On the last day of vacation, Bobby, Greg, and I walked a total of 10 miles. We started the day quite early, leaving our Airbnb at Piazza Navona at around 7:10AM to start a half hour walk to the Vatican. We had an 8AM ticket to see the Vatican museums and the Sistine Chapel, which was scheduled to close at 10AM according to an email I received. This prompted an annoying sense of urgency, but it did give us an opportunity to see a beautiful sunrise.

We got there just in time to line up along with what seemed like hundreds of people ushered by guides with different colored flags filling up the waiting area. Meanwhile, busses unloaded even more people on the sidewalks. It was chaotic. But the process of entering the Vatican was surprisingly simple and unfussy. Quick ID and ticket check, then a quick security check of our possessions, then one last ticket check. And soon, we were standing in front of statues of Greek and Roman gods and goddesses.

Completely by coincidence, I’ve been consuming so much Greek mythology literature in the last few months (I highly recommend “Mythos” by Stephen Fry if you haven’t read it), so these first couple museums at the Vatican were right up my alley. I would even go as far as to say I was a little bit starstruck by some of them. At one point, my overly eager self pointed at a statue and obnoxiously proclaimed to Bobby, “It’s Apollo! Look! I just read about him!” (See said Apollo statue below)

But aside from the awe of staring at such old things and statues of characters we've all read about, I felt mostly nothing. I had that surface level admiration for the sheer beauty and scale of all the art, of course. SO MUCH ART. But it didn't feel like a lifechanging event in any way. Normally I would’ve been very excited about seeing pieces by Van Gogh or Matisse, but it felt odd in this context. I didn’t know how to process The Matisse Room in a religious setting.

I think a big reason is my complicated relationship with the church and Catholicism. At one point in my life, I'm sure I identified as an atheist. These days, I say I'm agnostic. But is it terribly cliche of me, now that I'm in my mid-30s, to simply just say I'm spiritual?

Growing up in the Philippines meant being born into participating in all the rituals of being Catholic without really knowing why. Going to mass, getting confirmed, attending so many baptisms, receiving my first communion, listening to so many sermons, even attending a Jesuit university. No one can say Filipinos aren't devoted to the Catholic church. They practically run the Philippines. So much poverty exists in the country and yet people would give the change in their pockets during mass anyway. I grew up in a rural town where I witnessed this time and time again. And yet. Anyway, I digress.

The one real moment of wonder for me during this visit was seeing the unphotographable (literally because we weren't allowed) Michelangelo fresco on the Sistine Chapel. It's just so goddamn beautiful, and detailed, and unfathomable. I can see how people saw this back in the day and felt compelled to believe in God.

I really would’ve stared up at the ceiling much longer than I did had my neck not started hurting. Frankly, I was also tired of people coughing in my face in such a small, crowded room. Have people really forgotten what happened in 2020 already? As I desperately tried to make my way out of that virus-filled enclosure, I made eye contact with a woman holding hands with a man telling her about how the disciples spread the gospel. She said, “Uh huh” with a faint expression of boredom. It almost made me laugh.

There was so much art we saw that day. And of course I took way too many photos for no reason at all. It’s almost like a tic sometimes. I think I have this desperate need to prove I saw the world. I was here. I existed in this space at one point in time and I saw all of these. In real life. Here are my own pictures that I took with my own camera to prove it. I’d like to imagine I’ll have children and grandchildren who would care about these memories one day. I also know it's my own judgement I'm trying to satisfy. For a time, I thought I was stuck. Once I became unstuck, the need to "catch up" overwhelmed my entire being.

Soon, we left the ominous confines of the Vatican Museums to enter the ominous confines of St. Peter’s Basilica, the world’s largest church. When we entered through the front entrance, they had a soundtrack fit for "Dune" playing on loop and we were appropriately terrified. Mostly from lack of deeper interest, I didn’t really research much on what we would see, but there’s a fair amount of dead bodies on display here. Pretty disarming. I did not take pictures.

The opulence was astounding. Everything was gilded, shiny, and rich. A mass was being held in one part of the church while we were strolling around. Tourists ogled from a distance behind ropes not unlike teens watching Harry Styles from afar. I know I'm writing about this whole experience in a way that some may deem inappropriate because the Vatican is considered sacred after all, but to write about this in a more serious way would feel so disingenuous.  Ultimately, I’m so fucking weirded out by religion, the many rituals within, and the depth of devotion a lot of people have to institutions that are created by and run by people. Sometimes very bad people!

For a Jubilee year, January ended up being a pretty good time to come here. The crowds were manageable, which is probably not going to be the case this summer, and the weather was more than pleasant. For the true devout, you might want to opt for a guided tour. Oh, and if you find yourself wanting coffee after all this, you can walk to an excellent cafe called Love that is walking distance from the Vatican Museum gates.