The home of El Papa and so many Peters

 July 4 2012

Well what happens when you take a 19 year old, fluent Italian speaker (after two days of internet Italian lessons) to Musei Vaticani.

Train trip to Roma all pretty uneventful. I met some really lovely people from Hong Kong (Alex and I ended up in totally different carriages because I forgot my glasses when choosing our train seats) so I struck up a conversation about the great Michelin restaurant in Mong Kok where you get the best char sui bao for a few dollars. He had just retired as head of the police academy in Hong Kong and his wife was lovely. We exchanged email addresses and Alex is totally convinced that I will now have my identity stolen. I highly doubt it as I heard all about his time in the police force but Alex is convinced that it was a highly complex identity stealing plot. Too much Don Corleone yesterday.

Arrived at Musei Vaticani. In the doors – huge Roman basin. Italian speaking museum expert Al … What the .. Hey that is cool .. Sort of like a medieval 12 person spa. And it didn’t stop there. Hey that would make a pretty good dining table (priceless early Italian bench)

He shows you how bad you have done on his religious education. Hey mum do you reckon the Pope goes out to restaurants? I wonder whether he has ever been to Maccas? Do you think he walks around in this place after dark? How come do you reckon they don’t take up the floor (in St Peter’s Basilica) so you can see the dead popes underneath? I am not being gross but it would be pretty cool to see where they are buried. Surely they are in coffins aren’t they? Hey how come Peter got buried here? (hot mother replies) Alex because he was the first pope.  But how do they know it is the real Peter? (exasperated mother replies) Because they found something down there that said Peter was buried there. (Alex) but how do they know it is that Peter? I know heaps of Peters – Peter Stubbs, Peter Brock .. Overheated mother under her breathe – Well perhaps Peter Stubbs can be buried in the bloody Vatican when he dies with all the other Peters.

 Anyway he was driving me nuts so I sent him to climb the Capolla of St Peters while I attempted to stay cool – Italian mass is really good – you get to sit down in cool Basilica and don’t understand any of it.

 To the Piazza Di Spagna, the Fontaine Di Trevi – yes we did throw coins so we are destined to return and then to the Colosseu. I think the one in Verona is far more beautiful with opera music. Every time I visit the colosseum I feel slightly nauseas at the thought of what went on there – Not helped by Italian speaking son who thought gladiator headgear at cheap souvenir shop was pretty cool.

 The trip back to the station was once again colourful with a school teacher and group of teenage school kids on a school trip singing Viva La Spagna loudly on the escalators to annoy the Italians (after the soccer).

 It is dark outside and we are hurtling toward Firenze. It is a full moon outside and the Tuscan country side is blanketed in darkness but it is rather nice sitting here out of the heat and away from the frenzy that is Roma listening to the wonderful accents around me. I love the expressiveness of the Italians. The disagreements are just so fantastic. Nothing like sulking here – Just a damn good screaming match with copious hand gestures – seems quite civilised.

The Colloseu

Alex at the Trevi