We Found a Dove in a Pope-less Place
When the country you’re visiting has the highest crime rate in the world but not a single prison cell or the shortest rail track but only one station you know you’re somewhere a little bit special. And it is for these sorts of quirks and curiosities, as well as being the smallest nation on earth by some considerable margin, that attract travellers from all over the world to the one and only Vatican City, or Holy See, or See of Rome, or Petrine See, or Apostolic See, or whatever name takes your fancy. We’ll stick with the Vatican for now.
An enclave of not just another nation but of another city, Rome, the Vatican’s meagre 0.49 square kilometres have long been a fascination since my obsession with all things geographical and vexillological began many, many moons ago. Hence, I was extremely enthused when the opportunity to discover, first-hand, its many oddities finally arose. First, however, before any exploring could commence, we were required to navigate our way around the narrow streets of Italy’s bustling capital. Thankfully, our time in Rome happened to coincide with an old man’s birthday and so Lowri splashed out on an Airbnb in its centre, allowing us to leave our precious van on a campsite an extremely safe distance away, although this failed to help us entirely as you will read in the next post.
Our Roman escapade began with an extremely excitable landlady called Silvia, who wasted absolutely no time in showing us her countless selfies with bristling Hawaiian actor Jason Momoa, also a recent guest on the premises, almost as soon as she exclaimed buonasera! After taking in our seventieth snap of Mr Momoa riding a pink Vespa outside her gaff, we did our best to politely evacuate and start our tour around one of the most historic metropolises on earth.
The lavishly decorated Trevi Fountain and sun-drenched Spanish Steps were a marvel to behold, or they may have been had we the gumption to punch our way past every tourist this side of Pisa to see them clearly. We were warned that wandering Rome’s countless tourist attractions at any time other than at the crack of dawn would be an error of judgement and, just as a Tory prime minister discovers after a mini-budget, advice is there to be heeded. However, all was not lost as a birthday treat of great magnitude had been organised by my much better half.
Following a delightful vegan platter in a tremendously, trendy taverna we tottered across town to watch, live, none other than The Three Tenors! Although given one has died and the other two retired, we were treated, instead, to The Three Countertenors, but it was still bloody marvellous! With a grand Roman basilica as their backdrop, they blasted out all of the classics you’d expect from fun-filled Volare to heartrending Time to Say Goodbye to Nessun Dorma, twice; I hadn’t had that many goosebumps since finding a sealed jar of Marmite in a Milanese market. Upon its conclusion, we headed to the Irish bar opposite to culturally balance ourselves with some live renditions of American Pie and All Summer Long. Puccini and Kid Rock within minutes, delightful.
I positively leapt out of bed the following morn as our day in the Vatican dawned until I realised how many Guinnesses my liver had processed the previous evening and quickly smashed the snooze button. An hour or so later we were on our way across the city and entering our next nation. With tickets booked for the vast Vatican museums later that day, we began our visit in the fabled Saint Peter’s Square. Being a bit of a nation nut the joy of tracing the walled country from the outside before crossing an unmarked border into a new nation was exhilarating, and I say this completely unsarcastically. Following this initial thrill, I was free to run around and photograph anything and everything remotely Vatican that I could find from post boxes to flags outside the tabacaria. I was in my element.
The square itself, which I like everyone else has seen countless times through a screen, was as stately and as simply enormous as one could imagine. With a graceful fountain, portacabin post office, and countless seats prepared for the next appearance of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, or Biggy P. Francis to his pals, it was a feast for the eyes and ears as the crowds of tourists and worshippers hummed around the immense piazza. As our ticket time to the celebrated Vatican museums neared, we exited the city/country via the easternmost section of the square and returned by means of a different entrance…
J
