We awoke Thursday morning, our only goal for the day to see the Duomo di Siena and to wander throughout the walled city of Siena. We successfully accomplished both. Walking into the Duomo is like walking into the inspiration for Tim Burton’s movies. There are soaring columns of black and white striped marble reaching to the heavens.
Columns at the Duomo
It’s hard to remember to look at the floor, which is said to be the most impressive feature of the cathedral and contains dozens of inlaid marble scenes. My eyes continually were pulled upward, the majestic domes covered in blue and gold stars, the busts of over 500 popes flanking the edge of the ceiling. The library, with its colorful oversized choir books on display, mesmerized us. We were transported to a time well before the printing press was invented, staring at a few large notes calligraphied on each page.
The ceiling of the library
We climbed stairs (one of my favorite things to do) to take in an expansive view of the area around the Duomo.
View from above the Duomo
We viewed more religious artwork than either of us had seen in our entire lives combined. And we wandered. Turned down this street and that. Saw a small alley and followed it to its end. Suddenly surprised with a breathtaking view of the countryside as we rounded a corner and peered over the wall of the city. We stopped for lunch, dining al fresco at a restaurant chosen because it had orange tablecloths – what better criteria to choose a restaurant?
Danielle dining al fresco
And then, gelato in the afternoon, a delightful combination of tiramisu and coffee (because she made a face and refused to serve me when I ordered tiramisu and coconut, saying they don’t go together).
I scream, you scream, we all scream for gelato!
We spent the late afternoon on the patio of our hotel, sharing a carafe of wine (and complimentary potato chips), writing postcards and learning more about the region. We really couldn’t have asked for a better first day in Siena.
Danielle missed her connection in Germany. The last message I got from her was “Trying to catch 12:15 plane. See you at train station in Roma.”
The cafe where we had agreed to meet at the Rome Termini had shut down. I decided to wait at the end of the platform, hoping she would choose to walk that way. A train arrived from the airport every half an hour. She wasn’t on the first. Nor the second. I wondered if she had made her flight, or would be arriving much later. The third train arrived. There she was! We had missed our train to Siena, so stood in line to see if we could either get a credit or rebook. The agent looked at our tickets. “No good.” “Okay. Could we rebook for a later train?” He pulled up a schedule, scribbled a time on the paper, and said, “Be on this one.” “Can we use these tickets?” I asked. He nodded. “Do we need to pay more?” He shook his head. We walked away, not really sure what had happened, but knowing we had an hour to pass before boarding the train to Firenze/Siena.
On the train, Danielle mentioned that it seemed strange that we were going to Firenze then back down to Siena. I thought for a moment. Yes, that was strange. We took out our tickets. Oh. They didn’t say Firenze. They said, Chiusi-Chianchiano. Then transfer to a train to Siena. We looked at each other questioningly. Were we on the wrong train? We pulled up the trenitalia iPad app. We googled train maps. We brought out guidebooks. We couldn’t figure it out. The ticket collector came by. I looked up at him, with what might have been a little bit of panic in my eyes, and said, “I think we’re on the wrong train.” He smiled and took our tickets. “Oh, no. You’re fine. You get off at Chiusi-Chianchiano. Three more stops.”
We relaxed and got our bags down from the overhead compartments. At Chiusi-Chianchiano, we waited for the train to Sienna, surprised when a single car showed up. We boarded, along with a handful of others, and started the ride through the beautiful Tuscan countryside.
We arrived to our hotel around 9:45 pm. Hungry from the journey, we headed to the closest restaurant after dropping off our bags in our room, a loft at the top of the pensione. Maybe it was because we were hungry, but I don’t think so. Each meal seems to be getting better and better. We started with a plate of salumi, mozzarella, rocket, and bruschetta, followed by two plates of delicious pasta. Danielle had a spicy gnocchi in tomato and meat sauce and I had a combo of our waiter’s two favorite dishes, gnocchi in a special green sauce, and rigatoni with meat sauce. The tables were close together and we bonded with the couple next to us over discussing the merits of amaretto vs. grappa (amaretto wins, hands down).
Tantalizing antipasto
Basta pasta!
After dinner, we thought a short walk would do us good, before falling into bed. We stumbled down an alley and both of us gasped as we entered the piazza. It is enormous, flanked on one side by a city hall. Tonight there was a smattering of activity at the restaurants along the edge. I can’t wait to go back during the day and see it in all its splendor.
A friend recommended a restaurant to try in Rome, Ristorante Santa Cristina. I found it on Google maps and noticed it wasn’t far from my hotel. On Monday night I set out to eat there. After an hour and a half of wandering and turning down this small street and that, I still couldn’t find it. It was as though I was engaged in a game of Blind Man’s Bluff, but without anyone to guide me, “Warm!” “Cold!” I ended up eating at what I imagine to be the Italian version of a diner. The lasagna was good and the wine sweet, but I longed for the love of family style cooking at Ristorante Santa Cristina.
On Tuesday night I studied the map again and saw my mistake. I was determined to find it. I would. I set out and after an hour of circling, I found it. It was down a tiny alley with a street sign almost invisible. I walked in, the restaurant having just opened. “Table for one?” I asked. “Do you have a booking?” A frown began to form on my face. “No… But I’ll come back. I’ll take whatever time slot you have.” She looked at her book. “You can eat now, or come back in three hours.” I chose to eat now, knowing that I had to be out in an hour and 45 minutes so that they could prepare my table for the next reservation. I scanned the menu and ordered.
Primi: ziti with fried zucchini blossoms. The pasta was perfectly al dente, the zucchini blossoms amazingly crisp, in a light cream sauce.
Ziti with fried zuchinni blossoms
Secondi: mixed seafood platter. Tasty morsels of grilled salmon, cod, sea bass, king prawns, and langoustine.
Mixed seafood platter
Side: mixed fennel, peas, and beans. Cooked just right. Washed down with a half carafe of the house red wine. It was well worth the two days of searching. Buon appetito!
I walked over a hill and there it was. Colosseo. The Colosseum. It was somewhat surreal, seeing something in real life that I’ve seen depicted in artwork, paintings, movies, and books for so many years. It truly is awe inspiring. I listened to my audio guide, and was transported back more than 2000 years. I could picture the masses, entering the stadium, ready for an afternoon of entertainment, of gore, of death.
I arrived, happy to have booked a reserved ticket in advance (thank you Katie for the tip!). I was waived past the hundreds of tourists standing in line and immediately went through security. I climbed the stairs and got my ticket. Multiple tour groups entered at the same time and I felt myself swept along with the crowds. I wanted to pause and look at statues, at mosaics, at paintings, yet each time I stopped, I felt hoards of people pushing from behind. It’s moments like these when I want to do something completely socially unacceptable, such as screaming, “Get me out of here!” and running like mad. But I didn’t. At one point, however, I stepped behind a rope. I couldn’t bear it anymore. Maybe if I stood still for just a moment…
The handsome guard in his navy uniform immediately approached me. I mustered one of the few Italian phrases I know, “Mi scusi.” He stared at me. I fumbled. “I, I , the crowds. I can’t stand the crowds.” His eyes softened. “Can I stand here for just a moment?” He nodded and walked the other way. I waited until there was a break in the tour groups and started walking again. It was still crowded, but I wasn’t being constantly jostled.
The crowd, not quite so dense, moving towards the Sistine Chapel
I wasn’t prepared for the opulence of the Vatican Museum. Room after room of beautifully painted walls and ceilings. Halfway through the visit, my neck hurt from staring at the ceiling so much. On the one hand, I was disgusted by the wealth the church had accumulated. On the other had, what works of art. What incredible masterpieces had been created in the name of faith.
Beautiful ceiling at the Vatican MuseumAnother beautiful ceiling
The culmination of the tour was the Sistine Chapel. For some reason, I had always believed the Sistine Chapel was a dome. I was somewhat taken aback when I entered the long rectangular chapel. Every bit of the ceiling and walls were painted. I listened to my audio guide describe each panel of the ceiling and walls. I marveled at the detail of the paintings. All the while the guards yelling, “Silenzio! Silence!” The room would hush, then gradually sounds would arise, from tour leaders sharing expertise, from friends whispering to each other, from couples marveling at the art.
I was pushed out of the Sistine Chapel amidst a tour group, which was great, because it landed me directly at the entrance of St Peter’s Basilica. I walked in and stopped. As impressive as the Sistine Chapel was, I was unprepared for the grandeur and beauty of St Peter’s. I stood at the entrance, mouth agape. Sun shone through the high windows, the type of sun I used to always refer to as “Jesus rays” when I was younger. The rays of sun that appear so frequently in portraits of Christ, reigning down on the blessed.
Entering St Peter’s Basilica
I walked around, marveling at the gigantic nature of the building; watching the faithful dip their fingers in the holy water and cross themselves; and staring at the impressive statues throughout the church. A mass was beginning, so I wasn’t able to stand beneath Michelangelo’s majestic dome, just close to it. A friend had recommended I descend to the grotto, then ascend secret steps to the dome. I asked a guard where the steps to the grotto were. He shook his head, “Closed. Close at 4 o’clock.” Shoot. “Can I climb to the dome?” “Yes,” he said. “Exit, then turn left.”
The dome of St Peter’s from the floor, looking up
The first set of stairs (about 250) led us to the lower part of the cupola, to the base of Michelangelo’s dome. It was quiet, the only sounds coming from the priest and choir performing Mass hundreds of yards below. The sweet smell of incense rose to greet us. I was transfixed. I stood for half an hour, watching the Mass below take place, occasionally looking upwards at the marvel of Michelangelo’s work. We were surrounded by incredible mosaics. It was almost sensory overload. Everywhere I looked, there was incredible beauty. I made my way towards the stairway.
The dome, up closeWatching mass from the dome
The remaining climb to the top was tedious. Over 300 more stairs, the stairway growing more and more narrow the closer to the top we got. We were all in a single file line, trudging up the stairs. A few floors away from the top, the line suddenly stopped. I heard sobbing. A woman a few people in front of me was claustrophobic and having a panic attack. Her boyfriend turned around and apologized, not quite sure what to do. We waited, then she continued, still sobbing. “You can do it,” I thought. “We’re almost there. Hang in there.” We stopped again, waiting for her panic to recede. I wanted to give her a hug, to reassure her to take her time. We waited, then continued. We finally made it to the top. What joy! What expansive views of Rome!
Looking down at St Peter’s Square from the cupola
After walking around, and around, and around the top of the dome, I headed back down, to St Peter’s square. I stood below the balcony where the Pope addresses the crowds. I imagined what it must be like to stand here, waiting for either black or white smoke to arise from the chapel of the Sistine Chapel. I watched the sun set behind St Peter’s before beginning the walk home, exhausted from the overabundance of beauty I had witnessed.
Looking up at the Pope’s balcony. I kept hoping he would peek from behind the curtains.
I landed, dropped my bag off at my hotel, and walked across town to meet my co-worker Sara who was hosting a local WordPress meetup. It was great to see a friendly face within a couple of hours of landing. Afterwards she and her friend Katie introduced me to my first taste of Italian sweets. They even gave us a small cup of almond milk to wash it down. Delicious!
Sara and sweets
I wandered for the rest of the day. I meandered through Trastevere, gazed in amazement at the Pantheon, then finally made my way to Trevi Fountain. I sat by the fountain, somewhat in awe that I’m really in Italy. As the sun blazed down, I welcomed the splashes from the fountain. Before leaving, I did what all good tourists do. I turned my back on the fountain and tossed in a coin, making a wish. I laughed as I did so, because for something that’s so trite, it brought me so much joy.
I still can’t quite believe that in four days (4!) I’ll be on a plane to Italy. For the first time. I’m beyond excited about the possibility of pasta, wine, bike riding, cooking classes, reading and relaxing for two weeks.
Life has been busy lately. Tonight I started looking at accommodations for my trip. When perusing a website for a hotel in Rome that a friend recommended, I received this message in a pop up window:
Booking directly through our website, internet is FREE for all room tipology choosen!!
Upon first reading, I thought it meant tipping is included with internet bookings. After a few more times of reading it, I think it means you get free internet with any type of room. No matter. Viva, Italia!
LoriLoo 