London Bomb Updates, Roma the II

First off, I've now gotten confirmation that Jazzy, Lara and her Nan are all safe and sound in London. What a relief! I spent a lot of my time yesterday trying in vain to get through by phone, but can now rest a bit easier knowing that all are ok.


My first full day in Rome starts pretty early, and I head down to the kitchen for another mediocre free 'breakfast'. At least there's some variety this time, and I make myself a bowl of cereal, tea, and some sort of chocolatey wafer bar. I had made plans with Scottish Joe and Jacqueline to visit the Vatican today, but after searching all over the hostel for Jacqueline to no avail, Joe and I decide to head out without her. We enter St. Peter's square and my initial thoughts go back to all the coverage over the preceeding pope's death, and election of benedict the XVI. As expected, there are tourists snapping pictures everywhere (myself included). The square is quite a big place, and off to the right we find the queue for entrance into the Basillica. 15 minutes later, we make our way in and I'm very much in awe of the world's most famous church. The ceilings are well over 100 feet tall, with every square inch of wall and ceiling covered in ornate frescoes, gold leafing, and marble decadence. I get a good look at Michalengelo's Pieta sculpture (he completed this at age 24, and its his only work to contain his signature). Every pope has a monument/sarcophogus inside the Basillica, and a couple of them are even "on display" in glass cases. This is definitely the type of place you'd want to be buried in, though for some strange reason I don't think that'll happen for me. There are nun's and priests everywhere, and you can enter a few rooms off to the side to hear mass, and pray.

We leave the Basillica and I grab a panini from a little truck outside. Joe picks up cold pizza, and simultaneously puts down his camera. He realizes this not 5 minutes and 50 feet later, but when we return to inquire about it, it is nowhere to be found.

From there we cough up the outrageous 12euro for entrance into the Vatican museum (home of the Sistene Chapel), and make our way through many halls of marble busts, sculptures and frescoes. We pass through Raphael's room filled floor to ceiling with tapestries, and finally into the sistene chapel. You aren't supposed to take pictures inside, but I can't resist snapping a quick ceiling shot, as I stare in awe at the 500 year old work above. It's definitely cool to see, but I think I was expecting something more lavish or polished than what actually appears in the chapel itself.

We get back to the hostel and I grab some dinner (pizza, what a surprise!), and a big bottle of italian beer. We decide to do the pub crawl that night, and I bring my bottle along for the journey. We're about 25 people strong as our guide takes us through some of the evening sites and explains some of the history in a hip, informal manner (just like my last tour). We hear a ghost story, and I stop to throw a coin into the wonderfully lit Trevi fountain (thus ensuring my return to Rome).

Our guide warns us (and particularly the girls of our group), of the somewhat comical tight-pantsed, hair slicked species known only as the Italin male. The girls are informed not to make eye contact with these wild creatures as we descend the spanish steps, for risk of being taken home to meet their parents (with whom most of them still live). We hurriedly descend the stairs and I can't help but laugh at all the whistling and calls of "ciao bella" at the girls beside me.

At this point the crawl begins, and we are given a free shot at each of the 4 bars we venture to that evening. I chat with the usual tourist grab-bag of Brits, Americans, Canadians, and Australians, and everyone's having a good time. The last bar is actually more of a club, and everyone is well oiled from the booze. We stagger around and try and dance and mingle with some of the locals. Its great fun. A fellow group of montrealers has a bit too much fun, and Joe and I leave the bar to find one of them hugging the pavement outside. He's made a deposit on the street, and when we try and help him and his buddies into a taxi, the driver takes one look at him and refuses to let him in. Joe and I end up hoping into the cab instead, and 5 minutes and 10 euros later, we're back at the hostel, about ready to collapse.