What Really Happened that Day in Rome

Nothing….and I mean nothing…prepares you for Rome. If you’ve been there, you know. Me? I’d never been. Going to Italy has been a life-long dream for me. The thing is, I didn’t know how to do it, when to do it, or where I was going to go. So when a friend invited me along on a cruise of Greece and Turkey, I was like….I’m way too close to Italy and not go see it. I decided to tack an extra 6 days onto the front end of my trip and go to Italy. But where? Italy is so vast with things to do and see. I decided on Florence and Rome. Buckle up…

I flew to Florence on June 12th, getting me there on the 13th at 2:45pm. After getting to my AirBnB, I decided to take a long nap, get dressed, and head down the street to one of the 101 top steakhouses in the world – Trattoria Dall’Oste. I had a meal there that I will never forget for as long as I live. I figured since I was in Tuscany, I was going to get some of what they are known for (and they are known for much) – ribollita soup and steak. I opted for steak tartare (Wagyu) with fresh burrata. I need to tell you that I have never tasted something so fresh in my life. The quality of the meat…the smell…the taste….was nothing like I could imagine in America. The burrata was also completely different. Drizzles of the best olive oil, some crusty bread, and a Chianti, completed my meal. I lingered, watched, paid, and left.

As I walked down the street, I saw a piece of the Duomo through the buildings and cobblestone streets. Sure! Why not! Take advantage of every moment you can while you are here. You are in Italy!!!

On the way, I stopped at a gelato place that had the creamiest, most flavorful gelato I’ve ever had. In fact, after sampling other gelato places in Florence, by the end of my time there, this place was far superior to any other places I tried. If you are interested, it’s La Sorbettiera.

As I walked out of the shop, the Duomo was getting closer and closer, and as I reached Piazza del Duomo, I could barely breathe….not because I was out of breath….but because in all pictures I’ve ever seen of the Duomo, I had not taken the time to look at the front of the cathedral – Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore. Maybe I had…but nothing prepared me for it as I saw it at that moment. If that wasn’t enough, there was a street musician playing classical guitar while I looked up with tears streaming down my face. And then the real kicker. It was 8:00pm and the bell tower began to ring out so strongly. I was overwhelmed and cried. There are moments that take our breath away. This was one of them.

I decided to sit, listen to the guitarist over an Aperol Spritz, which never tasted so good as it did that minute. I was all alone and at that moment, wished I had someone to share it with. So I did…through chats and over social media. I couldn’t take it all in by myself. And that became a theme for the rest of my time in Florence and then in Rome. Alone, but not really alone.

So let’s talk about Rome now, because I can talk about those 3 days in Florence for several more pages.

By the time I reached Rome, I was already on stimulus overload. In order for me to talk about that, you need to know some things about me. Here goes…..

I have issues with claustrophobia. If you had the pleasure of being stuck with me in an elevator in Bellingham, you know. So……I don’t like crowds, especially small indoor areas where I feel people are stealing my air.

I don’t deal well with extreme heat with no way to find relief.

I’m carrying an extra 80 pounds on my tiny frame. I did nothing to prepare myself for all of the walking I had already done and was going to do.

I am an introvert. A home body. And I like all of my things around me in an orderly fashion.

I hate standing in lines.

I like knowing where bathrooms are. I’m 56. Post menopause. Things don’t work like they used to.

I get overly stimulated pretty easily, so I limit my exposure to visual and audio stimulus. I have been known to not listen to music for months at a time. I pick and choose when I let sound into my body.

I don’t like being rushed. I always arrive early. I like taking the time I need to relax, enjoy my surroundings, and leave when I know I’ve had as much as I can take.

I am not a fan of mazes.

I am a strong, independent woman who takes care of herself, prides herself in doing so, and knows her limits.

Now that you know that, know that I had one full day in Rome. In June – the highest month for tourist travel. In 90 plus degrees. I had every ticket purchased in April because I was told everything would sell out. They were right. I was prepared.

When I arrived in Rome, without knowing much about where I was staying, I quickly realized that I was staying in a pretty cool place. My AirBnB was 5 steps from a very important square – Campo de’ Fiori – a place I’d love to come back to someday and enjoy properly. I had an incredible carbonara and enjoyed sitting amongst nuns and other Roman peoples. I felt at home.

I turned in early that night because I knew the next day was a big day. I was going to the Colosseum and the Vatican. Now..for those of you who have been to both places, you already are reading that and thinking I’m insane. But I didn’t know. And what I also didn’t know is that when you walk the streets of Rome, the entire place is filled with ancient sites, churches, and other architectural awes that blow your mind. As the saying goes, Rome wasn’t built in a day. You don’t really get that until you go. Rome is unexplainable. Rome is distracting in the very best way.

As I put myself to bed that night, I opened up my email and got a message from someone I had been waiting to hear from for five months. It was a rejection letter. I shed a few tears, gave myself a little pep talk, and went to sleep. Nothing was going to ruin my time in Rome. Or so I thought…..little did I know that “nothing” was going to be me.

I started out at 7am to see the setting up of the farmer’s market in Campo de’ Fiori, which is one of the more famous markets in all of Rome. I smiled as I enjoyed a connection to the people. We share blood. We share a love for markets and fresh fruits and vegetables, and the tomatoes…oh my……so many varieties and colors. I sat, had a shot of espresso and the best croissant I ever had in my life. It tasted like panettone with the flakiness of a croissant, covered in a light sugary glaze. Not once in my time in Italy did I need to put cream and sugar in my coffee. So smooth. So flavorful. Ahhhhhh….

As I left the square, I used Google Maps to make my way to the Colosseum. It was supposed to be a 20-minute walk if that’s all you were going to do. That’s impossible in Rome. Why? Look………

In that “20-minute walk”, I passed Sant’ Andrea della Valle – a “minor” basillica, Largo di Torre Argentina – “a square in Rome, Italy, with four Roman Republican temples and the remains of Pompey’s Theatre.” (Wiki). I then came to “Vittoriano” or Altare della Patria – a monument erected in honor of King Victor Emmanuel II. It was so big and as I stood and looked at it, I decided to put my phone on video and take in what I was witnessing – more domes, Vittoriano, the Colosseum in the far distance, and for all of my musician friends, The Pines of Rome. All of this on one corner and I had no to time sit and enjoy it. I had to get to the Mamertinum Museum for my 9:30am appointment with “Peter and Paul.” More on that in a bit……

As I walked past The Pines of Rome, I started to see ruins. And more…..and more…..and even more……I didn’t know what I was seeing because I only had one landmark in mind. What I didn’t realize is that I was standing at the Forum of Caesar – a forum built by Julius Caesar near the Roman Forum in 46BC. It was a total “Holy Crap” moment. I had NO idea I was going to see the Roman Forum on the way to the Colosseum. Thank God I had some extra time.

It was a quiet morning. The crowds had not shown up. The birds were chirping and it was not too hot yet. It was actually all pretty perfect……..And then it all began.

After taking in a portion of the Roman Forum, I headed for my appointment with Peter and Paul. I headed to the “Mamertinum” – “Pigione dei SS Apostole Pietro E Pauolo” – In English, the Mamertine Prison of Saints Apostle Peter and Paul. In it is a dungeon – a prison, where prisoners were lowered through an opening into the lower portion. Above it is an altar that was build for Peter and Paul. Being me, I arrived early. Being me, I asked to use the bathroom. The woman working the desk said, “We don’t have one in here. Go outside, take the stairs up “one layer” to the bathroom.

First lesson – NEVER trust an Italian that says the words “one layer.” What does that mean exactly? I’m thinking a flight. No. Not a flight. I’m not sure how many steps I walked, but it was starting to get hot and I was already starting to get tired and regretting the size of my bladder. When I finally got to the top, I asked someone where the bathrooms where. They pointed me to a museum with a woman guard. “May I use the bathroom?” “No. We are not open.” “But the woman from the museum down below sent me up here to use the bathroom.” “They don’t know what they are doing.” “But I need to use the bathroom. Why would she send me up here?” “Ma’am….you can walk back to town to use a bathroom.”

Jenny looks out from the hill to town…..”That ain’t gonna happen” I said to myself. Surely there has to be a bathroom up here.

I walked across the square to another museum. “Can I use the bathroom?” “I’m sorry ma’am, but we are not open “yet.”” – Yet…being a very key word that the other woman left out. My hope began to return as 9:30 was coming and I could make it to then. “The bathroom is up there.” “Ok.” So I walked up another hill, sat on my first of many marble perches for that day, and waited. As soon as it opened, I climbed yet another two “layers” of marble steps to get to the bathroom. Relief. And then back down I climbed to have some time with “Peter and Paul.”

10:00am it was, and I climbed down the spiral staircase into the prison where the Apostles Peter and Paul spent time underground for their faith in Jesus Christ. The ground was covered in coins from modern-day visitors offering their homage. I was all alone in that moment and quietly reflected in the cool, silent, dark space. “What would it be like to believe in something so strongly to be imprisoned for it?” were my thoughts, along with, “Holy crap! Peter and Paul were here!” Holy ground, indeed.

I climbed back up, left the museum, and began my uphill journey to the Colosseum. I took some time to sit by Julius Cesaer’s Forum, taking in the sounds of early morning birds, and The Pines of Rome. I told myself, “No rush. It’s ok to take in this moment, no matter how quickly others are walking past.”

As I walked to the Colosseum, I walked past more ruins, stopped to hear several street musicians, and took note of the “Hop on, Hop Off” bus workers, who were soliciting all who walked past. At that point, I didn’t know how I was getting to the Vatican, so that might be my wheels. I had already talked to a taxi company that said they didn’t pick up outside the Colosseum to bring people to the Vatican.

By the time I reached the Colosseum, it was 11:30am and the heat was really kicking in. My body was already tired from the three days in Florence and the morning activities. I decided to see the Colosseum from the bottom floor and only walked around for a bit, sat on some rock formation, and took in what I could in the beating down sun and crowds of sweaty bodies. It was mind blowing how anything like this could be built with no modern day machinery, was still standing, despite the many earthquakes, and looked just like it did in the pictures. The only difference was that I was actually standing in it….something I’m not sure I was really appreciating or taking in at very moment. I was beginning to reach my limit of heat, stimulus, information, and exhaustion. I should have called it quits. I didn’t……because I’m an idiot. And Italy…

So…here’s another thing in Italy. Exit signs don’t mean you are anywhere close to an exit. Kind of like “go up one layer.” It’s deceiving. As I found the exit out of the Colosseum, I saw thousands of people in lines in the heat. It was like I was absorbing all of their heat, their emotions as they stood there looking at the Colosseum, their exhaustion from standing in line, and all of my own. I walked to the exit and at the top of the stairs was a Hop on, Hop Off worker. I bought a ticket and asked him to show me where I catch the bus. “It’s just down there, around the corner.”……other untrustworthy words from Italians. There’s never just an “around the corner.” So he walked with me and showed me. There were many lines of people waiting for their bus. Mine? It left as soon as I got there. He said, “The next one comes in 15 minutes.” You know where I’m going with this, right? It wasn’t 15 minutes. It was 30 in the bright sun along with many other sticky, sweaty people.

Now I don’t know what they put in the concrete in Rome, but I need to tell you that it is harder than the concrete here in America. And based on everyone else’s faces in this line, I knew it to be true. We all adjusted from leaning on one foot, to the next, and back again. One man grabbed a pole, bent over, and adjusted from foot to foot, over and over. A woman with zero % body fat was crouched down, knees bent, and sitting on her heels. Good luck getting up, I thought. I was dying in the heat and being very careful to not drink too much water because as I’ve already informed you, my bladder is the size of a thimble and bathrooms are not easy to come by in Rome. I didn’t want to dehydrate, though……so I was careful. Little sips. When the bus finally arrived, I got on board, took the little earbuds they give you for the tour, put them on, and as quickly as I put them on, I took them off. I didn’t want to hear anyone. I didn’t want to learn anything. And whatever energy I had left, I had to save for the Vatican.

When my bus stopped at the Vatican stop, there was no Vatican in sight. Surely this meant more walking. Instead, I decided to get some lunch. What I experienced was the best, most refreshing piece of bruschetta and Caprese salad I’ve ever had. I ordered a large bottle of water and an Aperol Spritz and just sat and took in the view. The day should have ended here. It didn’t.

Using my Google Maps, I began to walk towards the Vatican. I walked over a bridge and wondered if this bridge was the bridge my brother had told me about. I watched some kind of cool rowing system going on in a boat on the river. I saw another massive piece of architecture in front of me that I had no idea what it was, and I spoke with a woman who said she was on her way to the Vatican, too. We walked together, and she said, “See? There it is! You made it!!” “But my map is pointing me someplace else…..that’s weird…..” She went her way and I went mine.

My friends….this is where your friend Jenny has no freaking clue the structure of the Vatican and how vast it is. I was headed for a 1:30pm appointment at the Vatican Museums. My map was taking me there. But it seemed so far out of the way. My map had me walking at least another mile or two to get to it. I just wanted to go to the Sistine Chapel and surely the chapel is in the Basilica, right? WRONG!!! But Jenny decides to walk back to the Vatican square because she doesn’t trust Google Maps at this point….not because the maps are wrong…….but because she’s taken on too much…is too tired to go that way…and surely, there must be a short cut. So she walks back to the Vatican, can barely breathe, and sits down in a shady spot on cool concrete and texts her friend who is the closest distance to her…….in Athens, Greece, because surely she can help me. I needed a pep talk. I told her that I was on the verge of a breakdown and I wasn’t going to come this far and not see the Sistine Chapel. As she calms me down, and as she has been to Vatican City a few times, she talks me through it all. She told me that I wasn’t going to be able to do the Basilica and the Vatican Museums. “But where is the Sistine Chapel?” “It’s in the museums, Jenny, and it’s a bit of walk to get to them.” The meltdown continues, but Jenny is tough. And Jenny can do it. And Jenny should read a book or two about the Vatican before she goes. Chapels are in museums in Rome, I guess. Books. Helpful resources. Read one.

It’s now past my appointment at the Vatican Museums, but surely they will hear my story of woe and let me in. So, I begin walking in the 1:30pm heat of the day, and the walk is longer than I had imagined. Are these maps right??? I decide to walk into a gated area to ask the nice man in the regal uniform where to go. I’m pretty sure he was some kind of guard of importance and I’ve just gone waltzing in the place like I own it. He looked kind of like the Royal Guard in London. “Ma’am, you can’t come in here. I’ll come to you.” “Which way to the Sistine Chapel?” “It’s in the Vatican Museums. Keep going. Follow the people.”

After another 30 minute walk, I get to the museum entrance. It’s now after 2:00pm and the security guard tells me that I am late for my appointment. I looked at him with the most pitiful eyes and told him, “I did the very best that I could.” He let me in. I think he could see that I was suffering and was overheated. I proceeded to the bathroom, because that bottle of water and Aperol Spritz were begging to come out.

I stood in a bathroom line and with every ounce of strength left, I held back tears. I couldn’t actually tell if I was crying or if it was sweat dripping down my face. How is it that a museum like this doesn’t have air conditioning??

Low point – and I’m not proud of it. I made my way into a bathroom stall, took off all of my clothes, and sat my bare bottom on the toilet seat. I didn’t care if it was dirty. I didn’t care who sat there before me. I didn’t care that I was naked in a fancy museum and my clothes were on some public bathroom floor. I just sat, peed, and cried. I stayed in that stall for at least another 15 minutes, put back on my sweat-drenched clothing, and made my way to the ticket booth. I presented my ticket to the nice man behind the booth and he said, “Ma’am….you are very late and you’ve missed your appointment.” “I know…..(big tears)…..I did too much today. I did the Colosseum and all grounds around it. I had no idea how much it would be. All I want to do is see the Sistine Chapel. I don’t care about seeing anything else.” He took pity on me, said, “Yes. It’s right through there.”

Do you remember me telling you not to trust the words of Italians? “Right through there” became my mantra for the next hour. That hour became one of the worst hours of my life, and I’ve had some bad hours.

Before I entered the endless maze before me, I sat down one last time and rested my bare back up against a cool, marble wall. I then gathered up everything that I was and began what became a low, slowly managed panic attack.

I felt funneled through endless hallways of art, people, selfie sticks, tour guides with sticks in the air, and walls filled with roped off areas. In other words, don’t get too close to the walls, stay on the path with everyone else, and just keep moving. I was cattle. I was herded past the art. I was swimming upstream with everyone else with no ability to stop and look at anything in any detail. Stop and I would have been trampled. The sound of all of the voices were amplified by the hallways and tall ceilings. It felt as if art was caving in on me. Information. Sound. People. Crowds. Sweat. Heat. Body pain. Art on the walls. Art on the ceilings. Endless rooms of art and not one sign of the Sistine Chapel. Nothing but signs with arrows pointing that it’s this way. Keep going. Don’t stop walking. You will be run over.

Is this it? No.

Is this it? No.

Is this it? No.

Surely this next room is it. No. Jenny…you know what it looks like. These are not it and are not going to magically turn into it. Actual words running through my head when I was losing all sense of logic. These words, too: “Where’s God and Adam?”

And finally…..I was placed in a room with art from floor to ceiling, solid wood benches surrounding the entire room, every spot taken, and the entire center of the room filled with people. The sound was deafening. “No pictures, please!” I was finally there. The Sistine Chapel. Are you kidding me?? No pictures? Oh hell no. I stuck that camera on selfie mode, pointed it up at the ceiling, and clicked away. I’ll refrain from posting my illegal pics.

I saw the creation of Adam. I saw Noah’s flood. I saw it all. I was where Michelangelo laid on his back on a plank in the air, sweating as he painted the Sistine Chapel. A spot finally cleared on the bench, and I grabbed it. I felt badly for anyone near me because at that point, I am sure I smelled like a wild goat. I sat still and I heard the best words I have ever heard…….

“Silencio……..silencio, per favore!”

and again…..

and again……

And in that moment, I was able to look up, see no people, hear no sounds, and looked at the masterpiece before me. It was the 20 seconds of peace I needed.

And then it began again. This time, when the sound came back, it was magnified ten-fold.

I got out as quickly as I could. I asked a guard, “What is the quickest way out of here?”

“Go back through the Sistine Chapel, through another room, and there is an exit.”

I mustered up everything I had in me, b-lined it through the crowd, and into the next room. By some miracle, the room was completely empty, a window open, and a chair facing the window. I do believe that God provided that for me at that very moment. I put my head down on the window ledge and I just wept….just as I am right now typing that sentence. I can still feel that moment.

I don’t know how to explain this to you. But if you are like me, then you understand. And if you are not….there is no way for me to describe it at all.

At that moment, a young German couple heard my sobs and came over to me and asked if I needed help. I told them that I felt suffocated and trapped and that there was no way out. They suggested that I just sit, calm down, and when I was ready, to find a guard and have them show me directly where the exit was. That’s exactly what I did.

When I finally got out, I was in a pathway outside of the Basilica that was lined with columns on both sides. In between each column was a security check point with people going through turnstiles. I think they were all getting ready to go into a mass.

There was no place to sit, so I want you to imagine a column and at the base is a marble square with points. I sat on that, which was about three inches from the ground. Not comfortable at all. As I looked down at my ankles, I saw something deeply concerning. My ankles were completely covered in brown spots. I reached out to another friend, who was following my journey on the find me app. Smart me had several people follow me on that in case I needed any help. I took pictures of my ankles and sent them to my friend. “Stay calm. I can see there is a bookstore right near you. Get there when you can and ask for help.” I rested and when I could, got up, and walked out of the sea of columns and out to the street in front of the Basilica. It was there that I knew my other friends were able to get a taxi.

On that street were vendors selling souvenirs, rosary beads, and other tchotchkes. I began walking towards one and I felt like I was heading towards the finished line. A Black man selling bracelets came up to me and kept trying to get my attention to buy his bracelets. I kept walking and shaking my head no. He said, “Why? You don’t like Black?” And with that, I lost it and sobbed loudly and said, “No!! I love Black! I’m not well and I need help!!” “Have a nice day, ma’am.” I’m sure I looked like a crazy person, because at that very moment, I felt as if my spirit left my body and I was completely out of it.

I walked towards the first stand that I saw. I sat down on the curb next to a young man in a chair selling souvenirs. I could barely get the words out. “Can you help me?” “What’s the matter?” “I did too much today and I can’t make it home. “ “What did you do today?” I proceeded to tell him. “Ma’am….you did too much. The Vatican alone is too much. The Vatican is a city!”…………”I’m going to go over to that taxi and ask if he can take you home, ok?” “Ok.”

“Ma’am…this man will take you home. Where are you staying?”

“Campo de’ Fiori”

“But that’s right around the corner.”

Silently to myself, “Nothing is right around the corner in Rome.”

“It’s ok. I don’t care what it costs. I’ll take the taxi.”

“25 Euros.”

“I’ll take it.”

And in true Jenny fashion, I asked, “May I hug you?”

“It’s not necessary.”

“But it is. Thank you.” And I hugged him, got in my taxi, and left Vatican City.

I got into my AirBnB, took off my clothes, showered off my body, and although knowing that I had to be up at the crack of dawn to fly to Athens, I didn’t have dinner. I didn’t pack. I just got into my nightgown, crawled into bed, looked at my pretty pictures as my friend advised I do, and fell asleep.

Lesson learned. You can’t do Rome in a day.

Someday, I will go back to Rome. During the off season. To sit at Camp de’ Fiori, enjoy an Aperol Spritz, another bowl of Carbonara, perhaps a conversation with a nun, and then rest. Over and over again. And the rash on my ankles? Google Disney Rash. Even little kids get it. It cleared up in three days.

In my head, I’m cuing all of the people who will now tell me I did too much. It will be the same loving people that said, “Go here!” “Go here!” Eat here! Go there!” There are just not enough days, my friends. You know it, too. And we all travel differently. It’s my first big girl trip. I’ll plan better next time.