieval, walled town sitting like a curlicue atop a Dairy Queen ice cream cone.

I left the train station and stepped on a bus that wound its way up the hillside and dropped me in a town square. Here in Cortona I would spend four days living in a convent priced at thirty-five dollars a night.

Pure fantasy: me and the monastic life. I've boarded at a convent across from the Sistine Chapel in Rome. I've spent days in silent retreat at monasteries in California. Let me tell you, the relief of day-to-day chit chat is...well...relieving. Monasteries and convents tend to park themselves on idyllic landscapes, secreted behind walls and, though not glamorous, they're usually spotless, tiptoe quiet and often serve decent homemade grub.

After hiking up one small alley and down another I found the Cortona house of nuns and checked in like Maria arriving on set for a round of "The Hills are Alive." The nuns themselves were right out of Central Casting. A short, round-faced sister pinched my cheeks, slipped her arm through mine and led me down a marble hallway, up three stairs and around a corner. We stopped in front of a dark wooden door.

She unlocked it with a skeleton key and pushed it open to reveal my room, which held two single beds dressed in fresh linens. All the while she chattered away in Italian. I couldn't understand the specifics but was able to detect her pride when she showed me a private bathroom in sparkling tile with a large tub.

I was ready to move in.

After she left I dropped my bag, opened the shuttered windows and looked below to a cobblestone street. My stay was silent, peaceful and perfect...until a windstorm struck at four in the morning and those charming shutters hammered at the stone walls.

Once the storm settled, however, I slipped back into a deep sleep until dawn broke with the delicate voices of nuns singing morning prayers. The gentle sounds wove their way through stone hallways, up the stairs and under my door. I lay still in my bed with blankets pulled to my chin, watching sunlight creep through the shutter slats. It was a most delicious awakening.