Chapel I had to wait in line with the rest of the tourists. The line was slow and long, and I worried I wouldn’t get in and began to question my plan.
Once inside the Chapel, so small compared to St. Peter’s, I saw immediately why the girls had insisted that I visit. The Chapel ceiling was breathtaking; Michelangelo’s images were so powerful. I could almost hear Rex Harrison yelling at Charlton Heston in that great movie, The Agony and the Ecstasy, “When will it be finished?!” As I squinted my eyes, I could see the swaying scaffolding and hear the nervous movements of Michelangelo’s assistants working feverishly on the Chapel while Pope Julius II paced below. It was all worth it: however long it took for Michelangelo to finish his masterpiece, it was the perfect amount of time.
As they had when I visited the Acropolis, the guards had to literally escort me out when the Chapel closed. While the sun set, I walked back to the entrance of the Basilica in front of St. Peter’s. I stopped not far away, at a little hole-in-the-wall café, and had pasta and a couple of beers. Almost overcome with emotion after spending the day immersed in beauty and history, I struggled to find the words to describe in poetry all I had experienced.
My day ended with a large pale moon rising behind Vatican Square. I had decided: the next phase of my adventure was about to begin. Tomorrow I would begin to hitchhike by myself through Europe. The teaching English plan? I didn’t see myself as a teacher. It was obvious I would have to leave Europe soon, no matter what, and I wanted to see as much of it as possible before that time came. I was nervous. I was going to be totally on my own, with very limited resources, making my way through foreign lands. Anything could happen, and if it did, I would be on my own. Yes, I was nervous, but I was also ready—I’d gotten my feet wet traveling this first month. I knew there was more waiting for me out there; first Beyond Paris and now Beyond Rome. My first solo destination: the Cannes Film Festival.
As confident as I was in my decision, I still worried constantly about how to get more money. After Cannes, I had no idea what I would do. The recent information I had received about cheap airline tickets home in London might work, or if all failed—I was very dubious about this—I could go to the American Embassy and ask them to send me home. That slim hope of that gave me the impetus to start the next leg of my adventure. Tomorrow could be very good or very bad—or even something else?
The Road
I had no idea what he was singing, but this song always got to me whenever I had heard it during my time in Rome.
Lia seemed to sense this and tried to explain the words to me.
“Paolo, lascia che ti spieghi.”
She put her hand above her eyes and turned her head as if searching.
“Looking for?” I guessed
“Si, alla ricercar,” she nodded. Then she pointed to me, took my hand and placed it on my chest.
“Me, myself,” I said, after hesitating. “
Ah, si, looking for myself!”
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