The center city of Rome has almost no asphalt, or concrete. Instead, streets and sidewalks are paved with square black tiles - volcanic basalt, we were told. These tiles are rough cobblestones, arranged often in an interlocking fan pattern. These tiles will be forever imprinted in my memories of Rome for a major reason. You have to watch where you are walking; you have to watch where you are placing your steps, because if you don't, the unevenness will trip you, or twist your ankles.
We walked in Rome, following Father Gile, our fearless leader, who is a tall man with long strides. We could always see him ahead, waving his straw above his head to lead the way. Even if we were going to take a bus, or a subway, the stops were always at least a 1/2 mile away, so we walked. Sometimes, we didn't know exactly where the stops were, so we walked a long way before we found them. Once we walked a complete circle of about 8 blocks without running into a bus-stop. I had absolutely no sense of the city - how it was arranged, or where we were, or how far apart things are, so when Father started forward, I followed. Only on the last couple of days, when we started looking at maps, did I realize where we were going. Father's usual encouragement - "it's not too far!" became suspect. Because sometimes it seemed very far indeed, on feet that hurt and muscles not quite prepared for the task.
Maureen's pedometer indicated that one day, we walked 7-1/2 miles. Even people who are in pretty good shape don't walk 7-1/2 miles every day.
All of this walking entailed attention to the surfaces. When my feet really hurt, I would pick flat cobblestones to step on. Now and then, I realized that I wasn't paying attention to anything above the sidewalk, and I would look up, each time to a new vista, a picturesque street, a shop with beautiful dresses in the window, a church, or a 2000 year old wall.
Walking is a very different experience than driving. Driving gives a sense of motion, and wide scenes. Walking delivers the detail, the tiny scenes, the cobblestones, the aged finishes on walls, poppies along the road.
We walked through many churches - baroque churches. Baroque people never met a surface they couldn't embellish, and this includes floors. I kept wanting to take pictures of the marble tile floors, which reminded me of quilt patterns.
I determined that I needed one of the cobblestones to put in my garden as a reminder of Rome. I decided that while I would not dig one out of the street, if there was just a pile of them somewhere, I would take one. Lo and behold, in the Jewish ghetto, was a pile, and my loving husband took one for me. Vilma assured me that it wasn't a sin. If it was, the temporal punishment may have included carrying four extra pounds in my bag for the rest of the day. Four extra pounds when you are tired and your feet hurt makes a bit of an impact.
A bit of research reveals that the cobblestones are called "sampietrini," or little stones of St. Peter, and were originally used in the courtyard at St. Peter's. Many are slated to be covered with asphalt, because the vibrations caused by traffic on them damages ancient structures. So my little stone may be a way to preserve something that may someday disappear.
So, we walked in Rome. The act of walking determines the pace of an experience. The act of following someone without any sense of direction, or length of distance, requires trust. In my head I sang "we walk by faith and not by sight," a hymn used at Cathedral parish. And thus, the most elemental activity of my trip to Rome became a metaphor for a life of faith. We follow Christ, who is sometimes "30 yards ahead waving a straw hat." Most of the time we don't know exactly he is leading, or how long it will take to get there. Sometimes our feet hurt and we wish we could sit down to rest, or just take a taxi home. But we follow, and enjoy the wonders along the way and the glories of each small destination. May we keep our eyes on our Savior and each step in his direction.
