Sunday, October 14th

I’m up early, so I shower and call River and Ivan to make sure they’re up. Ivan charges his cell phone with my voltage converter. We eat a crappy breakfast ( juice and stale rolls) in the rooming house dining room then head out to St. Peter’s Basilica. The square is more or less open, not many people around, so we pass through security fairly quickly. The security is two-pronged, by the way. First you pass by a couple of guys watching to make sure you’re not wearing shorts or dressed like a slut, then you pass through metal detectors. Priest tells us he’ll explain the history the next day, so we hustle over to a side chapel and have Sunday mass. There aren’t many seats, so I stand in the back, wishing I could lean against a pillar or something, but the nearest pillar is too far out of earshot to pretend as if I’m paying attention to the mass. A small crowd of natives and tourists drift near and take part in the service as well. At one point I say the sign of peace with an Asian woman and an Italian couple, and I feel a bit better about the world. After mass Priest gives us a quick historical tour near the Pieta (sp?), which is covered in plexiglass after a crazy guy took a hammer to the statue a couple years back. We’re not supposed to take pictures, but everyone does, and I suppose the security can’t throw everyone else. Priest tells us the Japanese own the picture rights after they agreed to clean the space. I don’t get it, what the hell, the paintings look clean. I walk back with a few of my colleagues and beg off a red bus tour. The NJ girls and a Franciscan brother named Dennis invite me to sit with them across the street at a café. We talk about 9/11 and baseball. Dennis is from Brooklyn, so he and the girls fall into natural 9/11 talk, where they were, that sort of thing. I can imagine most NYers don’t have that event out of their system yet, so I listen and ask questions. We talk about baseball and urban traffic, too. Susan says “Nothing can negate our pilgrimage.” I liked that phrase and try to save the words for later. I help Liz find an ATM and thank them for letting me hang out. I needed that.

My mind is overloaded, so I return to the rooming house and sit in metal chairs a patio, reading from Jung and “The Reluctant Saint.” I snag an eggplant and mozzarella sandwich at the bar across the street and splurge on two diet cokes. I read forty pages or so from the Francis biography and talk with Priest and LN a bit about prayer, specifically how to pray without using words. Priest asks me if I’m ok. I must be sending off mental illness vibes. I’m wired from the diet coke, an I’m in a pretty good mood, so I take some pictures of myself in the elevator mirror. Here I am, in Rome, in an elevator.
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My ear is starting to hurt, worrying me a little, and I walk out in the street to see if a drugstore is near the rooming house. I run into River, who tells me his wife’s grandmother died. His wife wants him to come home with the group, although he had planned on visiting Florence and Venice with a couple colleagues after the official pilgrimage ended. Perhaps it’s the fact I’m missing my own family that causes me to encourage him to go home, but he gets pissed and barks at me about how he knows his wife wants him home and needs to think about the situation before he makes a decision.

Later we get back on the bus and visit St. John Lateran Cathedral. I’m sick of churches. We stand out in front and take a couple pictures of statues before going inside and checking out some gory statues that depict how each of the portrayed martyrs died. For example, they have a statue of a guy getting his skin flayed. Gross.

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We sit in choir stalls for a short prayer service, through which Ivan sleeps, during which LN gives us small rocks from Assisi. After the service we get back on the bus and drive past the coliseum, where I take a couple cool pictures from the bus:

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I guess most of the restaurants in Rome are closed on Sunday nights, but Priest knows the family who owns a reputable place who open especially for us. They seat us on a long table along the street. I am standing up right where I sat during this picture:

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I see a phone, so I call phone quickly, leave a message, and return to dinner. I sit way on the end of the table, near the NY guys and a couple U colleagues. We eat well again, that olive oil bread, tiramisu, pasta, everything. I drink white wine, which I regret immediately, then switch to water. Priest is proud, walking up and down the table, making sure everyone is ok. We have a great time, a few people get wasted, and when we get on the bus Kyle, the husband of one of my colleagues, demands to drive the bus. Hilarious. I’m totally lost, in terms of my sense of direction, but I figure out how to use the Tiber as a landmark by the time we reach the rooming house. Ivan comes to my room, where I give him his charged cell phone and the key to my hotel safe. He and I cut a deal where he can keep his money and passport in my safe if he keeps the key in his ear. Bob wants in as well, so I store his valuables, too. I write a little, listen to Tom Waits, and go to sleep.