the train from Sicily to Rome, especially for Polly. We had sworn that we would get a 2 person cabin, but on a train to Sicily they are only for 1st class passengers and cost about $150 more. What price comfort? More than we had.
It all seemed to wash away anyway when we got to our tiny hotel, which styled itself as a B&B. We had been anticipating meeting the owner, Olga, who had sent us such long & friendly emails with unique & special syntax. She met us downstairs, took charge of Polly's monsterous bag and dragged it up a couple of steps into the tiny lift.
It really was a bed and breakfast. There were only 4 rooms for rent and a room, no, a breakfast salon with bookcases, an ornate table, a couch and a piano. Whilst our room was being made up we had a long conversion, almost all in Italian, primarily about our cats, her cats, the joys of cat ownership, lovable cat antics, cat longevity, and, Olga swore, the fattening and eating of cats by chinese Romans. She brought out one of hers, a 19 year old monster, half as big as her.
We rested briefly, then went out on the Metro to the colloseum. When we exited the station, it loomed above us as huge and as wide as I remembered. I looked to catch Polly's reaction, but she was squinting off into the distance at a ruin. "Is that it?". How could she not see... When she turned and saw it, she actually sagged. We looked around inside, but came away feeling somehow unsatisfied. I'd felt this before on previous visits; there was little feeling of history here. It was as if the rivers of people that have come through had washed all the history away.
The Roman forum is in much poorer condition but has much more. This is the building where the senate met. This is where Julius Caeser's body was burned - and more. But it was our final stop that had atmosphere you could carve with a knife. It was the Carcere Mamertino, the tiny prison where prisoners were thrown through a hole in the floor to starve to death. The cell itself is dark and gloomy, with a pervading sense of opression. There is a list of those that were incarcerated here, including St. Peter, and how they were finished off.
Footsore, we returned to our rooms for a nap and dinner.
Next day saw me buzzing around like a bee - St. Peter's and the Vatican Museum - gotta get there early, gotta get there early...
Polly: Ellen had said to me after seeing St Peter's that it was no wonder people believe in God when surrounded by such magnificence (paraphrasing wildly). I know exactly what she meant. The scale alone gives testament to the importance of the subject matter - although a lot of the time that seemed to be the impotance of Popes rather than the impotance of God. I experienced quite conflicting emotions for the whole time I was 
in the Basilica. In some ways I belonged here - this was the tradition I had been raised in and worked in - this was my spiritual home. I felt awed by the faith and deeds of those who had gone before me - the stories of my history were played out here. But this place also strongly represented the church I decided to leave behind - the one that's very history made it inflexible, sometimes to the point of forgetting the gospel values on which it was based. The church that owned so much wealth whilst beggars sat at her doors. The church where men considered themselves worthy of statues. A very thought provoking visit.
Because time had gotten away from us
we were already a little footsore, I was doubting if this was the day for the Vatican museum. But when we followed people towards the entrance, there were no crowds at all. However, the museum was scheduled to close in a couple of hours. This was fine by me; I'm not really an art appreciator, so we cut our tour to the time and focussed on the really important stuff towards the end; Raphaello's rooms and the Sistine chapel. Whilst appreciating the wonders of the works in the context of their time and place, no epiphany ensued. Perhaps in the modern world it's difficult for sublime work to compete with the range of other media available, media desiged to directly gratify all of our needs. I think that to be properly appreciated in these times, works of art from earlier times need to be ... well, who knows? Probably not me.
Polly: Please note that the above opinions are Tim's only, and do not reflect those of the management. I was totally blown away by the absolute humanity captured in the figures on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel - such strength and almost tangibility, yet still demonstrating man at his most vulnerable. Tim: [snip] had to edit that junk down quite a bit, too many words.
We had a kebab each for a late lunch, then took the Metro back to our digs for a nap. After dinner we set off on a short walk that ended up taking us all over inner Rome; down Via Nazionale, and through a pedestrian walkway to the Trevi Fountain and on the to the Pantheon. It was a mild night, with lots of people about. The city looked lovely at night, with the monuments lit by soft lights and the smell of good food everywhere. It, like so much of this trip, seemed perfect.
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