Have You Ever Felt Like a Hamster in a Maze?

On our third day in Rome, we decided to come up with a real agenda. Francesca went to catch her flight back to Edinburgh, and we were left to our own devices. So, here was our plan:

1)Go to the Colosseum and the Forum. See the sights.
2)Go to the Vatican Museum. Do the same.

Yes. Our plan only had two steps. Keep this in mind while you read.

We made our way to the Colosseum, which we had no trouble finding (most people don't have trouble finding it, but you must understand that this was a definite milestone in our traveling thus far). But when we reached the entrance, we saw that the Forum area, which we very much wanted to see, was closed for a couple of hours. Seeing that, we switched to action mode and resolved that it was just not our day to see the Roman ruins and its ancient arena of death.

Straight to the Vatican...well, at least we tried to do that. After looking at our map, we saw that we had not explored the southwestern part of Rome thoroughly enough. So we adjusted the plan: explore that area, then work our way northward to get to the Vatican. As you can see from the map, it seemed pretty cut and dry. But there is one terrible aspect to the map we were using—it did not show topography.

After getting in a quick workout in the Circo Massimo, satisfying Wes's urge to do ring dips in Windy City Cross Fit fashion, we found ourselves exceedingly hungry, very thirsty, and having no way to satisfy either urge. But we pressed on, trusting on our resourcefulness to get us what we needed when we needed it. We crossed the Fiume Trevere (the river), and passed by the Piazza Triussa and its way cool fountain. At this location, a pair of girls were handing out packs of tissues. We each took one. In retrospect, we should have used them to cry.

But that's getting ahead of things. Northward ho! Going this way afforded us some incredible views, the Fonte Acqua Paola, and the Mausoleo Ossario Giancolense, a memorial to those who died in military defense of Rome.

Fonte Acqua Paola

Finally, we passed through yet another great arch, and went up some stairs, to find ourselves in a park. Now it may have looked like a normal park. But little did we know that it would be like wandering into the Twilight Zone. Thirsty, hungry, but only slightly lost, we pressed on, our confidence budding. Just go straight north and we'll be there in a jiffy. No problem.

Except that there was a problem. The further we pressed into the park the more lost we got. All directions ceased to have meaning past 'that's a cool ruin,' or 'this park kicks ass!'

Kicks ass, or kicks OUR asses?

Our map became useless. Our instincts, honed by thousands of years of human development, would guide our way out of the park, to...a highway. We didn't know if we had somehow stumbled upon an alternate universe Rome, in which the twisty, windy streets were replaced with single lane highways bordered on both sides by high walls. Left without much besides a determination to keep going forward, we did just that.

A Part of Rome You Don't Want to See

Now remember what I had noted about topography. We couldn't tell because the incline was ever so slight, but we had been traveling up the side of a mountain the entire time. And while I'd love to tell you where we actually were, I can't. Because I still don't know. All I know is that the scant traces of English were gone, replaced by sidelong glances when we popped into stores and when we wound about residential high rises. We could see the dome of St. Peter's in the distance. Our goal was within reach...but how do we get down from here, wherever 'here' was?

Here's how you get down. First, you accept that you're screwed, which we did with wild abandon. Then you lose all appetite, which was quite easy. Then you scramble to find any sense of direction, which was impossible because it was around noontime. Finally, you just pick a direction and go, which was the only thing you could do. So we walked. And walked. And walked. All the time knowing telling ourselves that down and toward the dome was where we should go.

After almost three hours of wandering around the outskirts of Rome, we found ourselves back at the Vatican. We were starving, half-crazed, and smelled like your nicer sewers after a flood. A perfect time to see the Sistine Chapel, eh? So we did that after scarfing down overpriced panninis and cappuccinos.

So you may be thinking, those dumbasses nearly got themselves lost in the mountains hugging Rome, but the worst is behind them. Ahem, no. See, we LOVED the Vatican museum. We loved the Egyptian exhibits, the Greek and Roman relics, the tapestries—all of it (except things depicting mountains and/or people lost; those not so much). We loved it so much that we spent the rest of the time there looking and taking pictures and talking about the meanings behind the symbols embedded in the art. And the Sistine Chapel itself! No words can capture it (I'm sure you're sick of hearing this). I didn't know that it was so huge, so magical, so...holy, I guess...before actually seeing it. We sat and stared at every part of the ceiling and walls that we could in order to burn their images into our minds. Then we were promptly ushered out, through a hallway, onto the steps outside St. Peter's. A problem—we had to check our bags at the beginning of the museum, and there they sat, behind a desk, behind a door, behind a nice, pleasant looking sign that said: CLOSED.

Crap. Again. By now, we had accepted that this was not our day, and after consulting five different carabinieri, we were told to talk to the Swiss guards who blocked the way to the residential area where the priests and nuns of the Vatican lived. Once we did that, we were instructed to talk to some police lieutenant who looked at us like we were buffoons, got on the phone, hung up, and told us to come back in one hour.

So we used the hour to nervously wander the streets and find a cheap meal to keep us from going totally over the edge. In the course of this, we encountered two nuns from the States, who provided kind words, glowing smiles, and a nice respite from the madness of the day.

The two coolest chicks in Rome

So after all that, and after coming back, we were led through the residential area with armed escort, to a small office filled with police. There we were promptly handed our bags and allowed to leave. On our way out, we had to once more pass the Swiss guard who helped us get our stuff back. He looked glad that things turned out okay, and for sure we were happy that this entire day of hell was over. So to congratulate ourselves and thank the Swiss guard, we offered to give him a slice of true Americana, a greeting/farewell that all at once captures the indomitable spirit of the United States.

The reception? Let's just put it this way: if you ever wondered if the Swiss guard of the Vatican do fist bumps (AKA 'knucks'), the answer is a sternly stated 'no.'