Investigating the Vatican

The Vatican. I would like to say that my grand entrance into that bastion of Christendom was a graceful one.

But no. The Line A of the Rome Metro was in a tizzy, so I escaped from the underground for a bus and some fresh air. Crowding onto a bus with other tourists and some nuns, I bobbled about until, judging by the mass exodus of said nuns, I had reached the stop closest to St. Peter's. Bypassing semi-desperate tour guides in search of an audience, I proudly presented my reservation to the guard at the Vatican Museum. He was not impressed, but he did let me in, so I didn't quibble with him.

And then I got lost. Now, my ability to get positively turned about in a building has added numerous gray hairs to my venerable mother's head, particularly when she lost me in a massive Hobby Lobby. I was 16. Too confused to find a map, I just followed the signs and the tour groups.

This does NOT help with disorientation.

Somehow, it worked. Eventually I realized that I was, in fact, seeing everything I was supposed to. The Hall of Maps, the Laocoon group, the Raphael rooms, the Sistine Chapel, etc. etc. Being slightly lost made the whole experience like exploring, which was fun in a dizzying, confusing sort of way. I really enjoyed the museum. The Sistine Chapel was beautiful, though the security guards seemed to have been chosen for their anger management issues.

I got lost again finding the exit, but once again I followed my feet, and managed to stumble upon the Basilica. I went through metal detectors and under the inspection of the Vatican fashion police, on the lookout for spaghetti straps and miniskirts. I felt like I was back in private school, tugging down my skirt for a particularly strict teacher. Having been deemed suitable for entrance, I was set loose on the Basilica.

I spent most of my time craning my neck, trying to get a better glimpse of the beautiful ceilings, and the statuary placed at inconveniently high levels. St. Peter's is the product of centuries of decoration, and it was slightly overwhelming. I couldn't figure out where I was supposed to look, so I just kept looking. Even as I was leaving, I was turning around trying to catch a last glimpse of it all.

Returning to the sunshine, I accosted another tourist to take my photo.

Castel St. Angelo was closed, so I walked through the covered market before returning to the hostel. And yes, I got thoroughly lost. Domes, it seems, aren't particularly useful landmarks in a city full of them.

I got up early the next morning and trundled my suitcase back to the train station. It was a thoroughly uneventful trip, a pleasantly anticlimactic farewell to Italy. The flight from Rome left on time. The gate in Paris was near food and restrooms. (It was even the same exact gate for my flight from Paris to Rome last month.) I didn't get lost in the Arlanda airport. And, waiting for me in Umea, was my dear friend Sanna.