All Roads lead to....

....Rome!

Just.

Technically, I am staying in the smallest sovereign state in the world, the Vatican City, but they don't have an internet cafe and the Pope is too busy to loan me his computer. But I do have a room with the City itself, and a real Room with a View, too, overlooking St. Peter's. And when I say 'overlooking' I really mean, 'next door', since it is to all intents and purposes on the Piazza. I can virtually shake hands with one of the ginormous statues on the collonades, and watch the queues of ant-like tourists from my bedroom window, marvelling at just how patient us camera wielders are when it comes to staring at famous buildings (my turn tomorrow, when I try and get into the Sistine Chapel).

How did I wangle this wonderous spot, I hear you ask? Well, it is all part of Being a Pilgrim and Being Lucky. Not, I hasten to add, because this was in any way organised. Rather to my surprise, there were no flags out and no Pilgrim welcome. In fact, there wasn't a reception spot of any kind, which struck me as rather surprising, given that Rome is the No. 1 pilgrim destination in the world for Christians. But, that notwithstanding, there is nothing. Niente. Rien. I was left wandering around feeling a little flat, being treated like just another Tourist. But I suppose I am really, despite 2,500 km of cycling, so I duly went to ask in the Tourist Office. They, of course, excelled themselves in being utterly useless, so I asked a passing posse of padres. (Posses of Padres are ten a penny round here). Having thus trapped a whole load of priests into showing Christian charity, I was directed to ring on the doorbell of the Franciscans. And since that doorbell just happened to be next door to the Pope, Wabbit and I will wake tomorrow to the bells of St. Peter's. (I know that Il Padre was looking forward to an audience with Wabbit, but unfortunately, we have arrived a day too late for that. Can't win them all, Benedict.)

Just as I was feeling rather pleased with this good fortune, another Funny Thing Happened On The Way to the Forum. (Actually, it was on the way to the Basilica, but I have been waiting about 2,000 km to say that!!). You know I mentioned those long serpentine queues, reaching half way around St. Peter's Piazza? Well, it seems that Being a Pilgrim has other advantages, if you are a girlie pilgrim and don't mind batting your eyelashes at the Swiss Guard. (Not an onerous task, I can tell you. At least, not given the Swiss Guard I got to bat my eyelashes at).

It happened thus: After being told that the Priest who could give me a Testimonial for completing the Via Francigena was away, the man in the TO suggested I go to the Sacristy. Since the Sacristy was in the church, this involved queuing. A lot. As I have the patience of a gnat when it comes to queues, I think I must have looked rather disappointed. Thus, showing a peculiar interest in doing his job, the man from the TO suggested asking the Swiss Guard, the elite force of the Vatican City army. So I did. And, my he was handsome that Swiss Guard. (And one has to be extremely handsome to look handsome in the red, green and gold stripes, puff ball skirt and funny hat, I can tell you. )

Anyhow, having lifted the barricade and escorted me up the stairs, (much to my delight and the consternation of the assembled hoards of queuing tourists), the Swiss Guard saluted me (I kid you not) and told me to come back if I needed anything. ('Anything at all', in fact, he reiterated) As a result I spent much of the time when I should have been awed by the majesty of St. Peter's interior having rather secular thoughts about just what kind of anything at all I dare ask for....

Even then, the pleasures didn't cease as preferential treatment was heaped on preferential treatment (and we all know there is no pleasure more uncharitable nor pleasurable than getting in ahead of a lots of Americans and Germans). When the assembled hoards were accosting the poor man from the Sacristy to bless their water, waiting dutifully behind the red cordon, I was ushered in, much to the surprise and envy of the multitude, merely to get a stamp on my Pilgrim Card. I have to come back tomorrow for the Testimonial, but I am not complaining if it means I get chatted up by the Delta Force of God and Switzerland.

But, seriously now. St. Peter's. It's quite big, you know. (Although I understand there is somewhere in the Ivory Coast, of all places, even bigger.) But...oh, I know I am going to upset you Italians, but it has all the atmosphere of a railway station. It is vast and wide, but it doesn't have warmth or any kind of spirituality. The building didn't move me so much as impress me. I gawped dutifully at the roof and the Michaelangelo dome, but it was an shock and awe not uplifting or intimate.

In fact, of all the churchs in Italy, only Orvieto cathedral has actually moved me. The difference? Well, my friends, Orvieto is Gothic. It is known as the Gilded Lily of Italy, and looks like a cross between a wedding cake and an altarpiece. But though the outside is stunning - all white and pale pink marble interspersed with gold mosaics - it is the austere, dark and cool interior that made me gasp with its beauty. A huge soaring vault - though without embossed arches - and that lovely Gothic sense of narrow height and the strange aethereal light from stained glass windows. There is something in the dimensions of Gothic architecture that, in and of itself, lifts the soul. At least, lifts my soul.

Nevertheless, I am pleased to say that I fulfilled my promise to Father Paolo, and will write to the Bishop of Pavia, as also promised. Thus, leg 1 at least, of my journey is complete and I am contemplating what to do about the next one. This has all become rather more urgent due to the news that the army have moved into Calabria, since there has been something of a killing spree going on by the Cormora (that's the mafia). Likewise, all I meet in Italy tell me I am half insane to contemplate going alone into Sicily.

So the options are thus:

1. Go for Sicily by boat from Salerno and back again, thence to Basilicata, skipping the toe of the boot and the Comorra.

2. Skip Sicily and take the Via Appia (??) to Puglia and thence up the Adriatic coast, avoiding the worse areas of drugs and vice and gangland violence.

3. Go for the whole caboodle and risk getting shot and coming back in a black body bag.

Mmmm. I am tempted to say 'You decide', but given what you made me do last time, I shall fight the temptation.

Will let you know after chatting things over with Jen and David and no doubt changing my mind many times.

Ciao!!

Vx