Vatican Day 9 & 10 plus the Siege of Rome

Friday rolled around, and I was aware that my stay in Prati was nearly over. I took a photo of Caffetteria Ruberto, Via Silla, 16; the coffee bar I stopped in every morning. Good memories there. The lovely Ami, manager of patron relations, was there to greet me when I walked into the Vatican Museum, along with Sarah, the guide for my tour of the Vatican gardens. It worked out great. Sarah is an art historian and we talked about art – its history, purpose, and meaning – while we walked in a beautiful garden in the cool of the morning. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the line in Genesis, “and they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day.”
This is right before Adam and Eve were busted and thrown out of Eden, but all I was thinking was even God likes to walk in a pleasant garden. Fortunately, no flaming swords came for us. It was serene, not another soul in sight, unlike the Lexington Ave at rush hour crush of the museum. That alone was a balm to the spirit. We meandered, paused here and there to admire the view of St. Peter’s dome or inspect the grotto fountains. Turtles sunned themselves below the mosaics and flocks of green parrots darted amongst the palm fronds. We talked about how art is a solace in times of trouble. She asked which artist I admired most, Michelangelo or Raphel, and I went off the reservation with Caravaggio. I showed her that one thread in the St Peter crucified painting and she immediately understood.
She has a theory that the Magdalen in Giotto triptych inspired Raphael, culminating in his Magdalen in the Ascension. Sarah traces Giotto’s image through different works, as painters developed perspective. She also almost convinced me to go to the modern art museum. Perhaps. Maybe. She showed me a photo on her phone of a painting by an artist from the 1930s that almost convinced me. After the garden tour I visited the Giotto triptych and saw what she meant.
I’ll start packing tonight for the move on Sunday, since Saturday my beloved nephew, his bride and three kids are coming to Rome.
I’m pretty sure I’ll need to bust out the duffle bag.

Saturday dawned bright and clear. Dire warnings that due to world leaders coming to Rome to celebrate the anniversary of the Europan Union, Rome would be closed. Not all of the city but a good chunk of the central area, and on top of that four major demonstrations in areas outside of that zone would shut down those sections.
Turned out to be not so bad except the white taxi driver (color of the vehicle, not the operator) charged me double, claiming he’d have to go a longer way back. Huh? I had to walk the last three blocks. Not a prob. I arrived at the spot chosen by my nephew,  Trattoria Vecchia Roma, Via Ferruccio, 12/b/c, 00185 Roma on time if not under budget. William has long been something of a gourmet. He has standards. He learns toward authentic. I am more lackadaisical, but he’s who I call when I want a solid restaurant rec.
It was an adventure. The two older kids, Leonie and Milo, were exceptionally well-behaved, and the baby was a handful. Being cooped up for a long car ride, plus low blood sugar, was a predictably toxic combination. She squirmed and shrieked and ran for the exits every chance she got. It turned out to be the perfect restaurant because 1. it was filled with families and no one batted an eyelash. 2. our server was clearly an experienced Nona who clapped her hands with delight at the bundle of baby angst. One bowl of pasta later and she was, by toddler standards, mellow. Plus, the artichoke alla Romana was divine.
The first time I met my nephew, William was wearing footie pajamas and carrying around a whistling R2D2 toy. Now my nephew is a Pater Familias with salt in his beard, and a fourth baby on the way. I feel as old as Rome. After our meal we walked in a park that would have been lovely if it had not been so neglected. The baby chased pigeons.

I could hear the chanting of the demonstrators,  the coliseum rose up at the end of the street (closed for the EU anniversary shindig.)

After they left, I decided to walk to Santa Maria de Popolo. A beautiful place, though raucous, loudly amped rock music from the street disturbed the peace. I couldn’t find Bernini’s tomb though I looked diligently for it. This one almost made up for it. Really tired by then, I called Uber, and headed back to finish packing.
Tomorrow, I make my move to Monti.