Yesterday I spent most of the day at the Vatican...in line for the museums and then St. Peter's. Now, it is true that one cannot assume the majority of those in line were Catholic, or even Christian, but one can make the claim that getting into the Vatican Museums is a full-contact sport, followed by a strange sensation that you are one of thousands of mice within a great big maze making your way to the cheese (that would be the Sistine Chapel).
About the line. First things first. I arrived to the line about 9:15am, thinking (quite stupidly) that I would beat the crowds, seeing as it opened at 8:45. True, my intent had been to get there by 8:30, but you will recall the sleeping pill of the day prior! Upon arrival, the situation did not seem so dire. One could see (or so one thought) the entrance just at the end of the road, 'twenty minutes', one might think. One was so very, very wrong. What seems like an entrance is really just an intersection. You essentially follow a great wall (the wall that runs along the outside of Vatican City), zigzagging with traffic for two major turns...each one seeming like an end of sorts...and a long, known terribleness in the middle. What you don't expect, or rather, I didn't expect, when going to one of the places thought to be excessively holy (even after the whole priest molestation thing), is that people will be actively looking to get as far ahead in the line as possible. I am happy to report that while Americans around me continued to say truly stupid things, we were not among those shoving our way to the front of the line. Nay. I distinctly heard a lot of French and a lot of Italian from those elbowing me in the back, slipping past strollers, nudging for position. Now, you know me. I hate cheating. It makes me crazy when people feel like they have some level of importance above that of everybody else. So I did my best to thwart the efforts around me. My only success was short-lived (as I assumed we were quite close the entrance when we really had an hour and a half left or I did anyway) as I was able to keep a man from passing me after his girlfriend had literally been riding my arm for ten minutes before bursting past. He was less inclined to knock me over and as she shimmied her way ahead in the line, I blocked his way. I am a center on a football team, afterall. If I can't stop a person from moving past me when we're walking at a snail's pace, I've got no business yelling 'huddle!' on a Sunday morning.
All in all, I was in line for the museums for roughly two and a half hours in the beating sun with horrible people. I don't want to judge, but of course I do it anyway. As it turns out, people are absolute beasts. Ruthless, rude, self-righteous, and it amazes me we haven't completely obliterated ourselves yet. If we're willing to knock each other out for Jesus, it just seems we may have missed the point.
Second, about the maze and the cheese. So, once you're inside, there's really no way of knowing where you are. All my guide books said their were colored arrows painted on the floors to lead you through different itineraries, and this simply is not true. There are only signs that say 'Sistine Chapel' with an arrow. Now, I wanted to see it all and was afraid if I followed the signs to the Sistine Chapel I would miss everything else. But you essentially have to go through the whole museum, save for a few rooms off to the side, to get there. And it makes you feel like you are in a maze with, quite literally, thousands of other people. You must keep moving as there is a flow and stopping at any time is a dangerous proposition...cuz people want to see the cheese! It is quite comical, actually, as the people who are there only to see the Chapel have to go through hours of museum rooms just to reach it. And once there, share the space with a packed floor. A bit like attending a U2 concert, I think, standing room only, crushed together and looking up.
The Sistine Chapel. It's like nothing else. How anyone could really worship in there with so much to look at--every surface painted, every arch and panel another scene--is beyond me. Weep, yes. Worship, no. But then, I'm not much of a worshipper, really.
Third. St. Peter's. This place in unbelievable (more on that later). I walked all around the inside, climbed to the top of the dome (I really like the climbing thing, I guess, and this was much better than the Duomo in that they were thoughtful enough during its construction to incorporate two sets of stairways so that now one goes up and another goes down), and visited the tombs of 'dei papi'. People were throwing roses and leaving photos and openly wailing at Pope John Paul's tomb (the recently deceased...I don't know which number he is). Some of these tombs are incredibly ornate, with bronze or marble versions of the pope lying in his snazzy pope attire (sorry, Catholics, I have no idea of the correct terminology here--though I'm almost certain it's not 'snazzy pope attire').
Fourth. Now, my Catholic friends may take some offense to the things I'm about to say and I can live with that, but I also want to note that I'm making very broad generalizations mostly on the leadership of Catholicism, not (necessarily) on the believers themselves. That said, what in God's name were they thinking??? These churches (St. Peter's, which could fit at least 20 of my home church which is considered quite large in the US within it just on the ground floor, a good forty if we could stack them) are like palaces! And then, the Pope actually lives in...a palace! Don't get me wrong. The beauty of these spaces left me weeping more than once (and that is not a joke at all, they are simply astounding in scope and purpose and you can feel how much adoration, indeed exaltation, went into the creation of them); but for Jesus? A man of piety and humbleness who was supposed to be the human representation of God? There's nothing humble about these places of worship at all. They are the most ornate places I have every seen, make the white house look like a log cabin.
And I just have to say it...I'm sure I'm not the first...but why is it that the nuns all dress in these very plain outfits, live in very plain quarters and the priests live in palaces, their robes ornately fashioned, their chairs and pulpits those of kings? Perhaps it's my protestant upbringing, but these visual testaments are overwhelming, so much gold and marble and intricacy...so much space. Again, breath-taking. Truly. But goodness.
Fifth. My visits to all these places and the vast lines of people all behaving quite badly has spawned an idea. I may just rewrite Dante's Inferno in some respect to map out some rings of hell for our current day sins. Like line-cutting. I'm pretty sure he left that one out and it needs to be represented! And assuming lesbians want to tell you about their sex lives because you are 'fascinated' by the idea. Those kinds of things. I've started a list. Also include are things like: including mushrooms in every vegetarian dish on a menu, pick pocketing, saying truly stupid things outloud, etc. I picked up a copy of The Divine Comedy today, in fact, to start just after I finish my Leonardo Di Vinci biography.
Okay, and finally, you all want to know about Fabio. At least this is what I imagine to be true. The truth is that Fabio didn't show up...or I was waiting in the wrong place....or I misunderstood the time. In any case, no Rome at night via a scooter for Kris. Imagine my sad face now. I would have loved to have seen it that way (assuming, of course, I was alive at the end). So, Fabio remains a pretty nice hour in my days in Rome, sitting in the shade of a hillside where horse and chariot races used to take place, drinking very expensive and delicious champagne, and talking ruins as they glowed just across from us.
I'm taking an overnight train to Provence (Arles, actually) tonight for three nights in the country (though my hotel is on a highway...ah, the downsides of budget travelling!). And then I'm off to Barcelona and then the Pyrenees.
Until next time! (oh, and I'm going to attempt to upload some more photos).
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