From Judy’s Journal:
Truth is Stranger than Fiction

What do an anonymous British couple, the Italian Police, a secret garden, and Judy and Jim have in common?

The day (June 3) started normally—breakfast in the hotel, then a walk through the city of Ravenna to see the fabulous 5th century mosaics in several churches, lovely photo ops, etc. For most tourists, their journals would be complete with these fine experiences; perhaps some would list the good food and wine and all the beauties of this pretty little city.

But for us: oh,no. The day had other things in store for us.

We were headed to see Dante’s tomb, and turned into a little square where there was a small museum. According to Jim’s map skills, Dante’s tomb was here. Seeing the tiny musuem (entre libera) we wandered in. A little old man inside motioned for us to follow him and he led us to a crypt. Descending the dark stairs, we wandered around looking at the cases of coins, medallions, pictures, and memorabilia, but we found nothing we could make head or tails of in the dank underground rooms. No mention of Dante.

Bewildered, we climbed back up and out and found ourselves in a fabulous little garden.

There was a beautiful fountain at one end and a circular tower, which looked like a part of an old castle, at the other end. It was lush and tropical with well tended plants growing freely, and there were huge pots of plants blooming with riotous color.

Steps led up into more levels of this tropical paradise and the occasional sculptures seemed to have been there forever. We were hooked on the beauty and climbed higher and higher to the small terraces around the circular tower. The lush foliage and blooming plants mesmerized us as we shot picture after picture.

I must have spent 10 minutes trying to get a photo of a one-inch hummingbird feasting on the bright purple flowers. I was even inspired to photograph a pigeon whose iridescent neck feathers echoed exactly the fuscia pentunias.

We were in a world to ourselves. Perhaps a few other tourists wandered in and out, but we took little notice.

As we had first entered the square, the bell tower had struck noon, and the highest terrace of the garden was just below and beside the huge bells. We wanted to get photos of them ringing the half hour so we waited, hoping to be close when they chimed. Finally giving up on the half-hour chiming of bells, and noticing the darkening sky, we decided to leave the garden just as we felt the first few raindrops. Making our way back down to the bottom of the garden, we were planning to have lunch before seeking further for Dante.

Dashing for the door back into the museum, we found it locked!

As we looked for another exit, we noticed this garden was really a courtyard, and the buildings surrounding it were offices of some sort, not likely to be inhabited on a Sunday afternoon. We were wet from the downpour, now, and realized we were locked into a silent, beautiful and very wet world.

Shouting “helloooo” and waving at windows where we hoped to be seen or heard, we must have upset at least half the population of Ravenna’s pigeons, all of whom roosted, nested, courted and strutted there.
OK.

Now we were wet, apprehensive and feeling quite foolish for not noticing the opening and closing hours of this strange crypt and garden. Exploring the lower level of the garden, we found two garages open to the garden, but locked to the outside street. One held a dozen rusty bicycles, unused, according to their appearance, for the last ten years. The other had three locks closing it from the outside world, and totally secure from thievery. Interestingly enough, at the other end of the garden was a clean, comfortable, well-lit two-room toilet where we took refuge from the rain — and made further use of!

Periodically one or the other of us would dart through the rain to knock frantically on the glass doors of the office building or the museum. In Italy, however, everything closes until 2:30 or 3:00 for lunch and siesta. Bruised knuckles notwithstanding, we could raise no one to our plight.

After a couple of hours, the rain abated enough for us to once again climb the now not-so-charming steps to a high terrace overlooking the deserted piazza below.

On the other side of the terrace we finally saw someone and shouted to the couple walking by. They, looking surprised and unsure, admitted they spoke English (to my Italian-esque question: parle inglese?) Walking closer, they listened in amazement to our explanation that we were locked inside this garden. After asking how in the world did that happen, they agreed to try to find someone to open the locked museum.

Unable to locate a soul, they walked off to find a policeman.

Soon, through the glass doors of the office (glass on the garden side, and through the hall, glass on the street side) I saw one, then two policemen drive up in their cute pink and green police cars. About the same time, two office workers arrived, evidently summoned by a silent alarm we had set off by banging on doors. Jim had remained on the upper terrace and had been reassured by the unknown British rescuers, “This bloke will help you!” before they walked away.

I yelled up to Jim that someone had seen us, and help was coming, and he descended through the tropical paradise just as the police helped the women workers unlock the sets of doors from the office building into the garden. They asked, in rapid, unintelligible-to-me Italian, all sorts of questions. Pointing to locked doors we explained as best we could how we had been locked in. They took two wet, bedraggled, and very relieved tourists into the office and tried unsuccessfully to turn off the alarms while the policemen puzzled out our story.

Evidently, however, foolish Americans are not an unusual sight, and after looking at Jim’s passport, they said we could leave. Shaking their hands and fairly babbling our gratitude, we walked, free, onto a quiet street right where we had been a long two hours ago. The secret garden was totally hidden from the street and the piazza outside the still-locked museum.

Just around the corner, we at last found Dante’s tomb — but were careful to stand near the door and for once, feel comfort in the close proximity of other tourists.

After lunch, we made our way back to our hotel and sat warm and comfortable as we watched the second wave of a very severe storm lash at our windows.