Finito

I didn't want to like Rome.  It is dirty and shabby-looking, especially in the rain.  Of course, it's old.  Hundreds of years old.  Mind-boggling old.  But Rome charmed me with her narrow, winding streets; with her cobblestone streets.  The shops, the people, the restaurants, the churches, the history, and just the environment.

I loved waking up to the sound of hooves on the cobblestones as the men drove their carriages (for the tourists) into the piazza.  I loved hearing the men calling to one another as they set up their cafes and the vendors set up their wares.  I could have lived without the smell of cigarette smoke wafting through the window, but if you're going to be in Rome, you'll have to live with smokers.  Lots of smokers. Everywhere and all the time.  No smoke-free zones in restaurants, which is a good reason to opt for outdoor cafes.

I'm sure Rome isn't quite so engaging if one lives there all the time.  I loved watching people on their way to work, passing by these monuments, these testaments to human capabilities, passion, power, and ego.  I'm sure it's like living in New York or Chicago and walking past the things that bring tourists to the city and simply not noticing them any more.  Except, of course, there is nothing in New York or Chicago quite like the Colosseum (no, Yankee Stadium or Soldier Field isn't quite like the Colosseum).  But people trundle to and from the metro across from the Colosseum every day on their ways to or from work.  And yet, I hope, that every now and then a complacent or jaded Roman sees her city through the eyes of someone who has never been before and feels a flutter of excitement and awe.

It's been less than a week since I was there and yet it seems so distant already.  Suburban Chicago is most definitely worlds away from Rome, and it's not just the pace of our lifestyles.  I'm grateful to have been able to go and know that as the days pass, every now and then, something will flicker through my consciousness and remind me of Rome or I'll recall something I'd forgotten.

I talked to a couple of people who had been to New York and Chicago.  One loved Chicago and then said, "But New York is New York."  He said there are people who prefer to live in Milan, but he smiled when he said, "But Rome," and opened his arms wide, "is Rome!"

St. Paul Outside the Walls

Though there were many churches I had not seen and wanted to visit (there are approximately 913 churches in Rome and 1 synagogue), I really, really wanted to visit St. Paul Outside the Walls.  My friend Jhennifer, the erudite and gifted voice behind Matters of Taste, had told me about the 4th century church that was rebuilt.  The basilica was destroyed by fire in 1823, but rebuilt as an exact replica.

I got on the Metro B line at the Colosseum, where the lines were incredibly long, and headed to the 4th stop, Sao Paulo.  I was told it would be easy to find.  I went up the stairs and took a long look up and down the street to get my bearings.  I didn't want to get lost.  I went left and then left again and soon saw a bell tower off to my right.  I walked up the slight hill, past the outdoor market where one could buy all kinds of toiletries, makeup, jeans, underwear, and other stuff, and then crossed the street at the McDonald's.

From that angle and distance, the building didn't look all of that large and certainly not very impressive. I walked around to what I thought was the front of the building (see photo right).  There are nice grounds there with a few benches, a little cafe so people can buy coffee and pastries.  I stepped on to the portico and glanced at the floorplan that was on the door, but didn't really pay attention.  Long entryway, apse, etc.  The usual church layout.  I knew only the little history that Jhennifer had given me and remembered that she had said something about this being the church where Paul was buried.  Really?  This?  St. Paul is kind of an important guy in the whole grand scheme of Christian teaching.  So, you know that adage about not judging a book by its cover?  Pay attention to the truthiness of that because then I stepped inside, glanced to my right. . .and gasped.

I walked around the interior of this church in awe.  I soon realized I was standing in the sanctuary, which is huge.  The papal altar that rises over the Tomb of the Apostle, while not as grand as that in St. Peter's, is still quite impressive.  I walked slowly around the altar as I saw there were two large sculptures on either side as well as a massive Pascal candle.  And then I saw the people walking down some stairs.  I drew near to the rail and was able to see that people were able to kneel as they looked into the area which marks the tomb and sacrophagus of the Apostle Paul, what are called "Altars of Confession."  A group of people were praying and, based on the cadence, it sounded like The Lord's Prayer and then the General Confession.

As I walked through a number of these churches, I often felt compelled to cross myself though I've not worshipped in an Episcopal church in years, except for the occasional visit to the church my folks attend.  Still, the pull was quite strong.  But at this church, I didn't have that feeling.  I did, however, feel the need to kneel and I could not help but weep.  I knelt for a long moment and heard the whispered prayers of the priest to my right, though in a language I couldn't understand.  And I thought again of the power of this thing called faith and how it can build bridges.  And how this thing called religion can be the impetus for so much hate and destruction.

This was the only church that moved me to tears as well as awe.  It's not that it was more beautiful than the others, though it is gorgeous.  Perhaps it was that tomb and the life and sacrifice it represents.  Perhaps it was those two gigantic sculptures--one of Peter with his keys and one of Paul with his letters (my perception) and his sword--and the power of those works.  Perhaps it was because I was so physically and emotionally tired that this church simply took me past the tipping point.  Perhaps. 

It was a short, easy walk back to the metro.  The train came quickly and soon I was being whisked back to the Colosseum.  I bought a shot of espresso from one of the vendors and sat on some steps outside of the metro station and across the street from the Colosseum while I munched on a granola bar.  And watched people, fed a few pigeons with some granola bar crumbs, and thought.  I was so glad I'd gone the wrong direction on Sunday and ended up saving this church for my last day.

I got up slowly.  Ankles were swollen and my left knee was protesting after so many days of walking on heaved cobblestones.  I was grateful for the Roman stroll.  I wandered up and over to the Trevi so I see a man about some pictures, then back toward the Piazza della Minerva and the Piazza della Rotonda for some final shopping.  I found what might be the only Jewish-owned store in ancient Rome and bought some lovely parting gifts there.  I walked into the leather shop on Via del Seminario four different times, though only twice on this day.  I'd been looking at two bags, neither of which I wanted to leave in Rome.  They were beautiful, but I did the math and couldn't justify the expense for two bags I'd probably rarely use.  But oh my they were lovely.

And with my shopping done, I went back to the Hotel Senato to clean up a bit and do some packing.  I went to the salon around 6P to have a glass of wine, chatting with a large family from France.  About 7:15P I gathered my things and meandered out to the Casa Coppelle Ristorante, which had been described to me as a Roman with a little French.  It is a quiet place with low lights and soft jazz, scrumptious warm artisan bread.  At just past 7:30P, I was not the first to arrive.  I had an artichoke appetizer and I have to say that the Romans know their way around an artichoke.  This was the third appetizer I'd had with artichoke; none had been the same and all had been delicious.  For dinner I had the recommended beef dish, which was quite good.  I had no room for dessert, but I've learned that saying "No, grazie" to dessert and asking for a coffee (of any kind) means a small plate of cookies will be brought to the table.  It was a wonderful meal for my last night in Rome.

Some random thoughts:

• Casa Coppelle and Due Colonne, near the Pantheon, were two very fine restaurants.  Service was quite good; the food was excellent.  I thanked the owner at Casa Coppelle and told him it was my last night in Rome. He gave me a big handshake and the double-cheek kiss and thanked me for having my dinner at his restaurant.  Due Colonne (on Via del Semario, not far from the leather shop) seems to be a family-owned place.  Service was very, very good as was the food.
• Grano was good, but you must want fish if you don't want pasta as those are your two choices.
• Buca di Ripetta near the river is also quite good, but if you're staying near the Pantheon, it's a bit of a walk.
• 8 nights in Rome is not enough.

Piazzas and more piazzas

As I noted earlier, I'd gone to Palazza Barbieri but it's closed on Monday.  I did get some shots of the outside, but I really wanted to check out the interior.  But my next stop was to revisit the Moses Fountain.  It's a beautiful fountain and near the Piazza della Repubblica, some nice shops and the Termini, or major rail terminal in Rome.  But what really got my attention were all of the scooters parked in a large scooter lot.  And this is only a tiny fraction of the scooters parked all over Rome.

From the Moses Fountain I went on to the Piazza della Repubblica because I wanted to visit what looked like a very old church.  It is the Basilica of St. Maria of the Angels and Martyrs.  Michelangelo was commissioned for this work by Pope Pius IV who wanted to consecrate the most monumental parts to the 40,000 Christians who were martyred.  The basilica itself was built in what had been the Baths of Diocletian.  "Michelangelo utilized the great central hall and some of the side rooms and succeeded in leaving intact the great sense of grandeur that the ancient building possessed without imposing his own architecture on the building."  The great bronze doors were created in 2006 by the Polish-born sculptor Igor Mitoraj.  There is an interesting history about the meridian line created in the basilica and the reasons for it.  Some were scientific: the height of the walls, the building was already oriented towards the south, etc., but what might have been the more important and real reason was an opportunity to reinforce the dominance of the Christian calendar over the pagan calendar.  It is a beautiful church and building.  Some other reconstruction is going on to the right of the building, but it was difficult to tell what. 

I have to say that one of the things that really struck me is how large the church is once you step inside.  The exterior, unless you have already wandered over to the right to see the construction area, looks deceptively small.

From this church, I went to San Vitale, the full name of which is Basilica of Sts. Vitalis, Valeris, Gervase and Protase.  It is another 1st century church that has been restored numerous times.  It is a generally unprepossessing church, especially when compared to some of its basilica brethren.  The front is virtually undecorated and it is built as though some monument to some pope's or cardinal's or aristocrat's ego.  It's a rather humble church.  It is dark inside; not many windows and the larger windows are treated as though frosted, so not much light comes in.  The church is situated below street level, so that doesn't help with lighting.  It is somber rather than majestic.  What I loved about this little church is the wood ceiling with the inlay designs and "pictures."  I wish I could have discovered more about that ceiling, but, alas, there has been nothing written about it, at least nothing I could find.  The wood is somewhat dark and adds to the sobriety of the interior, I think, as well as the moodier sensibility of the church.  That and the scary bronze of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse on the portico.  "Come ye, and think carefully about your decisions and your behavior" seems to be a message of this church.

From San Vitale, I went back to the hotel to regroup and recharge my camera batteries.  I need to get a newer camera and/or be sure I travel with more than one charged battery.  I'd had an extra battery, but it was the old original battery and neither were holding charge at all well.  Then I dropped the original battery in a puddle and that was that for that one.

In the afternoon, I went back over to Castel Sant'Angelo to get a few shots on a nice day, but also in search of a particular street vendor who had some drawings I thought I wanted.  He wasn't there on Monday, so it's possible he's there only on holidays and weekends.  Ah well.  I'd seen similar work elsewhere, so hoped I'd find something I liked.

And then I head along the Tiber River towards Trastevere, which is a little neighborhood, I think we might call it.  Rather Bohemian-like in its own way.  As noted by Matters of Taste, what's wonderful about Trastevere are the little shops and the overall delightful quaintness.  It was easy to be "lost" here for quite awhile.  I walked back up to St. Peter's to get another look and that grand space.  It was nearly 4P and the lines to get into the Basilica were incredibly long.

By then I was quite exhausted.  I stumbled back to my hotel, cleaned up a bit, had a beverage in the salon and chatted with some of the other guests of the hotel: a family from South Africa and another group from the UK, both England and Scotland.  Basically killing time until the restaurants opened at 7:30P and trying not to be that person pacing at the door.

I leave my window open when I leave the hotel.  The housekeeping staff always closes it, no matter what the weather.  I flung open the windows when I got back--the room is usually stifling--and listened to the noise and music in the piazza while I got cleaned up.  And then I was pretty sure I heard the sound of a. . . bagpipe?  Yes, yes, I did.  He was strolling through the piazza and moving in front of my hotel--stopped for a few pictures--before marching off down the street in the direction of the Piazza della Minerva.  I wondered if he'd stop next to the elephant and play.

Some random observations, some of which may have been stated already and may get repeated again:

• Romans don't yield.  They have a way of walking so they manage never to look at the on-coming pedestrian traffic.  They don't crash into people very often, but they seem to expect others to yield because they don't.  This is true when walking in the street.  Unless death or injury is imminent, they do not step aside for a car.  Though some roads/alleys are designated for pedestrians, the Romans seem to treat every cobblestoned byway as a pedestrian walkway.  Cars, scooters, buses, trucks just have to wait.  What's amazing to me is how little honking there is.
• Romans, perhaps Italians, have perfected the art of the stroll.  These are not a hurried people.  Even people walking to work, unless it's raining and they don't have an umbrella.  And they think nothing of spreading out across the sidewalk or street, walking arm-in-arm as they chat and wave their cigarettes.  If you're in a hurry, tough.
• There are Hello Kitty stores and a number of the United Colors of Benetton stores.
• There are no pooper scooper laws in Rome.  Watch where you walk.

• I saw two Burger King places and a few McDonald's restaurants.  Thankfully, not many and very few franchised chain restaurants.  Other than these two, the only other I saw was the occasional Friend's Bar, which made me laugh.
• Dogs may be in restaurants, but you will rarely see children.  The dogs I saw were incredibly well-behaved.  Much better behaved than many children I've seen (and heard) in restaurants.  Still. . .
• The rule for parking seems to be: "If there is room, park it."  Unless there is an explicit sign that indicates parking isn't allowed, cars and scooters are parked pretty much anywhere.  And sometimes parked in such a way that they look abandoned.
• PDA is not uncommon in Rome.  Anywhere in Rome.  And often with much gusto that could border on embarrassing except most people don't seem to notice except Americans who were often clearly uncomfortable with such unabashed passion.
• Absinthe can be purchased in almost any store and certainly those selling wine and other spirits, such as grappa.  I did not try any; I saw Moulin Rouge.  And the labels were a little scary looking anyway.
• Grappa comes in flavors: chardonnay, pinot noir, Scotch.  Seriously, Scotch.  I tasted it.  It was not particularly smooth as, for example, a 12yo Balvenie or an 18yo Macallan.  Actually, it wasn't smooth at all.
• Italians don't really have bacon, but I have to commend the Hotel Senato for attempting to cook some sort of ham to try to replicate bacon for its guests.

Intermezzo

This morning I found the Palazzo Barbeiri to discover it is closed on Monday.  I'm not sure I'll have time to visit it on Tuesday.  We'll see.

But I took off again towards the Moses Fountain and the Piazza della Repubblica, but I'll talk about that later because I also wanted to get to a small church I found on my way home last night.

The church is inauspicious, tucked next to an imposing museum.  People who want to visit San Vitale must walk down stairs.  Once on the porch, the visitor is welcomed by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, which is a bit disturbing.  Once inside the church, however, the Four Horsemen are easily forgotten.

I suspect the church is dark and brooding even on brighter days as there are few windows and they are small and up high: three on either side of the church and two smaller and higher on each side of the apse.  The colors of the church interior are dark.  And the ceiling--yes, look up!--is dark, rich wood.  The work there looks like inlay.

I spent a little time there thinking about churches; about prayer; about what drives us or motivates us to be meditative, worshipful.  The door of the church squeaks when it is opened and just for a moment the sound of the traffic on Via Nazionale rushes in.  Hushed voices.  Slow, quiet steps.  Perhaps more so because this church is so small.  The steps stop.  The door squeaks again.  Silence again.  Repose.

Except for the tacky frantic lights on the Christmas tree.

Happy St. Stephen's Day

December 26 is St. Stephen's Day.  Apparently Romans and tourists celebrate by going to various sites, eating gelato, having a glass of wine or two, and doing a little shopping where shopping can be done.

Yesterday, Christmas Day, was a quiet day for me.  I had walked miles each day for three days.  I have to assume (hope) it was miles given how tired I was.  Did I bring stuff I didn't need?  Yep.  Something I could have used like a pedometer?  Nope.  Oh well. 

Anyway, Christmas Day was quiet.  I took my time getting up, had a nice breakfast, went for a short walk, and came back to my room to read and nap.  While I was out, I got the shot to the left of the street signs and the icon on the outside corner of the building.  I've seen a lot of those around, but I love the street signs.  Keep in mind there are no posted speed limits, so drivers seem to understand that to mean "drive as fast as you can."  So drivers hurtle through the streets and have to choose that quickly not to go straight and to make a one-way right turn at the sign.  And yes, there is a street there.

It was raining hard all day, so it seemed like a good day to rest.  Worked out well for me and my body.  I went out for a bit at dinner and found a nice little pizzeria on a side street--I was surprised how many place were open on Christmas Day as the hotel staff had made it sound as though no place would be open.  But there are a lot of tourists in Rome just now, so if I owned a restaurant or a shop, I'd've thought about being open both yesterday and today (a lot of stuff closed today, but a considerable number of shops and eating establishments open).  And then I returned to my room to read some more and watch a couple of movies I'd forgotten I'd rented through iTunes.

It was hard to get up this morning, though, because I stayed up too late.  But I got my breakfast and figured out my plan for the day.  I stood outside of my hotel for a minute, watching the street vendors and the Roman solider out in front of the Pantheon, when a group of cyclists came through.  I'd seen men running through the streets earlier and I'd seen men runners before, but rarely women running.  Given how my legs feel, I believe that Roman women stay in shape by walking regularly through the uneven, cobbled, hilly streets of Rome.

I wanted to go to the Chiesa del Gesu to get pictures, but, duh!, it's Sunday and so there were masses scheduled until noon.  Off I went thinking I was going toward the Colosseum as I'd planned to take the metro to go to St. Paul Outside of the Walls.  But then I realized I made a left when I should have made a right, or the other way around (this left-right thing is getting old) and realized I was actually close to St. Peter's and so I crossed the bridge and went to Castel Sant'Angelo, or the Mausoleum of Hadrian, instead.  It was a good day to get lost.  While the Castel Sant'Angelo is pretty cool itself, what's really special is the terrace.  Go aehad ad climb up those steep stairs.  And you won't have to look up; just look out and take in Rome.

After I left the Castel Sant'Angelo, I moseyed north-ish along the banks of the Tiber River.  I crossed the Ponte Umberto and wandered further north, finding Via de Corso and cotinued to the Piazza del Popolo (left).  This is a huge Piazza that was quite crowded.  Not as many street vendors and only a couple of street musicians.  A different kind of energy at this Piazza that may have something to do with the neighborhood.  It's not that far from Borghese Garden and a fairly short stroll to Via di Babuino and the upscale shopping.  I wandered down to the Spanish Steps because I had a plan for my next stop, but then I saw Babington's Tea Shop with its window full of cupcakes.  I had to stop.

I was met by a nice young woman whose English was accent-free and later discovered she was born in Florida!  Her parents divorced when she was 8; her mother is Italian.  Babingtons is quite small and quite popular.  She found me a table though most were reserved for lunch.  And then she brought the menu.  How to choose?

If you are in a hurry, do not stop at Babington's.  Service proceeds at its own pace, which is not uncommon in Italy, but seemed exceptionally slow at Babington's.  This proved to be a nearly 2-hour lunch.  And if you are on a tight budget, do not stop here.  It is not cheap.  It was to me, however, worth the time and the money.

My next stop was going to be Palazzo Barberini.  I found the Fontana del Tritone backed by the Hotel Bernini, which meant I was fairly close to my destination except it was dark and I meandered a little too much and missed the street, though I may have walked right by it.  And then I stumbled up on the Moses Fountain.  That meant I could get my bearings, so I walked past the expensive hotels and spied an old church off the Piazza della Repubblica.  I knew I'd be returning, so I walked down Via Nazionale and found my way back to my hotel.

I stopped at a cafe for a glass of wine and some people watching before going out to grab a couple of slices of pizza before retiring to the hotel salon to catch up on some writing.  It was another good day in Rome.

Christmas Eve in Rome

Where does one go on a rainy Christmas Eve in Rome?  The Vatican, of course, and St. Peter's.

I misjudged how long it would take me--a bit of overconfidence in my Rome navigation skills--so got to the Vatican too late for my tour.  So at half past 9, after wandering in something of a daze in St. Peter's Square (which isn't at all square, by the way, but a huge piazza), I joined the relatively short line to enter St. Peter's Basilica; my wait was only about 5 minutes.  If you go to St. Peter's, be prepared to be in awe.  And be forewarned that this is not a short jaunt.  You will want to allow plenty of time to see the Basilica and then tour the Vatican Museum.

Fortunately, I'd spent a little time getting familiar with the place before I visited it.  Even still, reviewing the floorplan did not prepare me for the actual experience.  What I wish I'd spent some time reading is this guide to the Basilica because of the explanations of the doors as well as everything else.  I wish I'd known about it because, had I had the time, having this recorded and downloaded on my iPod would have made one terrific audioguide.  Fortunately, there is information available throughout the Basilica, so I wasn't completely uninformed about what was making me "ooh" and "ahh."

The portico, before you even get to the massive doors to enter St. Peter's, requires a moment to stop and look up.  If you learn nothing else from me, learn this: in any church or any museum in Rome, look up.  Seriously.  I mean it.  This isn't too much to see and gasp about just yet, but then you enter those huge, heavy doors and you will likely stop in your tracks, which means people behind you who are also gaping will run right into you.

You will be told, no doubt. that St. Peter's is the biggest church in the world.  Apparently there is some replica in Cote d'Ivoire which may be technically the biggest church in the world, but this one is where the Pope lives, where the Swiss Guard are, where The Pieta is housed behind glass, where St. Peter is supposed to be buried, and where you will see a few other significant works of art and religious relics.  So whatever to the Cote d'Ivoire because this church is Something to Behold.

As an aside, and because I was curious, the Basilica of Our Lady of Peace was built as a monument to a former president who was also, of course, Catholic.  Yes, he meant it as a monument to himself.  And unlike St. Peter's, this basilica took only four years to build.

After you have entered St. Peter's and once your breathing has begun to return to normal, you will turn right.  And there she is, behind the glass, holding the body of Jesus.  The 20-something Michelangelo took less than two years to sculpt this work from a single slab of marble.  It is unfortunate you can't get too close, but even from the short distance it is possible to see the intricacy of this work, the way the folds of the fabric fall, the serenity and sadness on Mary's face.  Go ahead and linger.  Let the crowd ebb and flow around you, but drink in this remarkable work.

As you proceed down the right side of the Basilica, you will be tempted to stop every few feet to take a picture.  You will not be alone.  BTW, you won't need a flash.  And not just because there will be flashes popping all around you, but because there is plenty of ambient light.

You will see and need to stop at a variety of chapels and monuments: saints, cardinals, popes.  They are memorialized here in various degrees of grandeur.  There were some parts of the Basilica beyond the Papal Altar that were closed off because workers were making preparations for the Christmas Eve masses.

After awhile I confess to being a little tired of the monuments to men, but then I also confess to knowing little about the various Popes and many others celebrated there.  I was considerably more taken by the sweeping size and overall grandeur of the place.  I did not want to leave.  I am not Catholic, so I was not drawn by religious or denominational influences.  In fact, I found myself thinking about what I do know (or think I know) about the history of the Holy Roman Church: what it meant to early Christians, what it meant to Jews, what it has meant to Protestants over the years, what men have done because they have had a certain power because they were priests.  I wasn't thinking of more contemporary events because I suspect priests and pedophilia go back a good many centuries.  I was thinking of priests who used their positions to feed their own egos, appetites, and purses.  That profane human behavior is that much more distasteful when it is perpetrated by men who claim to be servants of God.  So as I wandered the chapels and looked at the huge monuments to the popes, I wondered what kind of men they really were and in what ways they had served the God to whom they claimed to have pledged their lives. 

And then I came to the Chapel of the Choir.  Again, I say, look up.  Yes, the chapel is spectacular with the organ pipes to the left and the right, but you cannot ignore that ceiling.  I wondered what it would be like to practice in that room, if people actually get to sing in there.  I wondered how it might compare to singing in the Mormon Tabernacle.

Before I knew it, after a little over two hours, I had completed the circuit of the Basilica, with a side trip to the museum of St. Peter's treasures (worth the 6 euro if you like to gawk at humongous candelbras and increasingly elaborate and large monstrances.  Say what?  Yes, I had to look up the word because I'd seen the thing before, but had no idea what it was called or why it was called "monstrance."  You may have seen the Pope hold it or, if Catholicism is your religious practice, you may have seen it in the hands of your bishop or priest.  The monstrance has a liturgical role and a very interesting history, but such is the case with much of what one can find in the Catholic church.)

I walked outside and it was still raining, but I decided to meander around the Vatican walls to see if I could find my way to Vatican Museum and give that a go.  After all, that was the only way I was going to see the Sistine Chapel.  On my way I was accosted by a very charming young woman who offered me a Vatican tour "deal" but I decided to go for it because the price was the same I'd seen pretty much everywhere.  We hurried off so I could plunk down my euros and then we hurried to catch up with the group to join our guide.  I took advantage of a light to get a picture of a corner of the Vatican wall.  We met up with the guide and were soon in the Vatican Museum.  As we waited for everyone to get through security, our earpieces secure and our sound adjusted, the guide told us that the Vatican Museum is the fourth most visited museum in the world behind the Louvre, something else I can't recall, and the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is the most visited museum in the world.

So almost right away we learn about how pagan symbols were retrofitted to become Christian ones when our guide explained the significance of the pineapple and peacocks.  The pineapple has often been a sign of hospitality and welcome, so nothing too damaging there.  However, the peacock had several "pagan" (read: not Catholic) representations, but still related to compassion and mercy.  Apparently it was (and probably still is) well within papal authority to define meaning of certain things.  Good to know.

Throughout the Vatican Museum are remarkable pieces of art, including Apollo, a pretty pagan Roman god who nonetheless managed to get a legitimate place in the museum.

Remember what I said about looking up?  Yea, look up in the Vatican Museum.  Or guide was marvelous, and I truly mean that.  He gave us wonderful accounts of and information about sculpture and mosaics, but he never once mentioned the ceilings.  And let me tell you, there is some gorgeous stuff over your head in the Vatican Museum.  Check it out.

And then there's the map room, which is 120 meters or roughly 394 feet long and 6 meters or just under 20 feet wide.

There are 40 topographical maps in this room which represent the regions of Italy as well as what the Church then possessed under Gregory X.  What's so cool is that the maps are painted from the perspective of Rome.  So the northern regions of Italy look fine, but the southern regions look upside down because they were drawn as though the painter situated himself in Rome and simply turned to see the southern regions.  There was an episode in Friends when Joey had to get in the map to see where he was to figure out where he needed to go.  Seems like that wasn't such an original (or silly) idea.

At this point we had to make a decision to see the Raphael Rooms or go directly to the Sistine Chapel.  Our guide was concerned we'd not get to the Basilica because it was closing early for final preparations for the 4:30P Mass.  The majority opted for the Sistine Chapel and so off we went.

No pictures can be taken in the Sistine Chapel and guards who patrol the place regularly shush people when the noise gets too loud.  Our guide gave us an extraordinarily complete tour of the works in the Sistine Chapel.  His presentations were thorough and passionate; nearly evangelical, I might say.

When we left the Chapel, he took us to a place out of the pouring rain and gave some history and information of the Basilica itself--how long it took to build (150 years), why it's not the first St. Peter's, etc.  People were anxious to return their sound systems and head into the Basilica.  Originally I wasn't going to go in again--I saw the sign for the cupola and nearly. . . ., but I had to go see the inside again and noticed things I hadn't seen before.  The immensity of the place makes it impossible to take it all in and I would imagine that would be true after dozens of visits.

And besides looking up in these places, it's often just as smart to look down.  In this case, as you leave St. Peter's you just might see what might seem to suggest that the building and what it represents offers the keys to the eternal kingdom.

On the way home, walking very slowly in the pouring rain, stopping for a coffee on the way, I thought about what I'd seen and heard.  I thought what I believe to be true about God and Jesus Christ.  I thought about the Crusades and other religious wars as well as the current battles against the "infidel," which is a word that seems to mean "you don't believe the way I do and you should die."  Oddly, perhaps, I thought about the pineapple and the peacocks, symbols that are supposed to represent hospitality and compassion.  As I walked home I wondered how saddened God must be to see such remarkable work completed by those to whom He had given such talent.  I wondered if He grieved over their motivation and if He rejoiced when they were moved by their inspiration to see, perhaps, a bit of the face of God.

At midnight I went to the Chiesa del Gesu.  I didn't understand a word, of course.  I have to go back to get pictures as photography would have been inappropriate during a service.  Though I didn't understand a word, I appreciated that venue because of the power of some of the artwork in that building, like the Triumph of the Name of Jesus. . . on the ceiling.  Of course there is magnificent art on the ceiling.  Keep in mind where the most famous of Michelangelo's works resides: the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  We look up to see those magnificent works that may or may not have been meant as inspired and devoted testaments to God.  Even if they weren't, to see them we have to look up and be moved. . . by the work itself, by the gift of the artist, and perhaps by the God to whom and for whom they were created.

All Roads Lead to Piazza Navona

They don't really, but it sure seems as though no matter where I have wandered, I can manage to end up near a sign pointing towards Piazza Navona.  It's big.  It's probably not meant to be brash, but the Piazza Navona certainly is brash just now as it is lined with street vendors.  I still haven't gotten one of those giants donuts which you can get smeared with Nutella.  What's not to like about that?  And I saw a "Nutella-to-Go" item in the grocery store.  That cracked me up.  No, I haven't bought any.  Yet.

There's a carousel to the left of the Bernini statue as you are facing the Borromini building.  Though the figures in the statue are meant to be responding to  Borromini's work of the building, they could be responding to the crass commercialism now in this Piazza.

The forecast for the day was overcast and drizzly, which is not unusual for this time of year, or so I'm told, but the morning broke clear and cool.  Springlike when I compare it to the high 20sF in Chicago.

My first stop of the morning: Fountain of Trevi.  It's easy to amble down a street and then BAM! there it is.  Though the increasing volume of voices should be a giveaway that you are closing in on Something Important.  The fountain is huge and quite impressive at 85 feet high and 65 feet wide.  Like so much in Rome, the Fountain of Trevi has a complicated history influenced by ego and power, perhaps the need to insure a legacy. 

Surrounding the steps leading to the fountain are the inevitable tsotchke vendors and the occasional street artist.  I've seen several Statues of Liberty, usually in white or silver, though one was in blue.  It does no good to mutter that they should be green though I do it anyway.

After the Fountain of Trevi, by happenstance, the Spanish Steps.  What is fascinating about the Spanish Steps is not the steps themselves, but the hoards of people.  What's important to understand is that the Piazza de Spagna is on Via del Babuino (no, not "Barbarino").  As you face the Fontana della Barcaccia (Bernini, c. 1629) with the Steps behind you, you'll be looking down Via Condotti and one of the first shops on the left is Gucci, then Bulgari, Vuitton, Valentino, etc.  You get the idea.  Via del Babuino may have Tiffany, Chanel, and Armani (casual), but the truly high-brow is on Via Condotti.  Go to the end of this street, hang a left on Via del Corso (a lovely shopping boulevard itself), and then another left on Via Borgognona for Levi, Calvin Klein, Fendi, and more Gucci.  There are a few other streets in this shopping mecca area, so be sure to study your Spanish Steps maps to plan your shopping trek, even if it's only for window shopping.  The prices may not look bad in euro, but then you must do the math to convert to your currency of choice.  I should note there's a lovely leather goods shop on Via del Babuino southeast of the Steps and, unfortunately, next to a McDonald's.

And so, up the Spanish Steps to the obelisk--of which there are many in Rome. . . that was, apparently, "pilfered from Egypt" which would explain the hieroglyphics--and down the street to meander towards to the Villa Borghese as I have a date at the museum.  Again, easy to be distracted by lovely hotels and shops but I was anxious to get to the park.

Up the Via di Porta Pinciana and past posh hotels on the right and a very high wall on the left, guarding the edges of the Borghese property.  Through the Porta Pinciana, a "portal through the great wall around Rome" which was built in 400 AD.  And then the noise and traffic of the city were left behind.  It was like walking into a completely different universe.  The further I walked into the park, the more distant the sound of the traffic and horns and sirens.  It was quite lovely.  And it was truly wonderful to have time to wander through the park, look at statues and trees and open spaces.  I had plenty of time before my appointed time to enter the Galleria Borghese.

I hardly know what to say about this art museum.  I walked in the door and was stunned by the gorgeousness of the first room, especially its ceiling.  Visitors are not allowed to take pictures and there is no way on earth I can possibly explain how spectacularly gorgeous the exhibits are.  You must just go.  It's not a huge museum, but you will be breathless in room after room.  There is a two-hour limit.  Use your time wisely.  Because I am something of a cretin, I went through the entire first floor quite quickly and then went back more slowly to the rooms I really wanted to see and in which I wanted to spend more time.  I did go upstairs and wandered through those rooms more leisurely.  The stairs are somewhat steep, but you can stop and look out the windows at the gardens while you catch your breath if you need.

I left through the gate that read Villa Borghese.  Just across the street was a car dealership for Maserati and Ferrari, and to the left of that was a Harley Davidson shop.  No lie.  I've not seen many big bikes zooming around Rome, but clearly they can be bought.

So my random observations of Rome:

• Italians smoke too much.
• Hotel room charges are based on size of the room.  What is "superior" in Rome might not be what we would consider the same in the States.
• Many women seem to have colored their hair remarkable shades of red that are not found in nature.
• Dinner "hour" really doesn't begin until after 7:30P or so as some restaurants don't even open until 7:30P.  I ate tonight at the Due Colonne (two columns in the restaurant) and a huge crowd entered around 8:30P.

What I forgot to say about the Colosseum:  it's a place designed to reinforce the class system.  There were steep stairs for the lower class and on up to the "cheap seats."  Deeper stairs with little or no steepness for the upper class and a ramp for the members of the Senate.

Another extraordinary day in Rome.