Okay, here's where we left off . . .
Monday 28 May. We were still in Florence, ate a quick breakfast of rolls, butter, nutella (good stuff), coffee and some hot chocolate that most people said tasted like warm milk with chocolate added for color. I liked it, but it wasn't very sweet. We got on the bus, said goodbye to our driver Sylvanus (gold medallion man), and had a new driver named Johnnie (possibly part of the mafia. Good thing we didn't speak Italian or we would have been nervous. The cars passing and yelling at us seemed to speak perfect Italian, to which Johnnie responded, also yelling out the window while driving around breakneck curves in the mountains or the Autostrada. Enough about Johnnie). We drove through Tuscany, which was absolutely beautiful, and saw cream colored houses set on hills with terra cotta tile roofs, vineyards, and olive groves. Honestly, I think I was deeply involved in a conversation with the person I was sitting next to, and only saw the scenery in passing. We took an obligatory stop at a gift shop (they'd paid our way to Rome or Assisi), and I bought some things for friends and saw a couple dogs. The bus climbed a hill and we found ourselves in Assisi, the home of St. Francis (of Assisi). We took a short tour of the town, saw the church of St. Clare, followed a road through town to Francis' church, where he's buried, and watched the clouds roll in from the surrounding hillside. We went inside the church, and when we came out, we got pelted with rain. I had left my poncho in the car.
The neatest thing here was seeing Francis' tomb underneath the main church, and the tomb of Martin of Tours, the guy who brought Eastern monasticism to the rest of Europe and might have been a link for the Irish monks, Patrick included. We were on our own for lunch, so Chris and I left the group and found a nice restaurant tucked away up a hill in the heart of town, away from the main street, got out of the rain and sat down to the best meal we would have the whole trip (bread with olive oil and a salad, pasta noodles with mushrooms, ravioli, spinach, more mushrooms, thinly sliced beef, sausage, and fruit with ice cream). We then headed back into the rain and found shelter in the Roman temple of Minerva that had been converted into a church. It still had high Ionic or Corinthian columns holding up a porch, and this is where we stood. I told Chris about the time I nearly ran away from home but got stuck in a rainstorm instead, and he told me about how he became a Christian. All while waiting for the rain to stop.
Then we were off for Rome. It stopped raining after we got on the bus.
Tuesday, 29 May: Rome.
The hotel in Rome had a balcony, and ivy climbing up the walls. It was a busier city than I envisioned, and there were more Smart cars than I'd seen anywhere else. By appearances, a car could park wherever there was space, though this wasn't totally true because we saw a car being towed one of the mornings we were there. We couldn't figure out why, but I guess there are some places even in Rome where you can't park. We also saw a car scrape against the shoulder guard rail, right itself, and keep on going. Even though there were four lanes to the road, about six cars could--and did--ride side by side, especially if there were some motorcycles in the mix.
We started out at the church of St. Peter in chains, and saw more "authentic" chains of when Peter was in prison (we'd seen other "authentic" chains earlier). Michelangelo's Moses was also there.
We walked to the Coliseum, and it started to rain. Luckily, I'd remembered to bring my poncho (also dubbed a tent) and we walked around the Coliseum, took pictures of the stands and the labyrinth of walkways, holding pens, and passageways below the floor, and decided to wait out the rain. Fortunately, there was a gift shop and a sculpture exhibit on Eros, so we made our way past Greek vases and Roman statues, and waited for the rain to stop. Bethany and Stasi and I spent a lot of time together that week, and the two ladies thought it would be a great idea if we actually had a battle in the Coliseum, since that's what people did in the Coliseum, they fought . . . and died. We wondered how short careers would be as a gladiator would be (probably not very many commercial offers, or the opportunity to open up restaurant chains or car washes). Stasi and I fought, I died, and Bethany caught the whole thing on video. So the gladiatorial games are still alive and well in the Coliseum, though not as bloody or violent.
We made our way up Palatine hill in the rain, saw the remains of Emperor Domitians palace, saw the Arch of Titus (?), Trajan's Column, the Circus Maximus, and the Pantheon. The Pantheon was bigger than I imagined, and truly awe inspiring.
In Florence we had seen the statue of David (Michelangelo's). It stood at the end of a hall, was fourteen feet tall, and the minute we saw it we saw nothing else. Even now it's hard to describe. It was perfect, flawless, the ideal human body, and a thing of beauty. Stasi said, "I wonder what Michelangelo must have felt, stepping back from this when it was done. I think he know he'd created a masterpiece. It would have been strange to see the two together, the statue and Michelangelo: Michelangelo small and human, David larger than life, a giant, a work of art."
The Pantheon was awe inspiring as well, though not in the same way. The Romans had built the dome by pouring concrete, and there were five rows of box-like panels that moved up the dome to the open oculus in the center. On days when it rains, the center of the room is slightly sloped so rain collects in the center, then drains down five holes that were part of the original design. Even now it's a mystery how they were able to pour so much concrete perfectly to create the dome. It's seamless, a modern day engineering marvel.
After lunch we stopped at the church of (I don't know) and saw a painting on the ceiling that gave the appearance of a dome, though it was mostly a flat, or slightly arched, roof. The artist had used optical illusions, so that as you stood in the center of the church it looked like the ceiling went up and up, and depicted the Ascension of St. Ignatius. I don't remember who the painting was by.
In the afternoon, Brandon, Austin and I went to the Capitoline Museum and saw Marcus Aurelius on a horse, a large image of Constantine (at least his head), and the statue of the Etruscan she wolf nursing Romulus and Remus, the brothers who, according to legend, founded the city of Rome. The highlight though was that I got to see the statue of the Dying Gaul, a Roman sculpture of a Galatian Celt that I have seen in several books on Celtic monasticism. The man is resting, leaning heavily on one arm, his torc around his collar his only clothing. A gash is open in his right side and the horn behind him is broken in two. His sword lies on the ground. His tousled, wild hair sticks out like spikes, and his traditional moustache would make any NASCAR driver proud, but even in death, the Dying Gaul has a look of proud nobility, enough to capture the admiration and respect of the artists and soldiers who conquered him in battle.
We ate dinner in Rome, somewhere, but I don't remember where, and we got back to the hotel late, passing the garrison walls that surround much of the city. There would be more Rome the next day at the Vatican, but again, for another time . . .
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