Pilgrimage, as promised.

So as promised, the tale of my fortune-filled pilgrimage...

In her book "The Artist's Way", author Julia Cameron describes the phenomenon of getting "marching orders" from God. Sometimes, you have hunches. Other times, you are confused. There are those rare (and sometimes wonderful) times where you simply KNOW, however. That was my experience: I had longed to visit Rome for a long time... one morning, I woke up, and knew I had to go. No matter what.

The first step was getting around being a broke graduate student. In a fit of heady irresponsibility, I made a budget, saw that I was short, and went to requisition more money from Uncle Sam. A few days later I visited the travel agent -- the STA girl had to literally trick the computer into giving me the trip I wanted at the price I could afford. Still, it happened.

The day before leaving I went to confession with a very charismatic Priest -- it was cleansing, and he pointed out all of my hidden points of pride. He suggested I make my pilgrimage in the spirit of humility, and I did my best to listen.

My first flight left Denver at 3am. Then, Philadelphia with an hour long wait. Then, Washington, with a four hour wait. Then, Frankfurt, with a four hour wait. Needless to say, upon arriving in Frankfurt, I was completely beat. All the chairs were taken, so after not sleeping for over 35 hours, I took an unsatisfying nap on the cold airport tiles. Later I woke up and began to pace around with my baggage, in order not to fall asleep and miss my connecting flight. It was here that my first sign occurred: I was praying while walking, asking God to grant me the good fortune he had always shown me during travel. I ended my prayer by saying: "Please help me to meet interesting people on this trip." I looked up right away, and four feet away from me was somebody I knew. Monsigneur Swetland, a brilliant Priest (formerly) from the University of Illinois, was standing there with a group of people. We had spoken several times at conferences, and I really admired him. He looked up, did a double take, and seemed to recognize me. I snapped a picture with us immediately, knowing that nobody at home -- especially my numerous Swetland-fan friends -- would ever believe me.

Considering prayers were being answered in under a second, I knew I was off to a good start.
****

I arrived in Rome in the early afternoon. I was to be picked up by a nun from the Polish pilgrim house at which I would be staying. Sister Sabina found me right away, welcoming me with her nearly overwhelming energy. I was picked up with two older people. One, a veteran journalist from Warsaw, was quick to regale me with incredible tales of her fight against Communism back in the "old days." The other, an ancient but incredibly sharp priest named Father Piekarski, was a tour guide in Rome... he became one of my best friends that week, being a man that seemed to know the story of every brick in the city.

I checked in and was exhausted, but even more hungry. The pilgrim house was a lovely, polished, and quiet mix of concrete and marble, a converted old building with a particular Roman charm. My room was wonderful, having a stone wall, high ceiling, and window looking over a typical Roman street. I spent my evening listening to Roman kids play soccer in the street below. It was picturesque, to say the least. I made a trip onto the house balcony, realizing then that I was on one of the seven legendary hills of Rome. I went out then, taking my chances with no map and only three phrases of memorized Italian. I found an ATM, and then a typical Roman corner bistro. I purchased dinner, and the sly owner gave me back only half the change I needed. He smiled at me, knowing that I had not the language available to me to argue such a deal. It would be the only misfortune of my trip.

The following morning I rose early for breakfast, which was set down precisely at 7am by the nuns. It was typical Polish fare with a bit of Italian character on the side, and I ate to filling. I met the only other two people staying at the pilgrim house then -- an older couple -- who promptly offered to come with me and get me oriented. They showed me the train, how to get into the city center, and where to find both the Vatican and the old city. The first thing we encountered was a road-block. The Police checked all of our passports then, and when the young officer saw mine, he giggled back to his friends and said "heh heh... American!" It turns out we were being led into the grips of a mounting anti-War communist demonstration. It would grow to almost a million people. Throughout the day, I would frequently have to join the march in order to get to my destinations, as it took up all the major streets in the city.

Nothing can describe what I felt when I rounded a street-corner and saw the Colloseum in the distance. The words "well, I'm really in Rome!" came into my mind, along with (I will admit) the Gladiator soundtrack. I spent most of the day in the old city, touring the Colloseum and surrounding old city, and walking through the senatorial gardens. Aside from the constant presence of Police helicopters monitoring the journey, it was like going back in time.

I made it to the Vatican an hour before it closed. As I entered St. Peter's, I was underwhelmed at first. It simply didn't seem that big. Then I walked, and walked, and walked, and slowly realized the perfect design and sheer imensity of the place. Just as I neared the main altar, a long line of Cardinals came from a side portico. It turned out that I had wandered in on the Vespers service. Not only was it my first Vespers, but it was at the Vatican. The music was incredible, and the mood truly international.

Coming home that night, I ran into a beautiful gypsy girl. She tried to make conversation (much to my delight), and then pulled a baby seemingly out of nowhere. She extended her hands for a gift, and I snapped back to reality, remembering the warnings I was given about Gypsy thieves.

I walked away then, and ran into old Father Piekarski. He invited me to stay out later with his friends, and I soon found myself drinking lemon Vodka with an old Priest and his cadre of international friends, in a Chinese restaurant in the middle of Rome. Already, things were getting surreal....