Rome to Vatican City

It’s Saturday. I wrote that on Tuesday. I’m not getting the hang of writing regularly. I’m on a train to Anzio now, an hour, no Wi-Fi, too scared to read a book because there are cool girls in the seats across from me.

The rest of the archeological zone around the Colosseum is wonderful, I think, my brother enjoyed it. I’ve been having some sort of allergic reaction on my eyes so I spent my time on Wednesday finding shaded areas, holding a water bottle to my eyes, and wondering if I might be graced with some of that cold rain again.

It was not so bad all day. I still enjoyed the parts I enjoyed. I still got beautiful pictures, I still ate nice food, and still stood in long lines. A good day. 

After lunch we went to the Pantheon, an awkward hour or so where I was sick of standing around waiting for my brother to make decisions. I was too sick to make the decisions myself. Everything was too loud, he was being too unclear. and we had no plans. Then we arrived at the Pantheon. Around a half an hour wait in a line, could be more or less, its waiting in a line in the sun. At least the outside of the building was as pretty as the inside.

Before we went in we were stopped by a man selling trinkets, you’ll see them outside of every attraction, men selling hats, scarves and bags, portable chargers and frozen water bottles, way too overpriced, way too tempting. This man says “I like your hair” and my brother stopped to say thank you. The man reached out to touch it and asks “Where are you from?” We tell him “Scozia” and a lovely conversation ensued. He is from Africa. No, we haven’t been yet. He has family in Kenya; a photo of a baby on his lockscreen. He gives us both bracelets, puts them on us. I’m completely entranced. My goal on this trip is to meet people, I’m a wonderful target. He gives me an elephant key ring, gives me another, for a mother I didn’t mention.

“Please do you have anything for my family back in Kenya?”

Another man said to us on the way out of the Pantheon, “I like your hair, where are you from?”

It’s a bit difficult to get a grasp of just how big and old everything is, how true and ancient. The ceiling of the Pantheon was not intricate or delicate or painted beautifully, just constructed completely unbelievably.

I’m not quite ashamed that as soon as I saw Pietro Paolo Bonzi’s version of the “Incredulity of St Thomas” I leaned to my brother to make a top surgery joke. We figured out a few days later the real meaning behind it but I think tboy Jesus is much more interesting.

Thursday was a bit of an embarrassment, we left our hotel by the train station. I accidentally started a routine of thanking the room before we left, I think I’m too used to saying bye to my parents pets. We got lost, about five times, on our way to our hotel in Aurelia.

I couldn’t tell you how, maybe a mixture of swollen eyes and a heavy rucksack and the sweat filling up my hoodie because I couldn’t fit it in my bag. The receptionist was beautiful, wonderful, kind, told us we got free breakfast.

The difference in price and quality between the hotels truly shocked us. Location makes such a huge difference and considering how quick and easy the metro is I dare to say getting accommodation further from the centre of Rome will not downgrade your trip in any way.

Thursday ended on a high note. We were settled in our nice new hotel, went to a shopping centre nearby, freaked out some checkout staff when we didn’t understand any Italian, and started watching a new show together before we went to sleep.

On Friday we went to Vatican City, we bought a guided tour for it, I’m still in denial about the price but it was probably worth it. Our tour guide was a lovely Dutch man; by the end of the tour his shirt was a different colour. It comforted me to know even someone who has presumably worked and lived in Italy a long time is still affected by the weather here.

There’s good drama when you’re in a group. Lots of fun. A couple arguing with the guide about how long we stood in the same place while he spoke. A man with a buggy going places he shouldn’t. The tour guide repeating “Please, listen to the guards, I can not afford to go to jail here.”

It was nice, reminded me of school trips, reminded me of how fun it is to believe you’re the teachers favourite. We learnt lots and then we got to see the Sistine Chapel.

There are no photos allowed inside, no talking, no bare shoulders. It makes you feel part of a club, a secret cult maybe. I’m scared to write about it, break the vow of silence we took.

There’s seating along the walls of the chapel, the only seating for a while, I saw a man leaning back, his head against the wall, his eyes shut. I hope I’m never so tired that I sleep below the Creation of Adam.

There’s an incredible amount of art sitting in the walls of Vatican City, not just the painted ceilings and intricate tapestries, not just the perfect maps and sculptures but pieces brought in, donated to the Museum.

Van Gogh and Gauguin share a small room. No plexiglass or ropes hiding the details from you. Matisse gets a hallway to himself. The great big bronze statue of Heracles sits in the Round Hall, struck by lightning an unbelievably long time ago, considered divine.

There’s St. Peter’s Basilica beside the Museum, not much for me to say about it. I think I held my breath the whole time we were inside. There’s a confessional, a hard wooden beam to kneel on. The sculptures throughout were beautiful, of course, old hard rock carved to look like fabric.

It seems the Vatican post office is an attraction in of itself, hoards of people buying stamps and cards and postage inside just to write “Hello from Vatican City!”

I’m not religious but the art inside is almost beautiful enough to make you believe. I wonder if Michelangelo felt the same about Jesus as I do about Wolverine…

- Red