Castel Sant’Angelo

We got into Rome Wednesday late afternoon. On our drive from the airport to our apartment the children fell asleep, and as much as I wanted to sleep I couldn’t because I was intent on counting the number of times our driver beeped his horn (like counting sheep only you don’t fall asleep). I was impressed with our driver though—not a word escaped his mouth whenever a motorcycle cut him off or whenever a car squeezed by with only centimeters between side mirrors. And I knew he could yell, so either he was cool or he was cool. And the scooter drivers! With nose pressed hard against the window I often found myself mumbling: “I need to try that one. . . and THAT one. . . and THAT one too!” It seems that in Rome, the smaller the vehicle the more powerful (and hence cunning) the driver.

Then we entered the main part of town and I lost track of the scooters and our driver because I had discovered the History Channel live! We drove past ruins of gigantic proportions that made me want to poke my head out and recite all the names of the Roman Emperors! But then I could only remember four so I had to be content with soaking in the view and feeling like I wanted to dance on tables.

Our apartment didn’t have much of a view, but it was certainly in an ideal location. It was just 200 meters from Ponte Vittorio Emmanuel, which is the nearest bridge before entering Vatican City. I knew we were close to Vatican City but I didn’t realise HOW close we were until we went for a walk later that evening. After we met with Caesar—that’s the name I gave the owner of the apartment because I swear he was the splitting image of Julius Caesar—we unpacked our things and then headed out for dinner.

We didn’t have to look very far though. Downstairs next door was a Trattoria, empty but for one other guest who wore a red checkered napkin tied around his neck hoeing into a large plate of pasta. Christian thought the figures that Arnold Friberg painted of the Nephites in “Samuel the Lamanite” were Roman centurions, or at least he imagined that that’s what a Roman centurion looked like. The other guest didn’t look anything like Friberg’s centurion though; he was bald and his stomach stuck out; which stomach made it hard for him to reach his food. The exact same image of our little guy when we was learning to eat. Weird.

After dinner around 10pm the children and I went for a walk. There were lots of tourists and locals out so we felt safe walking the streets that late. To our delight (or maybe mine because the kids were tired) we stumbled upon the Saint Angelo Castle, bridge and area leading towards Vatican City. To walk the road towards St Peter’s Basicila late at night with colossal buildings looming over the street lights was like how I imagine a mouse to feel when creeping around human things. Ery. And if you think Latin is dead, think again. I knew the Pope gave his sermons in Latin, but I didn’t know Latin was the official language of Vatican City—amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatus, amant! :)

Castel Sant’Angelo

Ponte Sant’Angelo

Ponte Vittorio Emmanuel

St Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City

St Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City