Day Two—October 1, 2007
I’ve heard from a couple of different sources that, for every hour difference between your normal time zone and the time zone you’ve traveled to, you need one full day to get over the ill effects of jet lag.
Italy’s time zone is 7 hours ahead of me and 9 hours ahead of my Mom. So, it’d take me about a week to get to feeling somewhat normal again and my Mom a little more than a week.
Tough titty; we weren’t going to have that kind of luxury, as the vacation would be over within a week and we’d just have to suck up the side effects and strive ever onward and stuff.
The point here was to see as much of Rome as we possibly could in a day, and the tour company had a very full schedule planned for us. Our first stop would be the Vatican City, the Biggest Little City in the World and the personal pleasure playground of the Pope. It’s Catholic Candyland, baby.
Now, Roman traffic laws don’t really exist, from what I could see (when you can get up to four cars trying to maneuver side by side at the same time in the same direction, you have to kind of marvel at the lack of road rage and the amount of general civility Roman drivers have). However, there is apparently pretty strict parking/driving enforcement outside the walls of the Vatican City, so our tour bus driver got us as close as he could to where the line into the Vatican City (or, rather, the Vatican Museum) starts. Which meant, much like zombies, we had to slowly shamble our way up some stairs as we stumbled toward where we needed to line up rather than just being pushed out of the bus in front of the entrance. We started lining up around 7:30 or so, and the funfair gates don’t actually open until about 8, but you wouldn’t believe how quickly that line lengthened. It would have made any 2 hour Disneyland line feel inadequate. (And when I mentioned earlier about the enforcement of parking regulations outside the Vatican City, I wasn’t kidding. Another tour group’s bus driver had parked where he shouldn’t have in order to get his tour group in line without their having to walk up the stairs we hauled ass up. The fuzz showed up, made him call his group back onto the bus, and made them drive over to drop them off where we had originally been dropped off, meaning they lost their place in line to a couple hundred people before they were able to get back in line.)
It was during the wait that we were issued what would automatically stamp us as Tourists (notwithstanding our constantly clicking cameras). A little audio device on a bright red lanyard that was to hang around our necks and be our constant companion for the next few days (At least we got a decent-looking ear piece with it...other tour groups I saw had what looked like a bright blue plastic tube running from their audio devices to their ears. Thank God for small mercies.)
Eventually the Cattle Prodding began and we slowly made our way to the entrance. There’s a fancy shmancy MVSEI VATICANI entrance which is there for show (it may have actually have been an entrance to the Vatican Museum at one point, but those days are probably long gone.) Two of Rome’s favorite Renaissance sons, Michelangelo and Raphael, are perched like carrion birds of prey on it. Now, at first it may seem unfair that Michelangelo is shown as a knobby kneed old man and Raphael is shown as a youth with flowing rock hair, but then again Michelangelo lived into his 90s (or very close to them) whereas Raphael didn’t even crack 2 score years.
At some point our tickets were checked, then checked a few more times. After passing through a metal detector (thankfully there was no body cavity search) we entered the Vatican Museum proper.
One word description: HUGE.
I’m not sure how it measures up in terms of actual floor space or whatnot in comparison to other heavyweights of world museums, but when you consider it houses the personal art collections of Popes from across the centuries, why, it’s very much like a packrat’s dream in terms of the amount of items to be viewed.
Unfortunately, the pace of our particular tour (coupled with the crush of humanity surrounding you on all sides) meant I didn’t really get a chance to stop and look at what I wanted for as long as I wanted. The odd nekkid marble butt here, the coyly fig leaf-covered marble johnson there, and so many paintings, frescoes, tapestries…it would’ve taken more than a day to see everything, and our tour didn’t even go through a lot of the rooms. (I believe there’s a section of Egyptian antiquities, but I never saw anything like that.)
But, of course, the main thing the Vatican Museum is known for is the Sistine Chapel.
Guess what? No flash photography is permitted. Delicate frescoes and all.
Which is a shame, because it was truly fantastic. Michelangelo had originally been offered the opportunity to paint the chapel’s ceiling. Michelangelo, being a temperamental artiste, initially refused, since he was a sculptor, not a painter. When the Pope hinted that Raphael would eagerly take on the task, Michelangelo, not to be outdone by the whippersnapper, taught himself how to paint and left us something truly wonderful.
The original plan was for Michelangelo to paint scenes from the lives of the 12 Apostles.
The 12 Apostles are found nowhere within the Sistine Chapel.
In addition to the awesomely bad ass ceiling, there’s a little something known as The Last Judgment, which covers one entire wall of the Chapel. It contains Michelangelo’s only self-portrait (his face is on the flayed skin of St. Bartholomew), and a little joke at the expense of a Cardinal who insisted that all naughty bits be covered in Michelangelo’s works within the Sistine Chapel. (This particular Cardinal’s in Hell, and there’s a serpent biting on his one-eyed snake.)
After finally clawing our way through the huddled masses in the Sistine Chapel, we were free, FREE! Free to mingle with the huddled masses within St. Peter’s Basilica.
One word description: HUGE.
Again, so much to see and not nearly enough time to see it.
As soon as you walk in the front door, if you gaze to your right you’ll see Michelangelo’s Pietà…well, actually, his most famous Pietà, as he sculpted a total of four of them over his lifetime.
It’s kind of an odd feeling to be seeing, actually seeing, things that I’d only seen before in art books and history books.
My photos inside St. Peter’s came out…OK, I guess, if still a bit underlit. But at least I was having better luck with my photo phun than my Mom, who ended up cussing over her camera’s performance.
A good little Catholic girl like my Mom. Cussing. In a Catholic Church. Nay, in what is possibly the most Catholic of Catholic Churches.
We hurried out on the double lest a lightning bolt decided to come down and smite us.
Well, that and the tour group was moving on, with or without us.
We were given a brief break after our tour of St. Peter’s…just enough time to grab a quick panini and some bottled water (lots of bottled water)…but, oddly enough, not enough time for a bathroom break.
Back when I’d last been in Europe, it generally wasn’t too hard to find a public bathroom on the streets. Italy’s evidently a little different. Generally tucked away downstairs from most establishments, and usually for a fee (.50 Euros to 2.00 Euros!) if there was an attendant.
It was with a sigh of almost orgasmic relief that we saw the tour bus come to pick us up to deliver us in air-conditioned comfort to our next stop…
View the pictures here.
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