We
started the day with an early-morning breakfast at our new favorite coffee shop
in Genova—at the train station, before boarding the 6:30 AM train to Rome.
How
fast does a fast train go? I don’t know exactly. But the trip from Genova to Rome
took approximately 3 and one-half hours. Even without accounting for a couple
of stops along the way, 2 or 3, that’s still an impressive 72 MPH. That may not
be TGV speed, which allegedly zips along at 190mph, but it’s still pretty fast.
For
the record: I’m not exactly sure why I’m using the Italian spelling for Genoa and
the English for Roma, but I digress.
All
city-spellings aside, calling this a trip to Rome is not really accurate. Although we’d be passing through Rome, we’d pre-purchased
tickets for a guided tour of the Vatican. That is where we would be spending
most of our day.
Upon
arriving in the Rome Terminus station our first order of business was to
determine which metro line would take us to the Vatican. I’d like to say that
as seasoned travelers, who’d been to Rome in the past, and therefore had
theoretically already paid the idiot tax, that we would intuitively know which
train led to the Vatican. That was not the case. We were clueless.
It
was at that exact clueless moment that I overheard another pair of lost travelers
discussing a similar issue. It was a mother and son. They’d been informed by
someone I presumed to be knowledgeable that the “A” train was the one that would
get you to the Vatican. Apparently, I really had already paid the idiot tax because
I knew where the “A” train was! I offered them assistance and directed them to
the “B” line. (No, I didn’t really do that; that would be cruel.)
My
wife and I proceeded to make our own ticket purchase, went to our platform,
boarded the train and we were on our way to Vatican City.
Getting
off at the designated stop it was obvious that nothing would be obvious. There
was no sign pointing to St. Peter’s Cathedral. The buildings rose up all around
us, with no useful gaps. There was no hope of sighting any potentially helpful
landmark.
But
we were nothing if not lucky travelers. There were a couple of policemen nearby
engaged in—I can’t say for sure what they were engaged in, it seemed to be a cross
between an argument and a conversation. I don’t know which it was but they did
seem to be having a good time.
“To
the corner and left,” they said, or at least one of them did. Actually he only
nodded in a general direction. But he did make sounds that seemed affirmative.
We
went to the corner indicated and turned left and –nothing! But not really
nothing. This is Rome and in Rome they have people, people with badges, whose job
it is to spot people like us, uninformed tourist, and point us in the right direction.
We
gave him the address where we were expecting to meet our tour group. He
directed us, not so much to the Vatican but towards the place of the address,
which turned out to be a pizza shop about two blocks away.
I
think we can be forgiven for assuming that if this address was the meeting place
then we must be gathering inside the pizza parlor, but that was not the case. Our
rendezvous point was on exactly the address as stated, on the sidewalk. For
future reference, meeting on a sidewalk is probably a sure sign that you are
not being ripped off. Only scam artists would bother with the expense of an
impressive store-front (That’s probably, not an entirely true statement, but it seemed to make sense when I wrote it.)
We,
and apparently one other guy, had signed up for the English-speaking tour. He
was a no-show. The tour group wound up just being the three of us: my wife, myself,
and our guide, Elizabet.
After
a short delay, waiting for the no-show, we started towards Vatican City, on
foot. There was a little zigging and zagging involved getting there but it was
only about two blocks away.
Soon
we were out of Rome and standing on the grounds of Vatican City, an independent
state in its own right. However, to get into the city we had to first wander
past an impressive show of Italian military might. I like to image that they
were there in order to contain the Swiss Guard and ward off a possible pontifical
invasion of Italy, but the sad reality is that they appeared to be positioned
in areas that would be vulnerable to the undesired intrusion of large motorized
vehicles into the crowds.
OK,
this is the part where I should start saying wondrous and glorious things about
the Vatican museum, and I wouldn’t be wrong to do so. There were countless
Roman copies of Greek statues as well as countless genuine examples of Roman
statues inspired by Greek statues and possibly some Greek statues. Mosaic
marble floors, elaborate ceilings—not just the Sistine Chapel—faux sculptures (grisaille
for all you art students), tapestries, and more. We saw walls decorated in the Grotesque
style, which we learned means inspired by the walls of the Christian grottos.
There were works by Raphael and Michelangelo and basically any artist of
note—except perhaps Picasso.
Nothing
was spared from the excessive and one might say overwhelming ornamentation:
floors, ceilings, doorways. Any normal person with even a minor appreciation of
art is likely to experience a touch of art nirvana at the enormity and quality
of the display. If you’re offended by the notion of any church accumulating
great wealth then you might rightfully experience extreme nausea.
Which
breed of observer am I? That’s hard to say. Obviously the self-aggrandizement
of some of the popes ripped any spiritual aspect out of some of the artwork. Evidence
that the artist themselves could sometimes devolve into childish behavior was
also evident. Raphael liked to include portraits of himself, and his friends,
in his artworks. Michelangelo seemed to prefer to indulge in unflattering
depictions of his critics. Yet, in spite
of the sometime pettiness of the patrons and the artist, and the socialistic
desires to redistribute the wealth there comes a point where art wins out. The
depictions become more than drawings or statues and instead represent the intangible,
the hidden hook that defines art.
Obviously
we saw way too much to mention it all; there are entire books devoted to every
nook within the Vatican, but I have to make some mention of the obvious.
Let’s
start with the Sistine Chapel.
As
a former Catholic I suppose I should start out with a preventative, “Bless me
father for I have sinned…” The sin: blasphemy, blasphemy-minor.
What?
No, of course the Sistine Chapel is beautiful! Are you nuts? However, there is
a qualifier. Michelangelo only did the roof, technically the ceiling, and the
front wall. There are three other levels of murals in the Sistine Chapel and,
to be kind, they are not Michelangelo.
The
middle level featured the work of Sandro Botticelli, Pietro Perugino,
Pinturicchio, Domenico Ghirlandaio and Cosimo Roselli. They told the story of
Jesus on one wall, and Moses on the other. The fresco’s wrapped around the
walls of the Sistine Chapel bringing both stories to a unified conclusion on
the front wall of the chapel. However, Michelangelo felt that he needed that front-wall
space in order to complete his work, so he painted over the endings of the life
of Jesus and Moses.
On
the lowest ring of the Sistine Chapel are painted curtains. It’d a damn fine
job of fake curtain painting had they been done anyplace anywhere else. But here?
To stand in comparison to that ceiling? It wasn’t fair.
So,
yes, Michelangelo is to blame for the failings of the Sistine Chapel. Compared
to what he did with the front wall and the ceiling the remainder of the Sistine
Chapel looks like the kid stuff that you stick on the refrigerator door—and
trust me, it would require some very talented kids, but still the disparity
exists.
We
were only allowed ten minutes in the chapel, which is the norm. We were implored
to be quiet and respectful; this is more of a request than it once was as the
Swiss Guard no longer impales violators. A prayer was said during our
ten-minute observation period by the presiding clergy.
As
previously mentioned we were part of a tour group (group of 2, but that still
counts). I recommend this as the only way to go to the Vatican Museum as it
gets you though the secret entrances (doors) that only tour-guides have access
to.
Our
next big-ticket stop was Michelangelo’s Pieta. There is no obvious indication
of the damage done in 1979, although it does now sits behind a protective
barrier. Carved from one piece of marble—blah, blah history lesson. Forget the
history for the moment or that Michelangelo was just twenty-four when he carved the
Pieta and was just beginning to flex his muscles. To see the Pieta in person is to
experience living stone (marble). There’s blood coursing through those veins!
Well there was, Jesus is actually depicted as dead. But the sorrow of his
mother, though obviously drained, is very much alive.
There
are subtle symbolisms carved into the masterpiece, none of which I was
previously aware. Mary, the virgin mother, is indeed filled with a palatable
sorrow, but her face is of someone younger than that of her son, Jesus. And Jesus, himself, is not like most figures
created in this era. He is not the typical Herculean figure, but he is weak, emaciated,
and lifeless in his mother’s arms.
The
clock stops for no one, even when you’re standing in the presence of greatness.
We were running late, we’d hired a car to get us back to the mother (cruise)
ship. We sent our regrets to Pope Francis, who I understood had prepared an
impressive cheese dish for our lunch. That may be the only meeting that I’ll
ever regret missing.
With
some confusion we were eventually able to get back on board. Apparently the
cruise ship had experienced some computer problems while we were in Rome and
nobody had been able to disembark. They’d been stuck in port all day. We
returned to our room and prepared for dinner at our newly assigned table.
I
guess as punishment our previous dinner assignment was changed, still the assigned
dinner table idea is nice. The dinner buffet is nice too, but you seldom talk
with the other guests in the buffet. Assigned dinner seating encourages the
on-board buddy system. Our new dinner companions were a career British military
man, his wife a small museum curator (She was normal size; the museum is small.)
A second British couple who ran their own hypnotherapy clinic. They were very
engaging; I gave them my wallet before we left. The third couple at our table
was a seemingly nice pair, but a little more secretive than the rest of us. I
suspected a Mr. & Mrs. Smith type of thing, although likely retired.
Tomorrow
we pull into Palermo, Sicily for a short stay--from around 10:00 AM to 6:30PM.
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