Sunday, July 20, 2014
I arrived in Rome at 9:00 a.m., about a half hour ahead of schedule. Thankfully, my lucky luggage also arrived. I had arranged for a taxi ahead of time, so I wouldn’t have to worry about trying to figure out public transportation while sleep deprived.
Since I was ahead of schedule, my driver wasn’t at the designated meeting spot (and it’s actually a sign in English that says “Meeting Point”). However, that gave me a minute to make sure my phone was working and I had internet service. Thanks be to God, I had both!
My driver was a pleasant man who told me right away he didn’t speak much English. I chickened out from saying I speak a little Italian. I was happy just to enjoy the quiet drive.
My apartment is in the very residential Prati neighborhood, north and a smidge east of Vatican City. According to one of my tour books, it’s where the “real” Romans live, so I guess I’m getting a taste of authentic Roman living.
My landlady, who is also my roommate, is a real Roman woman named Marcella. I’d guess she’s in her 50s. One of the first things she said to me is “Non parlo inglese.” (I don’t speak English.) Oh boy! And thus the fun began of trying to communicate with Marcella. She showed me around the apartment. I have a lovely little room with a twin bed, a wardrobe, and a desk. The best part is that I had prayed God would send me to an apartment with a balcony and look at what’s right off my room!
At 11:45, I headed down the street to St. Peter’s and arrived just in time for Pope Francis to appear at the window for his Sunday Angelus. It was broiling hot in the piazza, temps in the 90s and the sun beating down mercilessly on us. Some of the brighter spectators had brought umbrellas with them to shield them from the sun. I was not one of those bright ones, and the sweat just rolled down my back.
Pope Francis is there, I swear! Just look carefully.
As soon as it was over, I made a beeline for the entrance to St. Peter’s. Of course, I was not the only one with this idea, so the wait took about 15 minutes. Once inside, I had a little while to visit some old friends (Mary and Jesus in the Pieta and Saints John Paul II and John XXIII). Then I sat down at the Altar of St. Joseph for 1:00 p.m. mass. Although it was cooler in the church than in the piazza, it was still too hot for me to concentrate much on the priest’s homily in Italian.
The last time I was in St. Peter’s, this tomb read “Blessed John Paul II.” Now it says, “Saint John Paul II.”
After mass, I walked around a bit and picked up a panino that became both a late lunch and an early dinner. This conversation I had mostly in Italian. The place was nearly deserted, and I think they were closing up for the night.
Me (looking pathetic and hungry and pointing): Un panino?
Guy at the counter (in perfect English): You want it toasted?
Me (refusing to give into English): Si.
(Guy throws the sandwich into a panini press.)
Me (still determined to stick with Italian): Quanto costa?
Guy (finally giving in to my Italian): Quattro cinquanta. (4.50)
Back at the apartment, I read through the first chapter of Father James Martin’s The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything, which I think will be my spiritual reading for this trip (a.k.a. the “pray” part of Speak, Pray, Cook). I had to fight off sleep late in the afternoon, but I managed to stay awake.
Sadly, when it was actually time to sleep, I found myself wide awake! Ack! I hate jet leg. I finally fell asleep after midnight, but then woke up again due to the rainstorm outside.
