With the buses, trains, and subways finally behind me, I emerged from the station onto Via Ottaviano, a wide pedestrian artery that funnels tourists straight toward St. Peter’s Square. My friend Geoffrey had introduced me to Mateo through WhatsApp, and I’d arranged a six‑night stay at his family’s B&B, the Vatican Eagle, conveniently tucked beside their restaurant, Café De Pappe, just steps from the Vatican wall.
Once again I arrived early, dropped my bags, grabbed a shower, and headed straight for St. Peter’s Square. It was hot, it was crowded, and there I was, standing in one of the most cherished Catholic landmarks on earth. I took in the basilica and the sweep of the square before wandering down Via della Conciliazione toward Castel Sant’Angelo. In a moment of questionable judgment, I continued around the outside of the Vatican wall as evening settled in. It was a long walk, but at least I had my bearings. It was time to book some tours.
Dinner that night was a caprese salad and spinach ravioli at a corner café. My server was far more enamored with the ladies a few tables over, so I was left to fend for myself after ordering, not the most inspired welcome meal.
Waking up on Tuesday, I set out for my St. Peter’s Basilica tour with the “no‑wait elevator” to the dome. The elevator helped, but there were still plenty of stairs to reach the outer ring. The views, though, were worth every step. The basilica itself was opulent. Morning mass was underway and priests and nuns were scurrying about amongst the tourists carrying on their daily church choirs. The upper ledge of the dome offered amazing views of the basilica below as well as an up‑close view of the artwork in the dome. As mentioned, the outer dome was a hike with hundreds of steps, but the chance to actually view Rome from that vantage point was a great experience.
After the tour I showered and stopped at Café De Pappe for a panini and a Coke, then spent the afternoon browsing shops along the main avenue. That evening I ran into Mateo’s brother closing up the café; he recommended a pizza spot around the corner. I’m fairly sure I chose the wrong one, but an elderly gentleman insisted I try the classic Roman pizza capricciosa of mushrooms, olives, hard‑boiled egg and a slice of prosciutto. While the ingredients were a bit oddly dispersed, it was very tasty.
The server and I hit it off, and I even befriended the Bangladesh chefs in the back. When the Italian owner asked how I liked my “authentic Italian pizza,” I told her the Bangladesh‑Italian version was delicious. The cooks raised their joined hands like victorious boxers. It was one of those small, perfect travel moments. I skipped dessert and called it a night.
Wednesday brought a subway trip to the Colosseum area and a tour of the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II and the Basilica di Santa Maria in Aracoeli. Back on the Vatican side of town, I grabbed a late lunch and wrote postcards to mail at the Vatican post office. Dinner was a cheddar cheeseburger I carried back to my flat to escape the heat.
The heatwave tightened its grip, but I still managed the upper‑level Colosseum tour and the Roman Forum. I grabbed a late lunch of spaghetti and meatballs at a café where the waiters stood outside, chatting with me and trying to lure tourists in.
Later I made my way to the Trevi Fountain, the Palatine area, and a handful of random churches and piazzas. The combination of heat and heavy lunch made skipping dinner an easy decision. My Vatican Museum tour was the next morning, so after confirming the correct entrance gate, I called it a night.
I woke early on Friday and walked the short distance to the Vatican Museum entrance. The attendants herded us into our proper lines, sending those with later entry times to wait in the shade. It was another grueling hot day.
The museum itself is orderly at the start, but once inside, the signage becomes a treasure‑hunt maze leading toward the Sistine Chapel. Most rooms weren’t air‑conditioned; elderly visitors sat dazed on any available ledge, catching their breath before continuing. The full tour took nearly five hours, but I was thorough. Some people just walked through barely looking at the displays. Endless artwork, statues, relics, tapestries, and Vatican collectibles covered every imaginable space.
The Sistine Chapel, the hyped grand finale, was… fine. Elegant, yes, but packed elbow‑to‑elbow with people staring upward while guards barked silenzio every few minutes. After all that buildup, it felt anticlimactic.
Exhausted, I returned to Café De Pappe for a mortadella panini and an Aperol spritz. After a long, hot, muggy day of art and artifacts, an early night was mandatory.
Saturday was a bit cloudy, which offered a relief from the sun. Even though the subway would’ve been easier, the map made the Spanish Steps look closer than the Colosseum, so I set out on foot. The neighborhoods along the way were buzzing with Saturday morning tourists. After the Steps, I visited a few more churches, fountains, and piazzas.
I found a subway station late in the afternoon and bought two tickets, one for now, one for Monday’s airport ride. Back near St. Peter’s, I took a cold shower, did laundry, and returned to my pizza spot for a to‑go pie. A late‑night walk through the lively streets ended with a gelato around the corner.
On my final day in Italy, I grabbed a cappuccino and donut and headed north toward the Olympic Stadium and a few marked piazzas and fountains. It wasn’t particularly interesting, but it filled the morning.
Back at the flat, I finished laundry, packed, and went to the sports bar around the corner for a chicken sandwich and beers. I hit it off with a couple of the servers, traded music requests, and chatted with an English guy visiting from Nottingham. My buddy Christian texted while at the pub and prompted me to turn in for the night so as not to miss my connections. I followed his lead and called it a night.
Waking up after a restless sleep, I headed out, said goodbye to Mateo and his family, and caught the subway to the airport. My Italian summer was over. It was time to take a step toward getting back to the States but first, England awaits. l
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