As we had worn out our gladiator sandals for the day we stepped into our heels before heading out for dinner. Our mouths were watering at the prospect of a restaurant “owned by a little old Italian man who doesn’t speak any English.” Unfortunately we didn’t get to taste any of this food as the restaurant was closed for construction. What is a girl to do? We asked a nearby hotel for a recommendation and then went in search. The restaurant was completely empty and the menu was written in comic sans, so we vetoed that choice. We may be backpackers on a budget, but if we’re going to spend money on a nice meal it had better be authentic, delicious food! Especially since we had to endure walking cobble stone streets in heels, and the millions (yes, millions lol) of Italian cat-calls we received on our trek. We kept walking until we came across a place a little ways up a side street. Our waiter at Ristorante Rinaldi al Quirinale spoke very little English, but paired with Heather’s very limited Italian we were able to order a delicious meal. We shared a bottle of house wine, melon and prosciutto, penne amatriciana with fresh basil, and baked chicken filets with parmesan cheese. To top it off, the persistence of our waiter and our soft spot for delicious baked goods and sweets, landed us a plate of tirimisu. When in Rome!
After dinner we strutted up to “The Yellow,” a local backpacker bar and looked slightly out of place with our polished appearance and glasses of wine (only 2.10Euro!). We enjoyed them over the company of a pair of cousins from St. Louis and chatted about Canadian/US differences (only taboo topics of course: taxes, politics, health care, dating history, dead people, student loans, religion……).
We made sure not to stay out too late and woke bright-eyed and bushy-haired to grab a quick breakfast and bus over to the Vatican. The Vatican was quite the adventure with several failed attempts to gain entrance. Who would have thought we would have such trouble getting in.
Attempt 1: Wait in line to go through security for St. Peter’s Basilica and realize our handy Swiss Army knives are not allowed in. Apparently someone once attacked the statue of Mary Magdalene holding Jesus with an axe; so even pocketknives are completely banned. Entrance denied.
So we stashed our knives in a potted tree not too far from the entrance. Problem solved.
Attempt 2: We knew that bare shoulders, shorts, and miniskirts were not allowed into the Basilica as it is disrespectful but we didn’t realize that dresses just above the knee were unacceptable. Entrance denied.
So we bought some great souvenir t-shirts and fashioned our dresses into appropriate length skirts and marched our fashion-statement selves back through security. Problem solved.
Attempt 3: Entrance granted!
After the Basilica we found our way to the long line for the Vatican Museum and only 1.5 hours and 83 private tour offers later we had made it in. The rooms were incredible to the point of sensory overload. The amount of time and effort that went into every room is simply astounding and unfathomable. Our appreciation of the art was nearly at its limit when we reached the Sistine Chapel. Pictures can’t quite convey the sheer size of the room and the detail of the works. We didn’t spend nearly enough time to truly appreciate everything but we were satisfied with our time spent there, and the waves of pushy camera holders were enough to affirm our decision to leave.After recovering our contraband from the potted tree we hopped a bus back to the hostel and picked up some salads. We napped for a good part of the afternoon before doing some shopping. Inspired by the history of the city we borrowed the movie Gladiator from the reception desk and watched as much of the damaged disk as we could. Then it was off to bed at a respectable hour to get ready for the next leg of our journey.
