(Part 1 is here.)

To get to the Sistine Chapel, one has to go through the Vatican Museum; a long hall connecting a series of arched chambers. Almost every inch of wall and ceiling is covered by art. Even the tiled floors are beautiful.

One tapestry in particular I found interesting; it portrayed Jesus’ bris. As a young Jewish male, it was important that on the eighth day after his birth that he be presented at temple to be circumcised. This event is celebrated every January first as a “holy day of obligation” in the Catholic Church. That means that devout Catholics must attend mass on that day. The day used to be called, “The Circumcision”, but is now known as, “The Feast of the Holy Family”. It is certainly appropriate for Jews to wish their Christian friends, “Mazel tov!” on that day.

We came to some frescoes showing maps of Italy. Our guide asked us who had people from Italy, and where were they from. I raised my hand, and when she came to me, I told her, “My grandfather came from Trieste.” She considered me for a moment and then politely said something interesting. “They mainly speak German up there. You look more European than Italian.” Didn’t Italians consider themselves European?

We finally arrived at the Sistine Chapel, and were warned, “No picture taking and no talking!” The light from the flashbulbs fades the reds, and apparently warm breath is also bad for the colors of the paintings. They weren’t kidding about talking; inside were thousands of people. Two priests stood there and every thirty seconds would put their fingers to their lips and go, “Shhhh!” as people would forget and start to chat with each other as they craned their necks and looked up.

After the Chapel, we were outside again, and then our tour group went into St. Peter’s Basilica. It was started in 1506 and finished one hundred twenty years later, and it looks it. If you took the top off, you could probably land a Piper Cub in it. Near the main entrance, off to one side, is Michelangelo’s Pieta. I had first seen it forty-four years ago in Flushing New York, at the World’s Fair. This time, a plexi-glass wall separated it from the crowd. In 1972, Lazlo Toth had attacked the sculpture with a hammer, chipping off the Virgin’s nose. It’s since been repaired, but precautions have been taken since then.

We stepped through the front door, out into St. Peter’s Square, where thousands of folding chairs had been set up for the Pope’s blessing of the crowd that coming Saturday afternoon.

We stopped for bottled water, and then bought tickets for an open-topped tour bus. The tickets are good for twenty-four hours, and people can get off and on throughout the city at various stops as they choose.

We had been assured that this was the best way to see Rome. It works well in Paris and New York; but Rome being Rome, Roman drivers are still Roman drivers. That meant that our bus driver did not follow the itinerary that we had been supplied with. Our bus went past some places – like the Tomb of Augustus – twice, and saved the Coliseum (scheduled for the middle of our ride) for last. It was very easy to see where the expression, “When in Rome . . .” came from.

We got off the bus across the street from the Coliseum and had lunch at a small café; pasta, red wine and cappuccino. Then, we crossed the boulevard and bought admission tickets to the Coliseum and walked in. An elevator has been installed to take you up three stories to the top.

It’s famous - among other things - for having a large feral cat population, but this cloudy afternoon, we only saw one. Outside the Coliseum, men dressed as centurions stood and posed for pictures with tourists, for a price. I guess this was the Roman version of Times Square’s Naked Cowboy.

Inside, I was surprised to see that the “stage” area was a labyrinth of corridors, instead of a flat playing field. My friend explained to me that this was “backstage” – or more accurately, “understage”. The “show” area was on top of the maze; wooden floors topped by earth where the action occurred. Underneath is where the lions were delivered – via pulley elevator – to the “showroom” to face the gladiators and Christians.

After, we returned to our bus stop to wait for the next tour bus. It had started to drizzle. Eventually, our driver showed up and we were soon on our way back to the Hotel Dei Consoli for some Chianti consoli on the rooftop terrace under a rain canopy. We shared fresh Italian cheese, crackers, and all the jokes we could remember.

Next morning, Friday, we boarded a bus for a tour of the towns Orvieto and Assisi. It was a two hour northeast drive, to Orvieto, our first stop. The bus floated among the flotsam and jetsam of Rome traffic as we sauntered out through the suburbs, where we exited onto a major highway. The Italian countryside was draped in a cold fog as we sped along the Italian motorway. We would glide past a modern factory and a mile later pass a centuries-old stone farm house with lighted windows. At one point, a bullet train shot past a flock of huddled sheep.

Orvieto is located on top of a plateau in the region of Umbria. To get there, one must ride a tram up a cliff that is nearly vertical. The tram is single-track, except in the middle of the cliff, where the track briefly splits in two. Two cars – one at the bottom and one at the top – are connected by a cable. As one car goes up, the other goes down. In the middle, where the track splits, the cars pass each other.

The town has been populated since Etruscan times. Underneath, it is a labyrinth of tunnels that the Etruscans built long before the Roman Empire was established. There is also the Well of St. Patrick.

Our guide informed us that St. Patrick had spent ten years inside it, meditating. However, in researching this story on the Internet, I’ve found nothing to back this story up as even a legend. It did remind me of Don Novello’s routine, that he used as Fr. Guido Sarducci, about “St. Dudah”, who went to the woods to meditate on what he wanted to do with his life, and ended up living fifty years in tree trunk. Whether he found inspiration for this bit in Orvieto, I don’t know. I know he was arrested some years ago in the Vatican for “impersonating a priest”.

(Concluded next week.)