Rome in a Day - 5 November 2009 (Part One)

Back when I was planning our adventure, not knowing that having "an adventure" was a designation Glenn considered bad, we decided to add Rome to the Grand Tour because he wanted to see the Sistine Chapel. I had no real interest in viewing the chapel for a number of reasons. First, when I visited an art exhibit in the Smithsonian once, I was able to see work of Johannes Vermeer up close. And I mean I could get within inches of these canvases. It was stunning to see how Vermeer got light to seemingly flow out of the canvas. I kept thinking it was as if they were backlit. The second time was when Van Gogh's works had a "once in a lifetime" showing - the Museum in his native Netherlands was closed for a major renovation, and the paintings were going on a once-in-my-lifetime tour. Again, I could immerse myself in the brush work that have such life in them. The third "spoiler" for me was the work of Dalí being shown in Philadelphia. I remember being stunned at how he painted a miniature of his wife so detailed, Dalí must have used a paintbrush with maybe three hairs in it!

So seeing Michaelanelo's greatest work from two stories away held no appeal. I think I would get more out of the National Geographic special which concentrated on the restoration of the ceiling. And Glenn and I were looking forward to some alone time.

We arrived at Roma Termini station around 9 in the morning. Glenn found lockers for the bags, and we parked the bulk of our stuff. Glenn decided that a taxi was the best way to go, so we piled in, Odie stuffed in like a sardine in the back. I don’t know why Glenn refuses to break it into four pieces, which always makes life so much easier, at least from my perspective. He always stops at three. I like to go “all the way” as we say.

Our cab driver zipped and zapped around one of the most insane driving experiences of my life. At one point, a police motorcycle escort, sirens blaring, pulled along side and gestured for us to move over to the right. Seven cars, Chevy Suburbans, BMWs, and the like drove past. Our driver commented, “ There goes Berlusconi. He always has seven cars in his motorcade.” “I wonder why,” Glenn mused. “Two for the police, one for him, and four for his women,” I muttered.

We stopped a block from the Great Synagogue, the epicenter of the Jewish Quarter. With a hug and kiss from Big Brother, we parted ways - he was walking to the Vatican, and I was about to enter the world of Italy’s Jews, a world that dates back to before Jesus was born.