The Sacred.

Another slow day today. I woke up early with no plans and tried to find breakfast.

The first place on the map…umm…closed? The second place, so lovely and quaint. Reservations only, next table at 11:00….okayyyy. Is there somewhere else to go? Sure, around the corner, small cafe, very nice. Got it.

Closed. Or, at least not open yet. Walk a ways. Folks outside drinking espresso. Perfect, I’ll stop here.

But it’s weird. A young guy comes out and asks the group next to me to move to the cafe across the street–they own both–because the machine inside is broken. I’m not sure what machine, but a machine.

“Do…we all need to move?”

“No, just some.” Okayyyy.

My American breakfast is a flat, scrambled egg with like, deli ham. Weird. Ok. Anyway, I pay and leave. That is not bacon. The espresso was good though. That’s probably what really matters.

I did have a friend join me for breakfast.

I think I’ll go to Castel Sant’Angelo today. But on the way I realize I am very close to the Vatican. So I decide to go see St. Peter’s. You know, just casually deciding to go to the Vatican today…

Anyway. I get to the square. It’s always felt bigger in pictures…I decide I’ll go in. Bernini’s Baldacchino. I’m not a huge fan of Baroque, but that piece has always fascinated me.

I try to look online to see where to get tickets. My phone is incredibly slow here, and I can’t really figure out why. I look around, nothing says where to go or what to do.

A huge line is wrapping around the square. I get in line. Such a strange thing for me to do. This could be the line where the Pope chops your head off and throws it in the river or something, and I just hop right in and follow along. No questions asked.

When a guy comes up behind me to ask if this is the line for tickets, I realize everyone is just following this line without knowing its destination. “I don’t know, but I’m hoping it is.” He gets in line behind me.

Some very old ladies casually skip in front of me. They’re moving very slowly. And one is coughing, coughing, coughing. Without a mask. They move so slow there’s a gap ahead of them in line, so I just casually walk ahead of them. I don’t want COVID from the Vatican please. Coughing in public makes me so uncomfortable now.

Finally to the front of the line. Metal detectors. More than when I caught the train the other day.

Anyway, I follow the signs to go up to the dome. You can save €2 if you take the stairs. Sure. I’d much rather take five hundred some odd stairs than cram into an elevator.

But damn this is a lot of stairs. I feel like I’m going to suck this N95 mask down my throat I’m breathing so hard. I don’t know why I’m going so quickly, but I am.

I get to the dome and look down. There it is, the Baldacchino. Wow. Bronze. Enormous. The entire space is incredible. So much all around. And just a vast space. Every inch dazzling.

I pass through a door. Uscita or up to the very top. May as well go to the top.

I start winding my way up the stairs. They become narrower and narrower. The space starts to take the shape of the dome. Some people are sitting and taking a break on the side. Not really enough space for that, but I get it.

Tighter and tighter. People directly in front of me and directly behind me. I start thinking about how I would get out if I needed to. Nope. Don’t think about that. I’m breathing so hard. You are not claustrophobic. It is fine. Calm.

Finally to the top. The views are breathtaking. The breeze is nice. Then back down. Uscita. Only slightly better on the way down.

When I get to the bottom I exit right out into the sanctuary. Wow. I had no idea. The space is immense. Statues, carvings, paintings, gold, popes, saints, angels. And there is the Baldacchino. It’s amazing. I walk around it a few times. Candles are lit beside it.

I continue around. A pope here, another pope. More statues, more gold, more marble, more stone. Wow wow wow.

And then I come around a quiet corner and look over to see the Pietà. My god. How could I have forgotten this was here. For some reason I thought I would see it in Florence. What am I thinking. I run back through my art history–of course it’s here.

I don’t have words to do it justice. Michelangelo was only twenty-three when he was commissioned to do the work. A masterpiece. There is something so quietly human about it. It’s smaller than the statues of the popes. It’s smaller than almost anything in the entire space. And yet so, so powerful. A mother holding her son’s lifeless body.

I remember reading about it in my high school Humanities class. It was my favorite class. Taught by the Latin teacher. I think she was about to retire and just wanted to teach it. It was an honors class, just a general honors credit, and it didn’t count for your fine arts credit, so nobody really wanted to take it. I wasn’t competing for highest GPA, I just wanted the class. There were only about 12 people in there. It was so great. I learned so much of what I know about art history from that class. I remember the discussion of the Pietà.

Mary’s body and the base of the statue are disproportionately bigger to cradle the body of Jesus. This gives strength and ease to the forms. Mary cradling the body of a full-grown man, like a child. Her child. There is no strain or anguish on their faces. Mary’s face is youthful. They are peaceful, serene. The moment feels intimate between the two. A moment of loss. Subtle. Beautiful. Spiritual.

The most spiritual moment I have in the entire place. Quiet. Human.

After that, I’m done with the rest. I walk out.

A really beautiful sculpture dedicated to the world’s migrants and refugees in the square. By Timothy Paul Schmalz called “Angels Unaware.”

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-49886953

That above is an article about it (I can’t figure out how to imbed the link, just copy it old-school into the browser). According to the article, “the piece was inspired by the passage, ‘Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.'”

A text exchange with Emily:

“Did you see the Sistine Chapel?”

No, I’m dumb. I just walked out without thinking about it. Maybe it’s better this way. Remember the moment with Mary and keep going.

I’m so damn sweaty from that hike up to the dome. And I’m hungry. But I head over to the Castel Sant’Angelo. I can’t really figure out why I want to go. It’s not particularly beautiful. I think the history of it is interesting. Maybe that’s enough.

Closed on Monday. Great. I walk back down the river. An Aveda store. Oh thank god. I can get some real shampoo that isn’t the hotel shampoo that says “Shampoo+Conditioner” but I’m pretty sure is just body wash with a different color and scent. I’ve just been pulling my hair up into a knot on top of my head. It’s never looked worse. I get some real shampoo and conditioner.

I think about Mary again.

I stop in and grab a pesto panini and fresh squeezed juice from a small cafe on a corner down the street from my room. The juice is wonderful.

A bottle of wine at the corner store and back to my room.

The sandwich is so big I decide I’ll eat half now and half for dinner. I lay down. Something about this place feels like home. Maybe it’s the white walls, the white sheets, the texture of the beams, the sunshine through the skylights. The quiet space with the sounds of traffic outside. I want to rest here, check out for just a minute. That’s also part of the process. Rest. But only for a moment. Because Rome is right outside my door.