Friday, March 13, 2009

When in Rome...

*The following entry was taken from my travelogues of my Spring Break trip to Europe
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Today we woke up early in order to beat the crowds at the Vatican. After a fairly good breakfast and a chilly wait outside the walls of Vatican City, we began our tour guided by a wonderful fellow named Jean-Pierre. Fortunately, he was speaking into a radio transmitter the whole time so we could always hear him in our earpieces no matter how far away he got.

At first, I was a little bit disappointed and frustrated because it felt like eeryeone was in in everyone else's way as we all tried to take pictures of too many objects in a long, narrow hallways. But after we arrived in the Sistine Chapel (la Capella Sistina), it was a whole different experience. There isn't much warning whenever you are about to enter a significant new area, but in a way this is good because you are completely taken by the suddent new surroundings. The Sistine Chapel was both larger and smaller than I expected-- well, longer lengthwise and shorter height-wise-- although the ceiling was still fairly high, I could still see the paintings clearly. It was like being in an enormous, vividly-colored box that contained-- as Jean-Pierre called it-- "the story of humanity."

Coming out of the crypt, you have no idea that you're climbing a narrow staircase directly into St. Peter's Basilica itself. As I told our guide, "C'è troppo bello per parole:" "It's too beautiful for words."



Really, the enormity of the building and the sheer majesty and splendor of the decorations are awe-inspiring, literally breath-taking. I'm not much of an emotional person, but it was really so gloriously beautiful that I wanted to cry. The size of everything makes you feel very insignificant, especially with how many people are there, too, yet the knowledge that I was standing at the very heart of Catholicism, my Church-- literally built upon the bones of St. Peter-- made me feel completely at home with my place in history and the world, especially when so many other people from all over the world are drawn by such a reflection of His beauty to Jesus, our Light.

It was very frustrating seeing the pitiful results of our attempts to capture such beauty on our cameras-- it's just too much for the eyes to take in-- but I suppose the true beauty we can take away is not any mere photos, but our lives lived for Christ.


If only we had had more than twenty minutes in there! But we had to continue to Il Colosseo, another astoundingly enormous structure. Unfortunately, there isn't much to see there and the place was flooded with tourists, but the beauty of such a place lies more in the knowledge that you are standing in the same place-- almost breathing the same air-- as the people thousands of years ago. As you sweep your gaze around the ruins, you can almost hear the ghosts of hte crowds roaring in excitement, their cries still echoing off the very same walls today.



We spent the rest of the day basically walking the lengh of Rome back to the hotel, seeing such sights as the Forum, the Pantheon, St. Agnes' Basilica in la Piazza Navola (containing her skull), and generally just enjoying soaking up glorious Roma.



On the last leg of our journey, we could not find the train we needed to take, but a very kind, helpful authority of public transportation assisted us. He spoke virtually no English, but thanks to my rudimentary Romance language skills, his generosity, and God's providence, I was able to interpret just enough, and he was apparently so taken with my efforts to communicate in Italian that he secured a bus to drop us off at our hotel door for free! It was a challenge and an adventure, but as difficult as it was, the more I act as an interpreter, the more I know this is what I want to do, and I cannot wait until we get to France. Tomorrow, though, is my last chance to practice l'Italiano in Florence.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Rome!

*The following entry was taken from my travelogues about my Spring Break trip to Europe
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I am just now finally believing that it's actually true: I am finally in Europe! And in Rome to be specific. After a long flight, we have at last arrived in the Eternal City. Getting through the airport was an adventure in itself, though nothing out of the ordinary happened except my fifteen minute wait for food at McDonald's in Atlanta.

The plane was enormous! The biggest one I've ever been on, and although the flight was uncomfortable, I had painted a far worse picture in my head than the actual experience. It is more fun to travel with friends, and there was even a nice Italian mother with two little boys returning to Rome who spoke with us. The coastline and landscape were just stunningly gorgeous in the sunrise at our descent.


I felt a little disheveled and unsettled after such a long trip, but none the worse for wear (except that my stomach slightly pained me from hunger), we were soon driving through a bit of Italian suburbs before reaching Rome herself.

I cannot even begin to describe such a city. It is such an odd yet charming blend of la bella vita and the hectic hustle and bustle of one of the world's great capitals. The drivers are amusing like entertainment while you wait in traffic, as they constantly seek any opening in their tiny little Fiats, Mercedes, and Citroëns, all of which look like variants on the same theme: small, compact hatchbacks. But it is the motorcycle drivers who are the most daring, weaving between lanes whenever they get a chance. And everybody parks in the most haphazard, laughable ways, squeezing in a smart car with Vespas on a curb or just double-parallel parking within the traffic lane.



The Italians themselves are not as welcoming or amiable as I'd hoped or expected, although they do appreciate efforts to speak Italiano, and I did have two kind gentlemen interact with me, the fist of which sold me an Italia shirt for 5 euros and the other, a customer behind us at the grocery store who helped us with the cashier.


However, while I had a few positive experiences trying to communicate in my fourth tongue, it is often the times that things go wrong-- distressing though they be at the time-- that make the most interesting stories.

For example, while I was minding my own business trying to teach two of my friends how to say "I don't speak Italian," a group of three boys my age walked past and pointed at me, saying, "Non parlo Italiano" in a mocking manner. Weird, but I doubt they "parlano inglese" themselves.



Then there was the merchant who seemed to think I was shoplifting his postcards, when i was in fact replacing the magnet i did not wish to buy. Ater a little lingual tango, we figured it out and I was on my way.

But then, on a second trip to the little grocery store-- this time with four different people than my earlier excursion-- something mortifying happened: I was already a little uneasy getting in the way of the Italian shoppers while one of the mothers in our group took pictures of us holding varaints of our own foods found here, but after a seemingly smooth checkout, my friend was being stupid with his money belt at just the moment this particular mom took a photograph. The lady from the pharmacy who was walking by began speaking very rapidly and very angrily to her in Italian before returning to her desk to page a manager. By now, they had closed the door so that no one could leave while they continued rattling on incoherently. By this time, I finally stepped in and put my fledgling interpreting skills to the test by asking if she spoke English-- she did not, of course-- then explaining that we did not speak Italian either.

Fortunately, the lady behind the meat counter spoke a little bit of English, and she politely but firmly commanded our photographer to "cancel" the photo. Somehow, she became convinced, and we were allowed to leave, miraculously. Trying to retain a shred of dignity, I could only say, "Mi dispiace, signora" and "buonna notte."

Good evening, indeed.