Rome Jubilee Pilgrimage

As the train left Florence, whisking us over the soft rolling hills towards Rome, my thoughts converged on this ancient city, home of the Vatican and the once great Roman Empire.

I, like millions before me, wanted to undertake a Jubilee pilgrimage.

All roads lead to Rome, as the saying goes.  At least it was for the early Christian martyrs like Saint Peter and Saint Paul.

Life is a pilgrimage, a somewhat treacherous one, given the trials and tribulations of human life.

A pilgrimage starts in your heart to reach a higher spiritual love.

The Frecciarossa, one of Italy’s high-speed trains, sped past the even older ancient lands of the  Etruscan empire, well established before Rome.

Their spiritual center was in Orvieto, also famous for its white wine, where you can visit the archaeological ruins of these mighty warriors.

Rome’s Termini station was abuzz with us modern-day humans, many of whom I dodged as I walked towards the metro on high alert for pickpockets, lying in wait for distracted tourists.

The cold, pounding rain drenched us, a rude welcome of sorts,  as we walked towards our apartment in Prati, the neighbourhood adjacent to the Vatican.

The Jubilee year of 2025 would be my best chance to walk through the Holy door at Saint Peter’s Basilica, last opened 50 years ago, which will be sealed shut again on January 6, 2026.

Passing through the Holy Door is a symbolic expression of another commitment to following Jesus and being guided by his teachings, taken from the gospel of John chapter 10, stating  “I am the door”.

This tradition has been taking place since the Middle Ages, with the first in 1423.

Darkness had fallen by the time we arrived, and my thoughts were frankly more on where to go to eat, than any lofty spiritual nature.  Mea culpa.

Man does not live on spiritual bread alone, and I was not fasting, mind you, on a trip to Italy!

From the metro to our Prati apartment, close to the Vatican, Rome welcomed us with non-stop drenching rain.

For dinner, I wanted a place nearby as the rain had not let up.  Gabrini, a haut gamme food emporium, turned restaurant at night, was a close choice for these weary, rain-soaked pilgrims.

In need of a pasta break, it turned out perfect.  Aimée had a slow-braised lamb shank and I enjoyed a grilled skewer of mixed meat, all delicious.

We opted for more Bolgheri red and had a wonderful, informative discussion with Cécile Macie, a young French sommelier, who had chosen to spend time in Italy to enlarge her knowledge of Italian wines.

Saturday, the sun broke through just in time for the papal audience, held in Saint Peter’s Square.  Newly elected Pope Leo XIV was greeted with vigorous cheers and applause as he travelled among the throngs of faithful gathered, offering us a limited view as he passed by.

 

 

The afternoon was spent at the Vatican Museum with its escargot steps and marvelling again at the glorious Sistine Chapel.

It is a true tribute to the extraordinary artistry of Michangelo, who painted the multiple frescos comprising the ceiling.

Michangelo is said to have hated painting, considering himself a sculptor, yet every stroke of his brush exemplifies the genius beauty of his art.

Standing on scaffolding, holding his brush tirelessly above his head, Michelangelo painted multiple exquisite images.

He was roped into accepting the job by Pope Julius II, who, some say, was a set-up in hopes of him failing, so the Pope’s preferred painter, Raphael, could take over.

For five years, Michangelo persisted,  working 6 days a week. His work was so exhausting and physically challenging that he suffered from cervical vertebrae pain and vision difficulties from dust and paint falling in his eyes.

Michangelo was known to have a grumpy personality and quick anger, which often clashed with the pope’s directives.

Thank goodness Michangelo had a strong personality and determination to paint what he wanted, scenes from the book of Genesis.

The pope was initially upset and angry to discover this, as he had wanted gospel scenes of the Apostles. He also felt the nudity was scandalous and Michangelo was accused of immorality and obscenity.

This created such a scandal that, later, a painter was hired to paint over bare genitalia, except for a few.

Photos are not allowed in the Sistine Chapel, so these shown are not mine.  Of special note is a self-portrayal of the tortured psyche of poor Michangelo.

The skin of Saint Bartholomew is said to be Michangelo’s portrayal of himself struggling to complete the painting.

Sitting on various sides of the Sistine, I felt totally awed by the beauty of it all.  One man’s determination, despite his suffering, to complete what he hated to do, is exquisite beyond words.

Perhaps through his pain, Michangelo’s brush had spiritual guidance to help him finish his masterpiece that millions have come to admire.

An artist’s suffering and pain can also be a source of creativity.  When you are in deep psychic pain, you feel scourged of your ego’s superfluous fears and concerns.  This rawness brings forth the uninhibited expression of one’s art.  

Night had fallen by the time we left, and I had made reservations for a highly sought-after restaurant, Rione XIV Bistro, to top off such a splendid day.

The lightest gnocchi I have ever tasted was like soft clouds bathed in a red wine reduction of red chicory, pork cheeks, and walnuts, all dusted in scamorza cheese.

The delicious tonnarelli with zucchini and pork cheeks were covered with a pistachio pesto and parmesan.  Montepulciano and Bolgheri reds from Tuscany perfectly complemented both.

The food was succulent and all that I had hoped for.  The restaurant is a family affair with a woman chef, her son and his fiancée.  For me, the glories of Italian cuisine have a strong matriarchal lineage.

Sunday, it was time for the Pilgrims’ Jubilee walk through the Holy door.  After waiting for a long time to receive our Pilgrim’s certificate, all in Latin, we joined the next English group in line to walk.

Prayer booklets were distributed, and following a guide carrying a wooden cross, we slowly made our way towards the steps of Saint Peter’s Basilica and the Holy Door, softly singing and reading prayers in union.

I couldn’t pause long at the Holy door when I finally reached it.  There were too many people behind me, with ushers urging us through.

In touching the multicarved wood, I would have liked to linger, but was only able to say a quick prayer.

Michangelo’s magnificent and poignant Pieta greeted me once inside.  It had been a long time since I last saw the Basilica.

The overwhelming ornateness of marble and gold, however beautiful, along with the crowds, deterred me from the solemnity and silence I would have preferred.

Saint Peter’s, being the headquarters of Catholicism and the Vatican home of popes, should rightly have all the grandeur it exudes.  However,  for me, simple monastery chapels are more conducive of spiritual reflection and prayer.

Dinner that night was rigatoni with fennel and more of those crunchy pork cheeks ( guancale) at Margot. The local red Cesanese wine, cultivated north of Rome, was interesting, slightly smoky, but not as complex as the reds of Tuscany or Piedmont.

Stinging cold rain settled again on our last day, squashing my plans to go to Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore to pay my respects to beloved Pope Francis.

I had also hoped to go to Trastevere for fried artichokes in the Jewish quarter.  Even though I knew it was not artichoke season, I felt disappointed.

In need of placating my cravings,  I settled for more pasta.  Excellent, freshly made ravioli of red cabbage and walnuts was superbly polished off at La Locanda di Eugenio before leaving for our flight back to Paris.

 

P.S.  New Year blessings of health,  joy, peace and happiness to you.  As I go to publish this, the world is fraught with frightening insecurities, cruel injustices and ongoing war.  I hope you join me in praying for peace, brotherly love and respect for our fellow humans in this violent world today.

A thank you to Anna, a fellow pilgrim who kindly took our photo in front of St Peter’s.