Europe (Part IX): Rome

14 August 2014

I wake up at 0900 to get breakfast offered by Hotel Duca d'Alba for absolutely nothing. From croissants to bruschetta to tomatoes crusted in cheese to bacon and eggs to watermelon and mangos to anchovies; the meal was perfect. When I sat down, the waiter brought forth coffee in a porcelain pot with a bit of warm milk and some sugar in a silver sugar bowl. I felt quite classy as I ate in my pajamas.

I showered, got ready for the day, and took the metro to the Vatican with a biglietto giornaliero (a metro pass for the day). I walked down into Saint Peter's Square quite solemnly as beggars along the road pleaded for money. The square is a circle, lined with great columns with statues of saints lining the top. Basilica di San Pietro sits at one end. My first though was, "Wow, this is very impressive. It must have taken many offering to collect the money needed to construct such a home for the bishop of Roma. Was this here when Peter was pope?" And thus begins the gradual decline of my good feelings for the Catholic Papacy.

I paid €5 to climb the 551 stairs of the dome of Saint Peter's Basilica, which took me to the top of dome, out onto the roof, and around the perimeter of the beautiful cathedral. The dome of the bishop of Rome's cathedral is lined with gold and stands high above the massive cross of the sanctuary. When I had walked around the highest point in all of Roma, I descended the 551 steps into the sanctuary. Here is where the fumes of disappointment begin to lick the tiles upon which I walk. Marble statues line the walls; granite tile lines the floor; gold plates all things upon each altar, even for each chapel. How many Medici’s does it take to build Vaticano? How many Catholics gave all they had to receive the salvific power of their God-Pope so that the four posts on the pope's bed could be plated in the finest gold there ever was? Does the size of your crucifix and the material in which it is made bring you any more praise from The Lord? Does gold for our throne glorify His? Does wearing all white in purity make you any less filthy than the man in rags the literally lies at your doorstep? I entered Vaticano with much respect for the headquarters of the Catholic Church; I left with a bitter taste in my mouth. I guess it took me the most powerful church in the world to realize that all churches with such magnificence are quite hypocritical. I hate to say it, but I would argue that the redcoats of Vaticano are more like Pharisees than disciples. I watched a white-robed priest pass a begging woman and sneer at her. And don't let me forget how all dead popes lie in the vaults under the basilica to continually be glorified, praised, even worshipped by Catholics to this day. But enough!

On a lighter but equally telling note, nobody said "bless you" or “Salute” when I sneezed.

Here is where I shall end my rant and move on to other things. I probably will have a post about this at a later date, when my disappointment is not so fresh and raw. Anyway, the most breathtaking thing about the Vatican is St. Peter's tomb. The rock on which Jesus Christ built his church was resting less than ten feet from where I stood. The first of the original twelve Christians was here; I was in his presence.

I left solemnly, letting my temper cool with a walk around the perimetre of the city within a city. When I neared the metro, I stumbled on a ristorante called Pizza. Guess what, they sold pizza. I had two slices of what looked like mushroom, tomato, and cheese pizza. I am not totally sure what it was, but it was delectable.

From here, I took the Metro to Spagna, where the Spanish Steps are located. I counted 136 steps from the bottom to the top of this stair. The steps are interesting because uno) they are featured in Everybody Loves Raymond’s Italian vacation episodes and due) they are an international construction, with help from French, Italian, British, and Spanish natives. I summited and descended the steps and walked to the Pantheon in the middle of town. The Pantheon is a church nowadays that holds the tomb of Raphael. I've seen so many dead people lately. The Pantheon looks as though it is about to crumbled, actually. After I took enough photos, I took the Metro back to my hotel room.

A quick rest and I was back out again, this time headed to a place a little more down my alley. Quite literally, I walked down back alleys until I reached Sant'Eustachio Il Café. This small and quick café is the most famous in Roma, probably making it one of the best coffee shoppes in all of Italia. I had a moretto, then another moretto. And I couldn't leave without getting a friend and myself some beans and myself a stovetop espresso maker. I have never seen one like it: a spout from the bottom forces the pure espresso up and into your espresso glass. I cannot wait to try it out as soon as I get home!

I walked around until I found Agrodolce, a abbastanza caratteristico ed elegante adorabilmente ristorante in a small side street near the Colosseo. I ordered the menu special: bruschette, capesante e funghi, insalata, patatine fritte, tiramisù, chianti, acqua, pane, olio d'oliva, e caffè espresso. I spent a good bit of time partaking in the traditional multi-course meal. Once my stomach had reached capacity, I knew it was time to head back to my room to lay down for a bit. I took a short nap before heading back down to the Basilica di San Pietro to see it at night. The statues lining the square and the front façade of the cathedral are lit up in yellow lights; quite beautiful.

On my way back to the metro station, I got some gelato at a gelato shoppe filled with nuns! It was called Blue Ice and I had pistachio, coconut, and cappuccino flavored Goodness. I slowly wandered back to the Metro and then to my room, where I had lights out as soon as I walked in the door. I'm quite tired lately, staying up late and waking up early.

15 August 2014

Another fantastic breakfast at Hotel Duca d'Alba and I'm back on the ancient roads of Roma. I walked no more than five hundred paces when I reached the end of the Foro Romano. I gazed out upon the oldest and greatest city, once a thriving place of business. There are old archways and columns, stone paths and foundations for homes and temples. Beyond the forum lies Palatino, which remains cluttered with buildings older than time. Two thousand years ago, this was a bustling metropolis; nowadays what remains is rubble surrounded by a modern world. Tourists line the walls of the Ancient City to see what once was. From the entrance gates, I made my way north to the Campidoglio, which currently serves a similar purpose as our Capitol Hill. Long ago, when the world was first introduced to the Messiah, when Jesus walked the earth and his feet tread alongside his disciples', the Campidoglio served as a prison, Mamertine Prison. After the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, this prison held both Peter and Paul.

From the window in which the writer of the majority of the New Testament gazed out of as he wrote letters to the Christians within the cities of Greece and Italy did I see the remains of what he looked on with his hands and feet chained together for his imprisonment for Christ. I was in Paul's cell. There was a coldness to the stone walls of his cell, much like the walls of Peter's cell. It was from these rooms that the foundations of my faith, along with the faith of millions, was forged with ink. Without the New Testament, how could Christians look to scripture for answers? We would still follow the old Law and all of its legalities. From these cells of imprisonment my freedom was recorded.

Absolutely one of the most spiritual moments of my life.

I walked from here to Circo Massimo, where Caesar would host races for the ancient people of Roma. I took a walk around the perimetre before heading down the road to the Colosseo for lunch. I ate at a small ristorante in the Colosseo's shadow; a large plate of pasta Amatriciana was accompanied by some chianti. I am truly loving the Italiano way of food, their way of life.

On my walk back to the room, I had another cono di gelato, which is far better than any ice cream in the States. Italiano gelato is better than Ben & Jerry's and even Jeni’s. I finished just as I got back to the hotel, where I sat down and planned when I would make the trip from Roma to Fiumicino. I had just about an hour and a half before my shuttle arrived, so I decided to make a trip to the Basilica Papale San Paolo fuori le Mura. Still recovering from the kairos of his prison cell, I knelt at the foot of the sarcophagus of Paul of Tarsus. What remained of his bones, the bones of a man that spoke directly to Jesus on the road to Damascus, the bones of the most important Christ follower that has ever lived—those bones were laying still under my nose. I was with St. Paul and St. Peter within a 24-hour period. I do not worship these men, but I do look up to them as the most faithful and wisest men that have ever lived.

I need a moment...

I could not stay too long at the basilica, because a service was being held and I did not want to interrupt them too terribly. So I headed back up to the hotel, checked out of my room, and walked to the capital to wait for my shuttle to Fiumicino. The ride to the Hilton hotel at the airport was not too long, maybe an hour. I read the whole way. Once I arrived and proceeded to check in, the receptionist and I reached a bit of confusion: I was not supposed to be booked until tomorrow night although I had checked out of my hotel in Roma and double-checked everything with the HQ back home (mom). Apparently we had miscounted the days and I had a whole other day left in Roma! Luck would have it; the shuttle left shortly after my arrival so no more than two and a half hours were wasted in this debacle. My extra bit of luck: Hotel Duca d'Alba let me check back in for the room I was in. I was lucky this time!

I went to Crema e Cioccolato (Cream and Chocolate) for a late dinner of nutella crêpe e bianca vino, which should have cost no more than €10 but totaled above €20. This and the confusion from earlier left me feeling rather frustrated and uncomfortable. I just wanted to go home... I do not handle plan alterations too easily. And so after dinner I went straight up to my room and collapsed on the bed, waking up two hours later with the lights still on, my stuff still on the bed next to me, and my teeth not brushed and contacts not out. I give up!

16 August 2014

I slept until the last possible moment: 1000. When my third alarm rang, I decided it was time to get out of bed. I threw on some pants and a shirt and stumbled in a half-daze into the breakfast room, where I took my last Roman breakfast, consisting of the same substances of the past two mornings. At 1030 I was finished with my food and walked back upstairs one flight to my room. The half-gallon of coffee that I had consumed was pushing on my bladder but wakening my mind to the day ahead. Due to recent frustrations, I have decided to make today relaxing and stress-free. Let's just see how well that goes...

I strolled down the old roads of Roma until I came upon a good café for journaling. With an Americano in hand, I typed away for a good solid two hours before heading back to the hotel to grab my bags, walk back to the capital and take the shuttle yet again to Fiumicino. After checking into the Hilton for one night (half a night, really), I took a taxi to the coast of Fiumicino, on the Lungomare. I strolled down the coast of Italia, looking out at the waves that crashed along the shoreline. I don't know if I have been sheltered or something, but two things struck me on this walk. Uno: women do not wear tops on the beaches of Italia. Due: men and women alike enjoy wearing butt-crack-flossing tiny yellow polkadot bikini bottoms. I saw more butts on this mile-long stroll than I have ever wished to see.

Well, after this culture shock, I found a ristorante on the beach and sat down for supper. Ristorante Il Veliero employees do not speak English, at all. It was a culture shock to try to communicate, "I would like to eat" to people that hear "asdh dsgjhb sdgjh sdg." If I had only remembered “Vorrei mangiare,” I would have been great. Once it was communicated that I wanted to eat, they were left having to decipher what I wanted to eat. For some reason, pointing to an item on the menu does not suffice for Italians. I ended up just ordering the "menu specialita." For €25 I had enough food to feed an entire village. It began with a loaf of bread, bread sticks, olive oil, and a glass of chianti. This was followed with quite an array of food: antipasto, insalata di mare, souté di cozze, assorted riso alla crema di scampi, assorted calamarata vongole veraci e funghi porcini, grigliata di spigola e orata, scampo e mazzancolla, insalata mista, and anguria. To top it all off, I had a litre of acqua e caffé. Keep in mind that each of the things listed above is an entire plate of food. That's ten plates of food. I am not exaggerating here. I had to use the loo twice to make a bit more room for another plate or two. It was overwhelming, and when I stood up, I could not stand straight. The belly that had formed was pulling me towards earth.

I wobbled out of Ristorante Il Veliero and waited for a taxi to arrive. When he finally showed up forty-five minutes after I called, I almost fell asleep in the back seat. When I made it home, I crashed onto the bed for a minute. Sadly and slowing rolling off the bed, I got to packing. Once my bags were packed and I was just about ready to go in the morning, I let my eyes close and drifted off into an anxious yet heavy sleep. Today was my last full day in Europe. Tomorrow I fly home. I am glad I ended on a relaxing note along the beaches of Italia with a mammoth meal.

17 August 2014

The alarm went off at 0430. I rolled out of bed more asleep than awake. After fumbling into the bathroom to shower, I checked the room once more for any loose socks and stumbled to the elevator, took it down to the ground floor and went to the counter to check out. Luckily, check out was simple and I had plenty of time to walk from the hotel to the terminal, which is a short walk out the door, up an elevator, down a hallway, and through security.

My Lufthansa flight to Deutschland took off at 0655. I had a cup of coffee in the airport and then two more on the flight. It was a very clear day in Switzerland today, because when the aeroplane approached Lugano, Switzerland, I could see the enormity of the Alps out of the cabin window. I could tell the plane was climbing as the foothills shot out of the flat landscape surrounding Milan. When we crossed the border and were in Swiss territory, I stared out of the window upon an endless horizon of snow-covered peaks that reminded me of Celebdil, Caradhras, and Fanuidhol from the Misty Mountains above Moria. We were like the Company as it trudged along, completely at the will of the mountains: minute and meaningless to the great Alps. When we came out on the other side of Switzerland and flew over Neuschwanstein Castle, I knew I had made it into Germany. Caradhras had let us pass peaceably. Hallo, Deustchland! Wie geht’s du? Ich liebe dich und kann endlich mein Wissen nutzen.

Ahh, that felt good. When the plane touched down in Frankfurt, we had to get into a shuttle to get to the terminal. When I breathed that first deep breath of German air, I felt as though “Gesundheit” should have been said as the crisp Aryan air seemed to clean out my lungs from the heated and dirtied air of Roma. Note: Although the air was crisp and clean and wonderful, I am not an Aryanist; I just had to make some type of “Nazi joke” while in das Führerland. Anyway, I got a nice cup of Milchkaffe und eine Parfait. Because I only had a few hours in Frankfurt, I did not run off and explore all the interesting facets of Deutsch Kultur. I simply relaxed and took it in.

When my Kaffe und eine Parfait were gone, I boarded the Lufthansa flight and got comfortable for the eleven-hour flight to Dallas, Texas. I sat next to a man who had just completed a pilgrimage from the upper shores of France to the center of Roma. He walked the entire distance in a few months’ time. He was leaving Frankfurt because he had a Freunde there. We were served two meals and refreshments during the course of the flight. I had a filling dinner and a decent breakfast. My dinner was accompanied with my last glass of wine, for my 20-year-old self cannot legally have such a drink in the land of the free. I watched some movies, finished The Two Towers and napped. We flew over Iceland and Greenland, Canada and even Chicago. By the eighth hour of the journey, I was ready for home.

When I landed in Dallas, I had to grab my checked bag, go back through security (Customs was very easy, to my surprise), and board a United flight to Nashville. When I landed in Nashville, Tennessee, Stephanie Molskness picked me up and took me to my new home in Bruin Hills. I now live in the flat upstairs at Bruin Hills Apartments 2038. It was 7:30pm on the Seventeenth of August when I dropped my bags on the floor of my living room and sat down on the provided sofa in my flat.

My adventure was 38 days long. It is bursting at the seams with memories that will last a lifetime. I have seen a new corner of the world and will forever long to see it again. The world beckons me forth and I shall not keep her waiting too long. 38 days is quite a bit of time. I’ve grown; I have discovered more of who I am, who I am meant to be(come). From Nashville to England, Scotland, Wales, France, Italy, Vatican City, Germany, and then back home; There and Back Again. I’ve traveled through countrysides, under cities, and over mountains.

But after 38 days, I am quite ready to sit back and enjoy the place I now call home. I look forward to finding a routine. I look forward to seeing my family members and friends. I miss them. I miss predictability and order. I now know that there is a balance. Life is not just about staying at home and working; equally, life is not just about exploring every corner of the world. We need both. We need to pack a bag and go, but we also need a place to return. Not all those who wander are lost, and not all those that return are the same as they were before their adventure.

My journey ends here, and so life begins again, but always changed through the experience of traveling the world. So when shall I see you again, Europe? Soon, I suppose. Soon enough.