Go to the End of the Line

Today I pick up my ticket for tomorrow's papal audience. This will be my second: I attended an audience with Paul VI about a million years ago, I also had the pleasure of seeing John Paul II when he visited New York and spoke at Yankee Stadium. Three popes is not bad for a Protestant, imo.

Kelley and Alison arranged the ticket for me, and explained that it had to be picked up Tuesday, best time being between 3 and 7 pm. No problem.

I still hadn't paid my lodging costs, so I went to the nearby ATM. Before I left home, I made sure to let my bank know I'd be in Italy for a few weeks so my debit and credit cards wouldn't trigger a fraud alert. The ATM offered English, so I slid in the debit card, input the requested numbers, and voila: "This card is not authorized for international withdrawals".  For good or ill, the credit card seemed to have no such constraints. 

After a light lunch @ L’800, I set myself up in the college library to call home via Skype and to check email. My friend Sue wrote wanted to know if it was OK to invite another friend who was also going to Florence next week and and to say that she was prepping to work with the very big cat at the Kabul zoo. I asked Alison and Kelley if the cottage was available for Friday night, and it looks like it is.

Soon, I set out for Vatican City, on buses 85 and 40, not the infamous 571. Lines were longer today, but still not too bad, so I was waiting at the appropriate set of stairs by 3 pm along with about 30 other people. Three o'clock came and went and eventually, the barrier was pulled back and the group started up the steps toward the Swiss guards. No one, and I mean no one, had given any indication that this was not the right protocol. It seems people are allowed through to the Vatican Prefect's Office one at a time.

One of the Swiss guards summoned an Italian policeman, who insisted that everyone go back down the steps and line up again. OK. Then the policeman insisted that those getting tickets show the letter from the Vatican Prefect's Office showing that tickets were reserved for them. I'd asked Kelley if I needed to take the confirmation letter and she said I didn't. I made it to the front of the line twice and each time, the policeman sent me (and several other people) back to wait for the clerics in garb and others to ascend the staircase first. Finally, I suppose my explanation sounded legitimate enough that he let me by, and at top of the stairs, I had to repeat the whole thing for the Swiss guard. Fortunately, a bit of German seemed to help there. I went to the office, announced my name and was told there was no ticket. No, I don't have the letter. I really wanted to be polite because I'm sure this fellow has seen lots of meltdowns. Could I come tomorrow morning with my letter and get the ticket? Yes. Then I asked about the Irish College - and that triggered an 'aha!' and the ticket was found there, with my name listed under Irish College.

I didn't go back to the Basilica, but I did mail my postcards and watch the crowd bask in the very bright and sunny afternoon in the piazza. Then I went in search of one more gelateria - a place known for serving its gelato on fresh, warm brioche. It was a hike, but I found Gelarmony and chose pistachio, meringue, and chocolate. These were very good and the brioche was an unusual and nice change of pace. I wandered toward San Angelo and watched for buses I could take back to San Giovanni.

Waiting for the bus, I suddenly was aware that my hands were free. They shouldn't have been. I set the envelope with the audience ticket down when I paid for my gelato. A dash back five or six blocks ended happily when the cashier retrieved my envelope, contents intact. The mythical bus 571 zooms past. I re-walked the route to the bus stop and make my way back to the Irish College, its library, and then my room in the convent. Supper is a light fare of, yes, scrambled eggs, bread, and cheese.

Tomorrow's papal audience is at 10:30 and the doors to the auditorium open at 8. I set the alarm on my iPod Touch and hope it works (it did). I probably needn't have bothered with it, since the air conditioner went on and about every 10 minutes through the night.  At least I didn't oversleep. Maybe bus 571 was really a dream.