My hotel was in a lovely 16th Century palazzo, my window overlooking the piazza. Every fifteen minutes, the church bells rang out the time. Deep low chimes for the hour, higher sharper tones for the quarter hours.

The streets were lined with shops offering expensive, but stunning, Italian pottery. Objects carved from olive wood. Religious peons to St. Francis. And, curiously, tiny kitschy statues of monks and nuns frolicking together, getting drunk, playing poker.

Apparently the region of Umbria is known for its pastries. Flaky croissant-like rolls filled with whipped cream. Pie-doughish pastry rolled into pinwheels, stuffed with dried fruit and nuts. Little butter cookies covered with chopped almonds. Massive meringue desserts sliced in half and spread with Nutella.

I later discovered that Mario moonlights as a troubadour -- calling himself Mario d'Assisi. I mean, for chrissakes, I was actually intimidated by someone named Mario of Assisi?

Sunday morning, it was my mission to see the sanctuary, the hermitage of St. Francis -- L'ermeo dei carceri. It was where Santo Francesco spent his days, praying in a natural cave. The guidebook said it was only a short walk to the Hermitage. What it neglected to point out is that it was 4.5 kilometres straight uphill. I thought I was going to die and join St. Francis in heaven by the time I reached the top.

Once there, however, it was one of the most beautiful places I've experienced in Italy -- tranquil, calm, spiritual. It was definitely worth the effort. And, made eating all those pastries a guiltless experience.