Rome

     Irving R. Levine, Rome  

    Rome wasn’t built in a day.  Neither was Cleopatra.

     We had another walk once the bus got to Rome.  Taxis and delivery trucks went down the street past the hotel’s front door, but no room for a bus.

     We landed at a busy time in the afternoon.  We had to hurriedly empty the bus and gather our suitcases so the bus could quit blocking traffic.  “Hurry” wasn’t too practical as I was still recovering from the visit to the winery and the subsequent two-hour bus ride.

      We had to single-file down the walk and cross a couple of busy streets.  One of our number had swollen feet and couldn’t walk very fast.  She and her husband soon fell behind.  The Goodwife and I lagged the rest of the group to try to keep the laggers in sight.

     Thankfully, the tallest of our number also was concerned and hung back, too.  I could keep an eye on him as he stood 6’5” or more.  We briefly lost sight of our laggers when a red light cut us off.  The big guy came back and we managed to reunite. 

     Another block and the big guy’s wife directed us around a corner where we could see the end of our band entering our hotel.  There was a bit of grumbling about our guide from that incident, but the hard feelings didn’t last.  Our guide proved later at the coliseum that he was quite willing and capable to search out and rescue a lost soul.

     This hotel had a small elevator and the desk lady checked us in and handed us small sticky circles of paper with our room number on it.  We put the numbers on our suitcases as instructed and within ten minutes, a small Pilipino man delivered our luggage to us in our room.

       After a brief rest, we congregated in the hotel foyer where we were issued new radios.  We had turned in the ones we used in Florence and Venice.  The guide explained that only Vatican-issued radios could be used in Vatican City--rented to us by the Vatican.

      I am sorry to report that that information did little to lessen the prejudice against the Vatican instilled in me by my Lutheran upbringing.  It would have been nice to have those radios as we tried to find our way to the hotel.

     We set off on a walk from our hotel to the Pantheon (or is it Parthenon? I can never remember) with our guide pointing out landmarks left and right.  The Pantheon is a huge building with the ultimate vaulted ceiling and nothing but the walls to support it. 

     A question springs eternal as you view Rome:  How did those old guys build such huge buildings that lasted so long?  How could they know so much?

     The Pantheon had another remarkable feature—there was no charge to visit.  Following our trusty guide’s advice, we supped off the main thoroughfares for quite a lot less than eating outdoors under an awning along a busy street.

     We returned to our hotel, visiting a church and Trevi Fountain where you toss a coin over your shoulder into the sizable pool which insures your return to Rome someday (the city crew pulls a thousand or more Euros from the pool bright and early every morning) on our way.

 

Somewhere beyond the crowd is a huge pool and a fountain gushing from the lit wall.

      Vatican City was the next place we visited.  We rode the Metro, the subway, to get there.  We had the Fear of the Lord instilled in us.  The subway is the likeliest place to have your pocket picked, we were told.  Part of our tour was a money belt issued to every person.  Put your money, passport, and credit cards in your money belt. 

      Our guide said the easiest way to travel on the subway without incident is to go to the extreme ends of the train, either the front or the rear.  To that end, he divided us into two groups.  “Don’t try to all use the same doors,” he told us.  We followed his instructions, and sure enough, the ends of the train weren’t crowded and we had no problems.

     Part of our tour was a three-day pass for the Mero system, subway and bus.  We took the subway all three days.  We found it safe and convenient.  We kept our valuables in our money belts, nevertheless.

      Vatican City was crowded but I guess every famous place we went was crowded.  We were told that was nothing compared to summer crowds.  We spent three hours there, mostly on our feet. We had a local guide who took us to a bulletin board and lectured us about what I don’t remember. 

Our local guide who took us through the Vatican.  She said Martin, our tour guide, “is a rock,” a compliment.  I said “mostly from here up,” gesturing at his neck and head.  I was prepared to say that I only meant he had a soft heart if I was challenged for being cruel.  It was accepted as a joke.  Even Martin laughed.

      We went through three “museums” I think she called them, or were they galleries?  They were three long halls with flat ceilings, we were told, that were illustrated and looked as if they were domed.  The walls bore famous paintings and statuary, but my art reservoir was full to overflowing long since. 

     Eventually we went to St, Peter’s Basilica, and it was probably great but I am forced to admit I don’t remember much about it.  Too many churches with too much art.  We ended our time at Vatican City by passing through the Sistine Chapel.

      The guide had to shut up while we were in the Chapel—no talking.  Somewhere, a guy with a microphone would say “Silence!” in three or four languages.  “This is a church!”  The buzz—buzz would decline to a murmur.  But then, the buzz would grow to a dull roar and “Silence!” would ring out again.

     I bet the priest or whoever was doing the yelling wished he could thump some kids behind the ear for misbehaving in church.  But we were mostly adults!  I suppose such corporal punishment is politically incorrect nowadays.  Far be it for me to make a suggestion that could add to the church’s woes in an area that could be considered abuse.

     The Sistine Chapel is a marvel.  I sometimes wish we could have seen it first.  Then we could compare Michelangelo’s ceiling to all the other church ceilings we saw.  I guess it worked seeing all the other church ceilings first and then viewing the master’s.

     Standing looking at Michelangelo’s ceiling in a crowd stressed the neck.  In other churches less crowded, we could sit in a pew and lean back to look up.  We eventually did win a seat on the sidelines of the Chapel, but we were too far away from center to view the famous illustration of God and Adam stretching out to each other.

      I always understood that Adam was striving to reach God, but our guide, the local one, not Martin, suggested that God was emitting the spark of life to old Adam, animating his dust.  Well, end of my art critique.

       We gathered around a statue (or was it an obelisk?) in the Vatican courtyard near sundown, prior to gaggling back to the subway, and Martin pulled out two tickets he had managed to garner to attend the Pope’s appearance scheduled for the next day.  We had a few Catholics among us but there wasn’t much of a fight over the tickets.  Taking the tickets meant missing the Coliseum.  A couple did make the sacrifice and felt well rewarded for their choice.

     The subway delivered us back to the Spanish Steps, the landmark we relied on to find our hotel.  Why Spanish steps?  No one seems to know.

Coming up, the Coliseum.   Stay tuned.