On our final day in Rome, we visited the Vatican.

We didn’t prebook tickets (which I hear you can do online), so it took us about 40 minutes to get inside. Which was not too upsetting- Andy read, I pretended I was a dinosaur who like to eat fruit- and was much less time than promised to us by the assorted men trying to sell us overpriced guided tours (‘2 hours’).

 We spent a bit of time flouncing around the courtyard. It was pretty cold:

So we headed into the museum. First stop- slightly creepy creepy room filled with heads and busts:

My sister was really into Greek myths when she was younger. Ella chose Artemis- the hunter goddess, as her goddess, a slightly odd choice for one who has possibly not owned a flat shoe (and definitely not taken to running) since forced to do so in high school. My goddess was Athena- goddess of wisdom, and goddess of war (she had a temper that I respected and could identify with).

We’re practically the same person:

Although I am concerned that my nose might be a little less Greek and a little more Roman. Don’t tell my sister.

Mr Ed:

Sometimes when I go into a grand church I feel conflicted between the awe and the amazement of it all, and the feeling of injustice: the feeling that people were starving in the streets while the Church took their wealth to make a palace.

I’m not so religious, but I especially can’t believe in a God who would demand such excess of his people over true faith and love and kindness. When I look at the Dalis and Van Gough and so on, there’s always a voice wondering by what means these works were acquired.

It’s the same feeling I get when going into something like the British Museum- wonder at the works, but even more wonder at the gall of a country so boldly showing off the history they’ve stolen from a people whom they subjugated.

But anyway, on with the pretties:

This one I kind of love for it’s Blatant Symbolism. It’s a fake god (pagan) crumbling under the truth of Jesus. I can practically see my year 12 English teacher’s eyes rolling in their sockets at how over the top it all is.

Andy liked this little dude:

And also liked being Tall.

For some reason, I look less amused by the concept.

 Probably the best photo of the day:

Yes, those are testicles she is carrying around her personage.

Obviously this is also pretty good:

And now for something a bit modern. A Van Gogh that seems almost sacrilegious in its depiction of a slighly blobby Holy mother….

…a tiny fat little popeling running through the woods…

… and this tipsy little fellow…

Since Calder, I pretty much love anything that plays with shadows and light. I also appreciate the ‘noodle-y-ness of the Jesus figure here’.

This one, I would very much like for my apartment.

‘Four Generations’

We finally barged our way through the crowds and made it to the Sistine Chapel, where we experienced the beauty of sharing a sacred site with 800 other people, while being constantly shouted at by angry Italian guards ‘NO PHOTO NO VIDEO SILENCE!!’. At one point we saw a guard actually walk up to someone who had broken one of the rules, shout a bit more, and make him leave.

We broke the rules anyway, we’re just wild that way.

After leaving the packing shed, we had pretty much finished our Vatican Museum experience.

We had a quick look in the Basilica, and Andy, who is braver than me, went and checked out the roof:

I sat and waited, and laughed at the poor Swiss guards who had to deal with Idiot Tourists thinking that their job involved directions to the nearest train station. You might be able to make out the guard in the background actively rolling his eyes:

 Ah lolipop guards, you’ll always be my favourite thing about the Vatican C.