jumpingfish

She’s unsure about pictures like these. Skeptical. I see the roll of her eyes. Yet, I find the geometry … compelling.

As per the schedule sketched out by the fair and industrious Trudy, we got to St. Paul’s in the morning. We stood beneath the gaze of Bernini’s statues on the balustrade of his colonnade.

A long line of people already wound a quarter way around the square, and more were streaming in behind us. There were men in the square arranging chairs in a dense array behind a thin ribbon of fencing. A sign said that due to a ceremony later in the day, the basilica would close at noon. Yet again, Trudy’s planning was top notch.

Inside… well what can I say?

It was massive. Very big. Voluminous. Ornate. Awesome. Guilded. Yes, there was a golden glow and glittering-shining everywhere.

We took our time to try to absorb it, the glittering and shining and the vast spaces overhead and the echoing of our whispers and the cool marble floor. And then we went back outside where Bernini’s statues awaited us.

And in the shade between the curving lines of columns, Trudy plotted our next course

But even there, concealed in the shade between the pillars, we could not escape their judgment and their silent stares.

(I really could not get enough of them.)

Breakfast included a fried egg, that European butter for which bread is only a medium and ice coffee. The fans blew a cooling mist over us. People walked by in the street. Cars and motorbikes beeped and drove by. We rested our weary wheels.

By the time we finished eating, it was late enough to check into our room. While Trudy took a shower, I opened the windows and pushed back the shutters and let the heat and sounds of Rome drift into the room. And at that moment, I kid you not, a man walked up to the sidewalk cafe just below our window and began to play the accordion. (It was as if we were in Italy or something!)

For the rest of the day, we wandered amid ruins, 

stood beneath the wave of Marcus Aurelius

and the gaze of Constantine

and eventually wandered back as the sun was setting on the Colosseum just down the street.

Just down the street!

When we wanted to, we could push the button on the back of the seat in front of us and watch our flight’s progress. As we took off from Dulles, the sun was still up. But as time went on, the map showed the edge of night growing closer as the arc of our trajectory passed eastwards. Sometime after we left The Maritimes behind, it became pointless to look out the window, because all was black.

To my delight I found that I was able to sleep (although the fair and industrious Trudy had no such success). An hour here and there mixed in with a little reading. The time passed mercifully quickly, something helped no doubt by the fact that we had actually slept the night before departure this time unlike the last time eleven years ago. 

At some point, I pushed my nose against the window again. Black. Wait. No. There was a rosy glow on the horizon. 

I pushed the button on the seat and looked at our trajectory. Our path was mostly thru night now, and the edge of day was not far off. I think I dozed off with my face against the window. When I awoke, the pink glow was slightly brighter. And there were clouds silhouetted against the red. And Venus was shining brilliantly in the pre-dawn sky, racing the sun which hadn’t yet come up.

As daylight grew, I saw us pass over the northwestern coast of France. I watched what must have been the Loire Valley, the lights of villages and towns shining thru a broken cloud deck, connected together by sinuous winding dots of lights that must have been roads winding thru hills and up what must have been valleys.

Daylight spread further, and I saw mountains with peaks sticking up above a deck of clouds that had now hidden everything else. And to the north and east I saw a large peak and recognized its shape. I gasped and pulled Trudy as close to the window as I could.

“It’s Mont Blanc!” I said.

She smiled.

But alas, it was not. I know that now, because as I tried to find an image of it online to share with you in lieu of the sight I saw, I find to my shame that the shape I saw was in fact not Mont Blanc. It was the Matterhorn! 

The Matterhorn, sticking up above the clouds early on a Saturday morning as we flew over southeastern France. The Matterhorn, which from the ground looks like this:

source: Zermatt and the Matterhorn

There it was. Tiny from 35,000 feet. Unmistakable. The Matterhorn not Mont Blanc. It’s just that I don’t know my mountains.

1.

Last time we did this, something like 11 years ago, we followed the advice of some seasoned travelers who recommended staying up all night before the flight so that we’d be so exhausted that we’d sleep on the plane and wake up ready for a new day when we touched down in Paris. It didn’t work. We stayed up the night before alright, but none of us slept on the flight, and by the end of our first day in Paris we had been awake for 36 hours straight. We were zombies for several days.

This time we just slept (somewhat) normally the night before. And the fair and industrious Trudy packed jet lag pills that we took every two hours while en route.

Trudy was unable to sleep. But I did a little. And in the event, we did pretty well on our first day in Rome, although we were mighty willing to lay ourselves down to sleep before 9:00pm.

2.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“It’s 6 o’clock!” Trudy grumbled.

The cleaning staff was knocking on our door at an obscenely early hour. 

“We’re still in here,” I shouted (not having any Italian phrases for such an occasion).

We chuckled at their diligence, turned over and went back to sleep. Well, Trudy did. I lay there for a while and then got up to see what Rome looks like as the sun comes up.

I pulled back the first set of drapes. I pulled back the second set of drapes. I opened the double-paned windows. And then I pushed open the shutters.

3.

A hot breeze blew in.

The bright Mediterranean light made me squint. Cars and scooters beeped in the streets. People were walking quickly down the sidewalk. This was clearly not morning in Rome.

I looked at my phone.

“It’s not 6:00,” I mumbled. “It’s 12:30.”

“What!?” Trudy said, sitting up in bed.

“It’s 12:30. We slept thru the first half of our second day in Rome.”

Let’s just say that we didn’t use the jet lag pills on the return flight home.