Last Day in Italy..

Sure.. it's a month old, but I must finish my days in Italy.

This here day, was the last one...

Our last day began far too early. We had been in Rome, spitting distance from the Vatican, and we had still not been up in the cupola of St. Peters. This would not be the kind or thing that one could admit upon one's return to one's home. It would occasion some hilarity (primarily in others). So, POSSLQ and I decided we would beat the crowds by awakening with the rosy-fingers of dawn, and head off to the Vatican.

The night before, B-man and POSSLQ had talked about a group trip, but as I wobbled off to a drunken sleep they were still at it.

In the morning I awoke and the POSSLQ made some half-hearted attempts to pound on the door of the parent's room. On the way out we walked past Gabbo, who was sleeping on the couch in the the living room. As it turned out, Yvonne had promised everyone that she would wake them up and we would all go together. She had a credible excuse with the parents, in fact I had heard her feebly knock, but when the subject came up later that night, POSSLQ had not credible explanation for walking straight past Gabbo's uncomfortable sleep. But at that time, that morning, I had no idea of the extent of POSSLQ's betrayal of the family.

So it didn't matter at all when we walked over to the Vatican. The only thing that mattered was that I hadn't had time to get a shower (in retrospect this was all part of the POSSLQ's plan to get out of the flat before anyone could wake up) and the sun was rising. At least it was rising over a largely deserted St. Pietro Square, so I snapped a couple of quick pictures without anyone (or many people) in them.

We were early. Which meant I got to stand in line, in the sun, with people all around, and me unshowered, at the Vatican. I tried hard not to sweat which, of course, made me sweat. POSSLQ distracted the people behind us who were talking, in cockney accents, about the length of the "queue" and the weather in London by asking them if they were from Minnesota. While they tried to digest how she had come to this conclusion, I was largely ignored.

15 minutes later they opened the doors and a whole tour (an "invasion" in the local vernacular) of Germans ran around the left of the line and cut in at the front. Swine. They deserved everything we ever did to Dresden!

When we got to the stairs, lo and behold, it cost money. Fortunately POSSLQ and I had enough money between us, to go on up. We had a choice. We could take the elevator up to the final 232 stairs, or we could take the stairs up to the stairs. Which was what the POSSLQ chose, so my fat sweaty self lumbered up the steps (which wrapped around the elevator shaft, so we could watch them whiz by) and we eventually reached the first roof.

This led to the famous 232 steps which were narrow and rotated counter-clockwise up to the top. The impassibility of the steps was exacerbated by the stupid fucking Norwegian chicks who got tired and sat down in the.. well.. not the middle.. because the stairways were too narrow to actually have a middle. But we all had to step over them, which made things slower. I can't imagine what the stairway trip would have been like when the place was crowded and in a heat wave. The Vatican must control how many people can go in per hour, but I saw no evidence of that in any signage.

Half way to the top you get to stop at the last little ring inside the place. It has semi-nice views that are partially blocked by a big fence.. you can see that the old fence used to only go waist-high, and it doesn't take much imagination to think of the kind of stupidity that must have caused the Vatican to fence the whole thing in.

Anyway, we rolled on to the top, which is surrounded by excellent views, but was wildly crowded even by the small number of people who were on it while we were there. That picture up above is some random shot from behind the Vatican.

We headed down the stairs, which was quicker, but just as steep (that picture includes my muscular calf encased in fashionable jeans!). When we got back to the deck between the "first" and "second" stairs, we took just a bit more time and wandered around until we got to see the backside of the statues that face out onto St. Pietro Square. The picture doesn't show it, but it was quite impressive.

Then it was back to the flat to face all the outraged relatives that Yvonne had left behind in the morning. I spent the afternoon drinking in the bar and POSSLQ spent the afternoon bookshopping. Well, she tried, but the guy who had, just two days earlier, guarunteed us that he was open "7 days a week" was in fact closed. We had dinner, of course, packed, and dreaded the prospect of waking up at 4 the next morning to get a ride to the airport, and then out from Rome.

The epic was drawing to a close.