The Vatican Rag

After a long night of aperitivos* (Americans love free food), Sarah and I decided against going to Florence today.  Instead, we slept in a bit and headed back to Vatican City to climb to the top of the Basilica of St. Peter's with Mel.  We endured a surprisingly long line under a surprisingly hot sun to get into the cathedral, so by the time we'd bought our tickets we were already sweating, and since you aren't allowed in if you're showing any skin at all (read: pants and shirts up to your neck, down over your belt, and covering every inch of shoulder are required), the climb proved a bit less enjoyable than we'd hoped.  The experience at the top was worth it, though.  Mel and I scampered around, climbing up on little columns on the side of the dome's top and taking pictures of each other striking model poses with Rome as an ant-sized backdrop, while Sarah clung white-faced to the bannisters and begged us to be more careful.  We eventually convinced her to get up on one of the columns, which she hugged for dear life (to the point of refusing to turn around and actually see the city spread out beneath her).  Of course, the shot we snapped of Sarah glued to a column was by far the most model-esque of any of ours.  I guess short people just don't have a chance.

On that note, I have to say that one of my favorite things about having Mel around is that she's actually shorter than I am.  I haven't been the brunt of any short jokes since she's arrived.  It's a bit unnerving, but also kind of nice to feel mildly normal-sized.

Brad (of the Wilson variety) met us up at the top and proceeded to take much better pictures with a much more sophisticated camera than our little digital Best Buys, and the three girls just smiled and posed for him as he made us look like beautiful angels flying above Rome.  At least, that's what he said we looked like.  I was a little skeptical about the angel part, as I'd been looking over my shoulder for lightening or locusts or something since Wednesday afternoon.  I guess two days of taking my birth control while inside Vatican City gave me the willies a bit.  In the face of all that Christian glamor, I was reminded of what great lengths those Catholics sometimes go to in order to enforce their god's will.  I'm pretty sure the bottle openers with the pope's face on them that I bought doesn't help me in their eyes, either.

It's tough to be a sinner, but some gelato took my mind off of my transgressions and I spent the afternoon lounging in the Art Cafe and reading a book that Morgan's roommate Pat lent me for the week.  I'm still jumping a little at loud noises, and I've begun to wonder if last night's hail was some sort of sign, but Mel says that's all bullcrap and Morgan has assured me that tomorrow's agenda of wine and Jimmy Buffett at the Borguese gardens will deliver me back unto my own personal spirituality.

Tonight we're making pesto and garlic bread (when asked by Morgan whether we wanted garlic bread for supper, Nate responded, "Um, are leather jackets cool?"  I was pretty sure that meant yes) before heading to the most awesome themed party possible: Famous Romans.  I'm Remus, Sarah is Romulus, and Morgan is the she-wolf.  I think we'll be the best-costumed kids there.

*At an aperitivo bar, you buy a drink and then make your way to a huge buffet of appetizers, which you scarf down from a tiny plastic plate while trying to maintain the image that you are in fact at the bar for the drinks and will be headed to supper afterwards.  At least, that's the way we did it.  It was like a 7 Euro supper, except that the aperitivos weren't all that substantive and the drinks were.