Despite all of this, I love to travel. Thankfully, I do have some redeeming travel qualities: I am an absolute dare-devil when it comes to trying new food, I have no problem making a fool out of myself as I stumble through a new language, I will ask anyone for directions, and I can walk for miles. I say all of this only so that you will have context for the stories that are to come.
This is how my first backpacking trip through Europe began:
My Polish-missionary-teacher-friend Colleen came to Tisovec on Tuesday, December 22nd. I heated up some Zabyacka Capusnica for dinner, we shared some Slivovica, and then (after dancing to the latest USA radio hits on youtube), we went to bed. When we woke up early the next morning, the twenty-four inches of snow that had so delighted me throughout the entire week before had begun to melt. (Please note: Until December 22, 2009, it never occurred to me that snow melted – let alone the fact that snow melts into a miserable mess. If Facebook had a "Snow" Page that you could "become a fan of," I would be the first person removing my name from the fan list. I officially dislike snow.) Wearing our packs, Colleen and I waded through the slushy lake that used to be Tisovec's main street in order to catch the 8:05am bus to Bratislava. We arrived at the bus stop at 8am (FIVE MINUTES EARLY), and an hour later our bus still had not arrived. Andrej, however, did arrive. This drunk and toothless-smile wielding man sporting raw facial wounds resembling raw meat and an ever-darkening, swollen right eye adopted Colleen and I as friends. After uncomfortably stumbling through a conversation, Andrej began gesticulating wildly to us explaining in broken Slovak that our bus was probably not coming and that we should wait for the 9:11 bus to Banska Bystrica. (Colleen and I had already figured this out, and the 9:11 bus was now our “Plan B.”) Somehow, in Andrej’s drunk pantomime, his hand landed on my chest… and stayed there. Let’s just say our trip was off to a stellar beginning.
When our bus finally arrived, we hopped on and prayed that we could find a good connection to Bratislava. After one bus ride, two tram rides later and a lot of worrying, we made it to the airport with twenty minutes to spare. Colleen and I had booked tickets with Wizz Air, a no-frills, cheap airline that earns money by charging people for baggage weight and that saves money by not providing passengers with seat assignments. Thankfully, Colleen and I were able to find seats next to each other. We spent the duration of the plane ride practicing out Italian saying things like: “grazie,” “prego,” and “spaghetti.”
The first thing I noticed on the train ride into the city from the airport was how warm Rome was. We had come from temperatures that hovered just above freezing, and after five minutes in Rome we quickly began shedding layers. The second thing we noticed as we looked out the train window was that Rome had palm trees. Go figure. When we saw people speeding down the highway on their little motorcycles and mo-peds, Colleen and I knew we were in Rome.
We woke up early the next day because Colleen’s dad had gifted us with backstage passes to the Vatican for Christmas. We left with plenty of time to make our 10:30 tour. When we got off the metro, we followed the crowds towards the Vatican. Everywhere we looked, men were selling knock-off purses and watches. People representing restaurants and tour companies were thrusting fliers at us. One man watched us walk by and said jerking his thumb in the opposite direction, “Hey ladies. The Vatican museum is that way.” Colleen and I, who were indeed trying to get to the Vatican Museum, ignored him and kept walking. Within a few minutes, we approached the giant columns that guard St. Peter’s Square. We were immediately knocked off our feet by the Vatican’s one-two punch of power and tradition.
We saw St. Peter and his keys. I wished that I had brought my Bible with us so that we could sit on the steps and read from Romans.
Because St. Peter’s Square was not the Vatican Museum – and because we needed to meet our tour guide at the Vatican Museum, we turned around and walked back through the columns and into the crowds looking for signs to direct us. As we walked along, the man from earlier recognized us and said sassily, “See! I told you the Vatican Museums were that way.” Colleen thought this was hilarious. I was less than amused.
Our tour of the Vatican was stunning in the truest sense of the word – I was unable to process everything I was seeing. Even the walls wreaked history. I couldn’t believe how much money and time was spent through the centuries on the creation and maintenance of this place. While visiting the Vatican, I learned that you should look up, down and all around. The ceilings, of course, were covered in gold. The floors were original tiled mosaics. Here is just a small part of what we saw while we walked the Vatican grounds: This is one of the many ceilings:
This is one of the many tiled mosaic floors:
Here's St. Peter in the Pine Cone Garden:
Our tour ended at the Sistine Chapel. I think we held our breath the whole time we were there. As we were herded into the room, I asked Colleen, “Where are the hands?” We found them quickly, and we stood there for quite a while taking in the beauty and the wonder of the love Michelangelo had captured. The Vatican guards barked, “Silence! Silence, please. No photo! Holy place,” and we took our time slowly walking around the room and through the crowds all the while staring upwards and open-mouthed. We could not take pictures of the ceiling, but here are some that I found online:
After the Vatican tour, Colleen and I stopped at an outdoor café (yes, an outdoor café in the middle of December!) to have lunch. Then, we walked the streets of Rome and people watched. I immediately liked Rome. This city is outrageous and demands your full attention. The people here are beautiful. The Italian women are well-dressed, usually wearing heeled boots and dark eye make-up. The Italian men were even more striking than their female counterparts. Our walk inevitably led us to a gelato shop.
Later, we celebrated our Christmas Eve dinner at McDonalds (a little taste of home) while we sat at the outdoor tables and gazed at the Parthenon.
We attended Caravitas Catholic Church 7pm Christmas Eve mass – in English. Colleen cried her way through singing “O Come, o come Emanuel” and “Joy to the World.” After worship, we were invited to the congregation’s coffee hour – and we were surprised to find that champagne, not coffee, was being offered. This is the organ at Caravitas. We were excited to learn that Mozart played on this organ as a young musician.
We came home to the hostel that night exhausted – only to find that our hostel had decided that everyone needed to celebrate Christmas Eve together. The people we were staying with talked us into going back out to St. Peter’s Square for the pope’s Christmas Eve mass. Because the metro was not running so late on a holiday, we walked across Rome to get to the Vatican. As we approached the square, we were greeted with strains of “Adeste Fidelis.” We joined the crowds of people camped outside the cathedral and watched mass take place on the jumbo screens on either side of the square. This is Pope on the big screen.
This is the life-size nativity scene set up in St. Peter's Square.
We were not there long before the skies opened and rain began pouring. As best we can tell, it was while we were running to the columns for shelter from the rain that Pope Benedict got tackled.
Colleen and I walked home with one of our new friends, Patrick who had been studying in Rome for the fall semester. We assumed (and you know what they say about assuming things…) that Patrick knew where he was going as he led us home. (Patrick also said he had a map when we left the hostel.) Two hours and an “oops, I guess I left the map at home” later the three of us resembled drowned rats, and we still had not located our hostel. Colleen and I learned a lesson the hard way that night – never, ever leave home without your own map. Ever. Still, I guess we can check getting lost in Rome in the middle of the night and the pouring rain on Christmas Eve off our things to experience in life.
This is Colleen and Patrick looking at a city map at about 1:30am.
A little worse for the wear, Colleen and I dragged ourselves out of bed early the next morning. It wasn’t until after we had showered and had breakfast that we remembered it was Christmas, we were in Rome, and we should be joyful.
At 8:30, we arrived at St. Peter’s Square for Pope Benedict’s Noon Address. Because we arrived so early, we were able to score sweet seats in the SEVENTH row. Even if we had been cardinals, we could not have been any closer to the pope unless we were the barber hired to trim his nose hair! These are pictures of St. Peter's Square pre-noon address.
One of the highlights of our morning was sitting next to a group of Catholic school girls visiting Rome on a field trip from Rhode Island. These girls, dressed in plaid pleated skirts, knee highs and ribboned braids, could not have been more excited about their upcoming meeting with the pope. In fact, they performed their own home-made and choreographed cheers in anticipation of the pope's arrival. These girls were chanting: "OH! We love the Pope!" "Bene-bene-ditto, si si si!" and "We love, we love Benedict. What? The Sixteenth."
In preparation for the Pope's address, the Vatican guards, army and marching band paraded through the crowd.
A typical Vatican guard dressed in the special occasion uniform:
Either Benedict did not see his shadow – or the rules that apply to groundhogs don’t apply to popes when they finally emerge from their chambers. When Benedict appeared at the window, the crowds (Colleen and I included) went wild. Benedict came out and stayed out! He delivered a short homily in Italian and then to my surprise and delight, he blessed and wished people a Merry Christmas in over sixty different languages. Benedict announced the name of the language before he began his blessing saying, “Italian,” sharing a blessing and then wishing all who spoke Italian “Buon Natale!” Whenever the pope announced the language, everyone in the square who spoke that particular language cheered and waved flags. Colleen and I were stoked to cheer three times – once for English, once for Polish and once for Slovak.
After leaving the Vatican, we walked to the Spanish steps.
This is the view we saw as we walked up the steps:
This is Rome from the top of the Spanish Steps:
Later, we saw the Colosseum and the Roman Forum at night, and with that, we officially said goodbye to Rome.
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