2. Churches

...So there we were, dressed in our plaid shorts, holding hands Hansel and Gretel style, being enticed down via Cavour to this gingerbread-house-church of Santa Marie Maggiore. But this was no mere gingerbread, Classical all the way! To be honest, I committed a writers sin by not jotting down descriptions as we went along. I thought (again) that this has to be the most beautiful church I had ever seen and I would never forget a single detail. Now all I can remember is that it was huge on the outside, and inside it had a gigantic hole in the floor going to a lower level. In the hole, surrounded by gold and precious gems, was a box containing "reputed remains of Christ's baby crib". I remember that teaching in the bible, Chapter 4 verse 2, "And ye shall venerate My crib."

Like the gingerbread house, this church gave us our first sweet taste of how Roman architecture is a compost pile of eras. The exterior and interior of this building and the many others we were to see don't necessarily match. The tall, sinister, exterior verses gold crosses and gilded Madonnas on the interior. Excuse me, but I just have to plagiarize the tour book, " the exterior is 4th century while the interior is classical and the 1377 campanile is the tallest in Rome." There, whew, I feel better.

Our goal this afternoon, was to find the USO office to check on their tours. We wanted to see ALL of Rome and we had only five days. But not knowing when the USO closed put us under a time restraint. So after zipping through some well lit, but creepy popes' crypts we continued down the hot deserted streets until we saw two tourists contemplating a huge flight of stairs leading up to another street level. Still hungry tourists, it took R. and I only the wink of a Roman cat's eye to decide... "And besides," we told each other, as we took two steps at a time, "we may never find this detour again."

The other couple just shuffled on, shaking their heads like Eeyore, the droopy eyed, rounded shouldered toy donkey of the Pooh adventures. The stairway lead to another church S.Pietro in Vincoli. Meaning, Saint Peter in Chains. As soon as we entered the church, R. started jumping around, babbling and tearing at the tour book, like he was possessed. I tried to hush him up but he kept saying, "look, look, that's Michelangelo's Moses."

I followed his pointed finger to a pure white statue of Moses, at least 20 ft high, sitting with colossal muscles bulging from under his toga. Ten foot minor statues stood attending to his ever-statuesque need. Not only the shear size of the statue, but Moses' physique, his muscular arms and torso give the fierce power this sculpture is noted for. I was told that in high season this church is a madhouse of tourists but we sat on the alter steps and took a good long look. Knowing that a mortal carved the smooth curves from one slab of translucent pale marble made me bow my head in reverence. Moses sat still, serene, motionless, looking East with The Book under his right arm. Yet the Artist captured him full of life, his waist length beard flowing, curling to his lap, his muscles taunt ready to defend his peoples, his eyes kind and inviting said, "Come to me. Follow me."

As we turned to leave, a glitter caught my attention. I followed the light and there in a transparent box, lined with gold, were the chains that had bound Saint Peter. I was impressed but they looked like any other chains and I wondered about their authenticity.

As we wove our way from piazza to piazza, (a piazza is the courtyard formed by four tall buildings, it usually has a fountain in the center) the church bells chimed 4pm. "We'll never make the USO at this rate. Let's take the underground Metro. there are only two, A and B." We tossed a coin and then took B. to via Ottavano, emerged and were attacked again with statue-itis.

3. Nero's Circus Grounds

There, ahead of us in the distance, loomed spiraling Romanesque columns topped with white statues. From this distance they looked like giant candles with a flame on top, (roman candles) ha ha! Of course our USO plan was immediately forgotten. We took hands and were off to the wonderful emerald city of Rome, THE VATICAN. The candle column was only one of 284 Bernini-Doric- style-columns that semi-ring St. Peter's Square. "This place is gigantic."

Standing in the center of the (round) square, next to the 4,000 year old Egyptian obelisk, I tried to grasp where I was.... 2,000 years ago this was Nero's circus grounds, or chariot racecourse... where Peter was crucified upside-down...where Constantine built the "old" St. Peter's church in 324, lasting 1,200 years...and where this new masterpiece, also called St. Peter's, the biggest church in the world, (two football fields long) now stands; started in 1506 and actually built around the old church. After "only" 120 years, St. Peter's was completed and the old church dismantled. Like a huge vacuum cleaner, the church sucked us, along with the other tourists, to it's doors. But we were bared by a orange and blue uniformed guard.

"You cannot enter the church wearing plaid shorts, go away."

"But we've come so far already," I pleaded.

"Go away," the guard relied. "Come back tomorrow."

Before we knew what happened, we were spewered into the exit lane with all the other rejects. "We don't want to be here anyway. We've a date with the USO," pouted R. And so Hansel and Gretel, (or was it Dorothy and the Courageous Lion), started down the broad boulevard, Via de la Conciliazione, built in 1930 by Mussolini so that the dome of St. Peter's could be properly viewed. And of course so he could parade up it.

Located at the far end of the Boulevard the USO received us graciously. We couldn't decide on a tour package. If they had a cracker jack tour guide then the money and afternoon spent would be profitable but if the tour guide scratched and droned on and if the group moved slow motion from statue to painting then the whole experience would be a frustrating dream. We couldn't bear the thought of trusting someone else with even four of our precious Roman hours.

"Let's not risk it. Besides, it's more like an adventure if we just do it ourselves," R. suggested.

We did, however, after a lot of fussing, sign the clipboard agreeing to return at 8:30 am on Wednesday to have a Papal audience.

"We can't see the pope, your Jewish and I'm, well, I'm a non-agreeing Catholic. If he looks at us we'll explode. Poof, gone." I swept my arms wide over my head, so he could see the magnitude of the explosion.

"You might be right. You might be wrong. But when we get back home and everyone teases us, asking if we saw the pope, won't it be great to say "Yea"?"

With that settled and having reached the USO before it closed left us to decide, "What Next?"

"The Spanish Steps." I begged, "There is Cafe Greco at the base that's supposed to have been the hang out of famous writers. Somewhere I had developed the religious relic mentality: Just like gazing on the splinters of the Holy Cross promises salvation, touching the table that Goethe or Shakespeare sat at, would somehow bless me, gracing me with the holy spirit of good composition. So The Spanish Steps received an unanimous vote.

But first...What's that big building down the block and let's have a closer look at those bridge statues. The building turned out to be Castel S Angelo, AKA, O Mausoleo Di Adriano. Built in 135 as a four block square, eight story high burial place for the Imperial Family. Later it was converted into a fortress, church and now a museum. Unfortunately for us after the 45 sweltering minutes it took to circumvent it, we found it was closed.

The Italian heat and the honking, roaring traffic, weaken my knees even more then the historical monuments, so we crossed the Bernini-angled bridge (Ponte Sant' Angelo, from the 2nd century) to the shade and another wonderful view of St. Peter's dome. We sat on a bench, and allowed R.'s camera to also cool off from it's "photo opportunity" marathon. We only gave ourselves a quick rest, because we were conquistadors, in search of the famous Spanish Steps...

4. Pantheon

…And like all good explorers we took a wrong turn, emerged into another piazza.

"Oh,m'god" It's the Parthenon!!

No, R. corrected "Pantheon", the Parthenon is in Greece."

"You mean it's two different places? I had always got the two mixed up and could never get straight, what was where. And now I'm here, wow!"

We walked through the original doors into the half sphere building with a perfect round hole in it's top.

"What is this place anyway?" I asked, reaching for our tour-book- bible.

The Pantheon was a Roman temple dedicated to all (pan) the gods (theos) built in 27 BC It was rebuilt by the same Hadrian dude that built the church-fort, but he left the original builders name on front "M.Agrippa" who is also known as the greatest fountaineer in history, with over five hundred fountains under his belt in one year. Before we could take the camera out, church bells tolled 6pm and the guards swept us out, closing the bronze doors of the most influential architectural design of all times behind us.

"We shall return," was our vow.

Dorothys, Hansels, conquistadors and letter readers all need nourishment, so take a break while we slurp up a cold beer and then trot down Via de Vicario to "Giolitti" and the best ice cream in Rome. It's creamy smooth, like home made. We got a three scooper, chocolate, coffee and chocolate chip. Thank goodness the Italians eat late about 9 p.m. and the restaurants don't even open till 7:30 because the antipasti-ice cream sparked my appetite. I wanted to find Cafe Greco, but would have gladly followed any whiff of sautéing garlic

To our surprise, and easy going, at 7 o'clock the streets closed to auto traffic allowing the Italians to practice the fine art of promenading. They browsed two by two looking in the shop windows. While the women dressed in neon spandex. (Spandex was made for the Italian figure). Oh baby-baby !! The men wore blousey light colored trousers, starched shirts with a sweater slung over their shoulders GQ style. We, on the other hand, held our heads high, strolled arm in arm and pretended we wanted to look this way in our plaid shorts, camera's around our necks and sweaty T shirts.

While R. consulted our trusty map, declaring, "Only two blocks to go." I became enchanted by a passing Pied Piper tour guide and trance-like, joined his followers down an alley to Sant' Ignazio church. R., immune to the magical tones of tour guides, crept behind the group. When the Pied Piper paused for a quick breath, he yanked me behind a parked car.

"Where are we?" I asked, after he shook me back to consciousness.

"I don't know, but it must be important. Lets have a look."

Hungry, disoriented from the and quick change of weather and culture, we decided this looked like any other church, set up like the old Roman secular basilicas: A long main hall flanked by smaller halls with side chapels. Dome, with hole in it mimicking the pantheon, over the alter. I meandered about, half looking at the paintings of inhumane acts: decapitations, hangings and stabbings of babies being torn from wailing young mothers. R. slumped uncomfortably in one of the few straight back chairs, thumbing through the tour book.

Thinking R. came to rescue me from the fantastic artists-horrible subject matter, I allowed him to steer me by the elbow into the center of the church. "Look up." he commanded.

"Ya?, (after living in Germany, I can say Ya instead of yes.)

"See the pillars, angel statues, and windows in the dome above our heads, See how the hole that is usually in the very top, is off center? Keep looking and shuffle with me to a small disk on the floor."

"Hay, It looks like the hole is moving...stop, stop, now it's directly centered in the dome."

"And, we're standing on... the small disk." As R. began to explain that there really aren't statues of angels, pillars or even a dome with a hole in it like the pantheon but a 17th century technique of depth perception on a flat canvas, the sunlight, that had been streaming from the hole, instantly disappeared; the "dome" became dark. R. chuckled, pointed to the coin box that activated the light switch, then taking my arm he lead me out and into the real afternoon sun.

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