The hills are alive with the sound of music (Rome - Assisi)

Warning: this is another long post because it covers our last day in Rome and the transit to the peace and quiet (well the bells) of Assisi. Grab a drink dear reader. I need one just thinking about the day we had.

The title I hear you ask? Well, all will be revealed in the fullness of time, as Sir Humphrey Appleby would say (Google it kids).

Friday was our replacement tour day - the semi-private tour of the Vatican Museum, Sistine Chapel and St Peter's Basilica. It was never going to be the experience we had hoped for when I booked the private tour, but I don't think anything could have prepared us for what was about to come. I can only liken the crush and the crowd to World Youth Day in Madrid in 2011. If you have been reading my blog for that long my dedicated reader (you deserve a medal), you might have an inkling of what the day was about to bring. However, my WYD blog was for the parents of the young people with whom I was travelling so my words were somewhat understated at that time.

Our tour commenced at 8am and we needed to be there 15 minutes prior to get our names recorded and to be wired for sound. The meeting place was a bar/cafe in Piazza Regiomento; sketchy details but it was close to the apartment. We arrived early and began the walk around the Piazza, not able to identify the meeting point until we noticed a crowd gathering in the centre of the square.

Once we ascertained this was where we were meeting, we went to the cafe to purchase some breakfast. It was going to be a four hour tour finishing in St Peter's where I knew we would spend more time so food was a must. Sadly what was available did not really equate with Italian cuisine but we settled for two double espressos (in paper cups, ughhh) and two chocolate muffins that were cursorily reheated prior to being served. That cost a total of 18€; we've eaten dinner for less. The tours were all English speaking and predominantly American so I assume they were happy ripping off the tourists and I assume the tour company was getting a slice of the extraordinary profit.

The organisation wasn't chaotic but it could certainly have been done better. Anyway, we were tagged, wired and set off to walk around the city walls to the Vatican Museum. That was when I noticed our semi-private tour had swelled to 18, well beyond the advertised 12 maximum. I have since complained and my complaint was referred from the booking agent to the tour company ... silencio. The larger the group the more difficult it is to find a space to stop and talk about the exhibits and while 18 isn't a large group - they can number around 40, I had paid extra for a small group experience.

We hadn't gone 200 metres before someone from the back of the group was calling out to slow down, people were getting left behind. By 'people' he meant he and his wife, geriatrics and not really suited to the pace of a tour such as this, and two obese Russians who burst into a sweat with the first step taken. Our guide explained that we needed to move quickly because of the anticipated lines of people. The Vatican was closed to tourists the day before because of the Feast Day holiday and was apparently going to be closed again on Sunday because it is closed on the last Sunday of the month. It appeared our guide might be numerically challenged because Sunday was going to be July 2, making it the first Sunday of the month, not the last. She also referred to the Feast Day of Sts Peter and John. Not sure St Paul would have approved of being replaced.

Just standing around with a few friends

Once regrouped, the geriatrics breathing again and the Russians melting in the sun, we turned the corner to walk up the hill to the entrance to the Vatican Museum and were confronted with an ocean of humanity. All waiting in line. All waiting for the museum to open its doors. It would appear that half of the tourists in Rome were here already. "Skip-the-line" had little meaning in this context. We were in an 'organised tour' line as opposed to a 'general public' line. I'm not convinced that the money we paid was worth it. Our queue stretched from half way down the hill, all the way to the to the corner of the Vatican wall and then back again to the entrance as it snaked around on itself. Had we been a real snake, no doubt Mary would have appeared and crushed our head under foot. Which is what I wanted to do to some members of our group.

What is it with a group tour that makes the slowest always rush to be close to the guide only to fall behind and block the progress of the others? The Russians, as we made the half point to the entrance, scoped the situation and saw we were walking up the hill merely to walk back again to accommodate the crowd and bailed from the line heading to the wall shade to wait. If this was Darlinghurst they would not be receiving any offers. While they were blending into the brick work, our serpentine movement up the hill continued and our guide continued her stories of the Sistine Chapel and the work of Michelangelo or Michael-Angelo as she insisted on pronouncing his name. Maybe she was a fan of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Almost back at the doors to the museum, the Russians rejoined us in line and the numbers around us seemed to have swelled, although the line was now moving more quickly. We had been on our tour for an hour and were yet to see the inside of the museum. That hour cost US $52.50 and I can think of better ways to waste money.

An unhappy bust in the museum

Once inside the chaos continued. The guide had to collect our tickets. It was a crush and we were finding it a challenge to stay together and that was after we collected two lost geriatrics. Then it was time to move again and quickly. Up the escalator, not the ramp, for obvious reasons, although the possibility of Mrs Obese Russian negotiating the ramp in high wedged shoes did provide me with some wry amusement. Off the escalator and through the first rooms of the museum, the guide chattered away through the ear-piece - no stopping we will be coming back, we must go straight to the Sistine Chapel, and then the most terrifying words, before the crowds build up. OMG! The museum chamber was about four metres wide and I have no idea how long and it was already jam-packed with people. Where were the "built up crowds" going to fit? The tour guides all had metal telescopic extension sticks with various coloured flags (ours was mauve... who picks mauve as a beacon to follow?) on top. From one side of the hall it looked the harbour at the commencement of the Sydney to Hobart (that is an Australian yacht race for my international reader).

Finally we made it to the end of the hall despite our trusty guide telling us to stay left as she deftly wended her way to the right. Was she trying to lose us? We regrouped around the mauve flag and went into the Sistine Chapel. I had hoped to be in awe, but in the end it was, well, OK. Yes I acknowledge the great feat that was accomplished and the impressive work of Michelangelo. In reality the ceilings of the museum chambers we had just negotiated at speed were far more impressive. I accept that Michelangelo would declare himself a sculptor and not a painter, but in that area of art, I prefer the work of Bernini. I also understand that Michelangelo preferred men, but is that why the women he depicted were all so masculine? Then there was the crowd, it was constantly moving, a seething turmoil of people chasing a piece of rag on a telescopic pole or trying to find a friend and not lose contact with their group. To find a place to stand and contemplate the work was no easy thing. Particularly with the regular sound of SHHHHH over the PA system and the constant reminders that this was a sacred space. I felt neither space nor sacred. Much like some of the Mass experiences I had on WYD, the sense of the sacred was the first casualty. If I was going to define my sense of spirituality, it would be Franciscan, contemplative (not popular with the current Archbishop of Sydney). I am very much looking forward to Assisi which is our next destination after we leave Roma.

The narrow door through which we passed to enter the Chapel had an equally narrow door for escape. Much like the brilliant design of the Sydney road system, the egress from the Chapel was similar to ten lanes converging into one in a very short space of time. People pushed, shuffled and sardined against each other in order to funnel their way out. The only saving grace was that the Chapel was air conditioned, unlike most of the Vatican exhibition areas.

Once out, we re-grouped and the Russians announced that they had had enough and were not continuing. It was at this time that I noticed one of the Kiwi members of our group had faded into the crowd, never to be sighted again. Three people lighter and, like life-time institutionalised prisoners, once free, we felt compelled to return to captivity when our guide directed us back to the museum chambers that we had just sprinted through to get to the Sistine Chapel (before the crowd LOL). They were slightly less congested on our second trip, but the tour this time around was more like a walk-by. There was the usual incessant commentary but little opportunity to pause and enjoy the treasures.

The roof of the museum chamber

 The irony of this part of the tour was that we needed to brave the Sistine Chapel again because the tour was designed to move in only one way towards the exit. How we managed to see the Chapel and return to the museum I am still not sure. This time our instructions were to move straight through the Chapel and meet on the other side of the screen to move as a group through the door. A scripture quote comes to mind as I write this, “it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle”. The concept of seeing the Chapel before the crowds did not make sense on a day like today because everywhere was crowded from the moment we formed the tour group outside the walls. When viewed with the fact that we were going to have to move through the Chapel again anyway – lunacy.

 

This was in a courtyard somewhere - the least crowded part of the museum.

The perceived lack of crowd in the Chapel on our first passage was completely negated by the crush in Raphael’s rooms. Not only was it difficult to frottage your way past other visitors toward the mauve flag that we were worshipping, even with the windows open, there was precious little air. I turned as instructed, at one point, to look upon a fresco to be confronted by dozens of mobile phones in the air. Yes, dear reader, an entire tour group of Japanese visitors had moved in behind me. The artwork was exquisite, but the heat and discomfort of the crowd made it difficult to appreciate or enjoy. Imagine our dismay when the tour guide invited all of us to use the rest rooms adjacent to the Raphael Gallery as this was the last opportunity for the next 40 minutes.  Some took up the invitation while the rest of us stood wedged in the humid, seething masses.

Part of Raphael's painting

As we departed Raphael’s rooms, the geriatric couple decided they would not join us for the final part of the tour, St Peter’s Basilica. They’d seen it previously. Finally, as we approached the conclusion of our tour, we were achieving semi-private tour status.

The race was on again as we ascended and descended stairs and sped through corridors. Obviously our guide was on a timeline to be finished by midday and we had yet to enter the Basilica. During this undignified gallop, our group's Kiwi couple confessed to being very grateful for my fabulous David Smith shirt because, when the mauve flag had failed them, they had managed to stay oriented by spotting my shirt weaving in and out of the crowds. Suddenly, we were outside. Fresh air… and... more lines of people. Thankfully, we were reassured that the queue we saw was not for us; it was to climb the dome. Given our apartment looked over the dome, we didn’t feel the need to see that perspective of Rome.

Gathering again to pay another entry fee, we lost one of the Kiwi couple. His wife continued inside the Basilica while he waited outside. Perhaps he was the anti-Christ, or maybe he wanted to enjoy the fresh air and let his mullet blow in the breeze. Either way, I cared not.

A mosaic inside St Peter's

The crowd inside the Basilica paled into insignificance compared to what we had just endured. We had a quick, 20-minute, cursory tour explaining the obvious and then it was over. The Basilica remains an incredibly beautiful space, but much like Notre Dame in Paris, the tourists, their number and noise, even if that is just the shuffling of feet, outweigh any sense of the sacred.

Audio guide and ear-piece returned, without tip, we went back inside and were fortunate enough to attend midday mass. It wasn’t Francesco; he does 5pm apparently, but it was the first time I have had the opportunity to attend mass in the Basilica itself. In 2011 we had mass in a chapel downstairs.

The mosaic behind the main altar

Religious observances complete, we went downstairs to the crypt and then out into the world again. It was around 1pm and there were still plenty of people lining up to get inside.  We were done. It was time for lunch at Sorpasso’s, the bar/restaurant around the corner from home where we had such a great dinner a few nights back. Today it was bread and olive oil, a tasting plate of Italian hams, caprese salad, presented layered like a hamburger and a bottle of wine followed by coffee. All absolutely delicious. The wait staff all wear T-shirts saying, “Life is too short to drink cheap wine”. Totally agree.

It had been a big day and it was time to walk around the corner to the apartment for another relaxing glass of wine while I attempted to finish yesterday’s blog. Dinner was uninspiring, we couldn’t get a table at Sorpasso’s so we wandered the neighbourhood but I was feeling totally lacklustre. We settled for a place in Piazza Regiemento where we began the day and watched the passing parade for a while. Then back home to sort the photos.

Although we could sleep in on Saturday, the street cleaners had other ideas so we were out and about looking for breakfast by 8am. We went back to a place where we had bought wine a few nights before because they do breakfast, lunch and dinner. We weren’t after anything too heavy because we had a couple of hours to kill between leaving the apartment and catching the train for Assisi – that was going to be lunch and our meal for the day. So, breakfast was 2 double espressos and two pastries and it was delicious. The coffee was brilliant and the pastries were fresh and light. In contrast to the 18€ we spent on crap the morning before, this cost 6,30€. Jayne ordered in Italian, sort of, and we paid on leaving. No docket, so Jayne tried her Italian again. Impressive. In fact so impressive the woman thanked her in French.

Back to the apartment to clear emails, pack bags and write some more blog and then trundle down the cobble-stoned streets to the taxi rank to catch a cab to Roma Termini Stazione. We spent no small amount of time here trying to find the “left baggage” centre so we could check our bags and go to lunch. We finally found it, a miracle in itself, and joined the queue of others with bags. The attendant appears, “Ticket?” he queries. What ticket? We want to leave our bags. No, you need a ticket. There were 10 or so people in front of us, some with tickets, most without. We were directed to a ticket machine on the other side of the barrier. By this time more people had joined the queue. Then I noticed the number of people sitting outside, all with tickets. We would be lucky to get our bags checked in and get to lunch before we needed to board the train. A ridiculous system - our bags joined us for lunch.

Back into the station to find somewhere to eat. It was the usual fast food style selection. Doesn’t McDonald’s smell the same everywhere? Not content with the lack of a genuine Italian alternative, we ventured out into the street. The first café stipulated table service, so we waited, and waited. The wait staff came and went. I must have been wearing the cloak of invisibility, so we left. Just around the corner in a quiet side street was a little taverna. Very pleasant. We enjoyed bread, salad, pizza and risotto with wine of course and an espresso. While we were waiting, a man came past selling junk souvenirs similar to the string men of Montmarte. He tried to engage us in Italian then, English and finally talked to Jayne in French. Twice in one day she has been mistaken for French. Better than English or American I guess.

Lunch over, it was time to board the train. It is a fast train although I’m sure it doesn’t reach the speeds of the trains I catch in China. It does, however, cause ear pressure issues when it reaches speed and hits a tunnel.

The view from the balcony

We are now safely at our new home, for the next three nights, in Assisi. Aside from the train being 20 minutes late arriving, the journey was seamless from Rome to here. As I wrap up another blog the bells are pealing in the background and we have almost finished unpacking and are about to go in search of a wine shop. Our new apartment is perched on the hillside with beautiful views over the country side. Ah, the serenity.

The bells have ceased and mass has commenced and we are now being serenaded by live music coming from the bar three doors up the road. It would appear that the hills are indeed alive with the sound of music. There is a plethora of places to eat and drink. Perhaps we could have stayed longer than the three nights planned but Assisi will be a wonderful respite between the hustle of Roma and Firenze.

fino a domani