and plenty of pluck. First we took the Metro to the Ponte Mammolo stop, well north of downtown, and catch a Cotral bus to Tivoli.Bus drivers in Rome are generally disinterested in their passengers, especially the obviously touristy ones. You pay your fare at kiosks or automated machines. Some of the buses are equipped with readers that you stick the ticket into. The driver has nothing to do with collecting money or tickets. So we were on our own trying to figure out which stop to get off at.
The bus crossed the plains of Lazio, passed by the stop for the Villa Adriana (Momma had announced in no uncertain terms that the Via Sacra and the Roman Forum was the last bit of ancient ruins she ever cared to walk through again) and climbed the hill above. So we knew we were close to Tivoli. But exactly which stop should we get off at? However a lovely Italian gentleman deduced our problem and escorted us off the bus at the appropriate stop, pointing out the Villa d'Este as we parted.
A few pictures to remember this by.
The water organ sounded lovely (it plays once a day), but we were too far away to hear it clearly and it was too short.
A cafeteria style lunch, some shopping at the stores and kiosks outside and we board a bus back to Roma. It didn't help that the bus didn't take the same route back that we had taken there. So there were some anxious minutes before we pulled into the Ponte Mammolo stop again.
Down Metro "B" to Termini, through the subterranean passages to Metro "A" and off to the Vatican. (the Metro crosses Rome like a big "X"'; lines "A" and "B" intersecting at Termini.)
We had learned from yesterday's episode. I had packed some long pants in my backpack. A discrete visit to the men's room and I'm decent. We pass triumphantly through the security and reflexively we join the first line we see. I'm gazing around mildly confused. Why were we standing in line to get into San Pietro? Then I see that the entrance is actually behind us, in the centre of the Portico. So what line are we in?
Gasp! We're in the line-up for the Cupola (Il Cupolone to the locals). My wife strongly dislikes climbing. Oh dear, what to do? So I simply say nothing, waiting for us to be so far along that it would seem a waste to turn away. Once the ticket booth is in sight (a half-hour or so), I'm ready to say, in my best surprised voice, "Oh dear, this the line for the Cupola!" Once assured that there's an elevator (half-way to the top), Momma is satisfied.
While we're waiting in that line I feel a tug on my backpack. So I turn to my left to see if someone behind me is trying to get my attention. But the backpack is stuck on something to my right, which I can't see. By the time I wrench myself free to turn left and see what's going on behind me, I see a green-shirted man disappearing back up the line behind us. We had already been prepared for this; there was nothing of value in the backpack. Still it seemed mildly sacrilegious to be thieving at San Pietro.
I walked up the spiral staircase (on principle) while Momma took the elevator. That put us inside the Cupola looking down at the central altar. After a little while we turned to the exit. I knew from Rick Steves' book that there is a further climb to view Roma from the outside. But honesty prevailed. I read Rick's description from the book:
The staircase...actually winds between the outer shell and the inner one. It 's a sweaty, crowded, claustrophobic, 15-minute, 323-step climb. But worth it.
As I expected Momma declined, but agreed to wait for me down in the Church proper. She followed me a few steps up so she could take a picture out a window in the Dome. I plunged on. Rick Steves' description is no exaggeration. Some Europeans, perhaps Austrians were in front of me. So while I huffed and puffed behind them they kept looking back nervously, apparently waiting for me to have a cardiac arrest. But, lungs bursting, I made it to the top. I slowly made my way around the outside, crowded and friendly. I thought to myself that I would go slowly in order to be able to tell Momma that I had given her time to follow me. Ha! As if!
Nearly all the way around and ready to start back down again who do I meet? Smiling, no hint of the labour just accomplished: Momma! She attributes this to divine intervention and I'm in no position to disagree. Anyway, it was the perfect day and the best possible view of Rome.
We walk through the Basilica in complete awe: the Pieta; the altars, the bodies of saintly popes (there were one or two) inside some of them; the main altar. Just like the Vatican Museum, it was all too much to take in.
"Tomorrow" we take a day trip to Assisi. Saint Francis pray for us.
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