Heading to Hogwarts -- Umm, St. Peter's

Basilica: from Latin, from Greek basilikē hall, from basilikē oikia the king's house, from basileus king; see basil

(Dictionary.com)

The Vatican is Hogwarts for Catholics and art lovers. Never have the two groups been so pleased simultaneously, except perhaps during the Counter-Reformation. Traveling to Piezza di San Pietro is a little bit like traveling to the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: we were chattering so much on the bus that the driver kept shouting, "FERMATA! FERMATA! FINE! GET OFF HERE!" Or something like that.

We kept talking until the basilica came into view - and words after that were both superfluous and spoken.

We paid 15 euros to get into the Vatican Museums. There are 4 miles of galleries, stretching in both time and space between ancient Egyptian collections and modern religious art. The artists are primarily Italian (except for the Egyptians, of course.) My museum buddy and I stumbled upon the statue of Laocoon and his sons. This violent, expressive work of art has been featured in several of my textbooks. The Vatican curators did not read my textbooks, since Laocoon stares angstily in a random corner of a sculpture garden. No fanfare, no major sign, just a poor dad, his kids and two hungry snakes hidden next to a pillar.

Rome is like this. Thanks to a modern attention span, nobody has enough energy to point out every work of art or architecture. One trips and BOOM! two thousand year old masterpiece. Thank goodness I trip a lot.

This is me in my favorite room, la Galleria delle Carte Geografiche. The gallery seems endless, with a sparkling gold ceiling and its walls stretched with enormous, beautiful maps of Italian regions. I spent this last semester working on maps in Renaissance literature, and I spent the thirty minutes in this gallery going "OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOSH! YOU SEE THAT? THAT'S A SEA! THAT'S A SEA! OH MY GOSH! IT'S A SHIP! IT'S A SHIP!" This was all shouted at Vatican-inappropriate levels in my squeaky-squeaky voice.

My museum buddies enjoyed the benches in this room.

From the moment we strolled into the museum steps, all signs pointed to la Capella Sistina. I thought (for a blonde moment) we were heading for the Sistine Hat (capello is hat, capella is chapel.) Marranda warned me that the Sistine is extraordinarily dark, that no photography is permitted, that much of it is under reconstruction, etc. My expectations were low and my experience was profound.

There is something special about this place. Even after the rooms of Raphael, even after miles of frescoes and paintings and maps, this chapel owns some glorious and non-quantitative quality, somehow unique. I don't know very much about Michelangelo, but I knew the famous outstretched hand of Adam was in this chapel. It is directly above one's head when standing in the middle of the chapel. I stood there for a while, I could have stood there for a long time. There is poetry in the fingers that nearly touch, but don't. A divine poetry.

I shall put up my St. Peter's pictures separately - this post is already long enough. For now, enjoy the blurry beauty of the Tiber at night, crossing over from Castel Sant'Angelo to the Centro Storico region of Rome. We did, avoiding the temptation of Hard Rock Cafe and overpriced French fries.

Nothing like fantastic pasta every night to make one crave one's own cultural starch.