World Youth Day Journal: August 21

Tor Vergata, getting settled in the day before a giant outdoor mass celebrated by Pope John Paul II.

I wrote the following posts while riding a bus to and from Assisi. I jump around while writing to catch up on what I missed. I mention going to the Vatican Museums on Friday and seeing the Sistine Chapel.

Ian is another chaperone on the trip. He had a younger sister among the teen pilgrims and a mother leading one of the parish groups.

Monday, August 21

6:44 p.m.

    Deacon Steve summed up World Youth Day well yesterday. The pope was great, as were festivities such as Saturday's fireworks, "but they didn't have to kill us to get there."

    We were told our hike was six miles, and we all agreed it was much longer because of the winding trip to and around Tor Vergata. 

    I heard an estimate that 11 Mainers went to the medical tent, most of them passed out from the heat. Lack of water and lack of eating were key reasons.

    Maine outnumbered any other groups in the medical area, which led to an impromptu meeting in the sun so all of the students could be told to eat and drink and not spend too much time underneath our temporary shelters.

    Ian reminded people to drink their water. Brian fetched fresh, cold water from spigots for everyone. 

    People passing out from the heat was no high point. I felt good, despite our walk and time in the sun.

    Saturday night was really the peak. I wrote a little bit about the pope riding among the crowd in the popemobile [on Saturday], then stopped as it sounded like he was approaching.

    What gave the pope's presence away was all the people jogging and sprinting around the patchwork of sleeping bags, blankets and bedrolls behind us. They all headed in the same direction, and suddenly began to change in our direction. I had no idea where the roads went, so I wasn't sure if the pope passed.

    When it appeared the pope was going to pass by us, the crowd at the side of the road surged and someone from our group yelled, "Tell her to get her butt over here!"

    Girls climbed on guys' shoulders, screams got closer.

    The pope sat in the popemobile, which is really a bulletproof box he rides in. His hands rested on the sides as we all took pictures.

    Ian saw people from Spain or Central American countries kneeling as the pope passed. I took a few pictures with my camera and after I was finished, I glimpsed the skullcap on the back of an elderly man in white.

    The roars subsided. Then lots of people started hugging one another, telling what they saw, how close they were and what kind of pictures they took.

    The prayer service included teens from around the world addressing the pope and hearing a wide musical selection. I did not expect gospel at our get-together. Seeing the. pope tap his hand to the music and wave his hands above his head were also things I did not expect from the 80-year-old pontiff.

8:36 a.m.

    We left an Aperto 24 store, where I picked up my new favorite brand of ice tea, San Benedetto. Being the only available flavor at Tor Vergata has helped me acquire a taste for San Benedetto peach flavor.

    It's weird to see peach and apricot juice in aseptic packages, something also offered from our bagged breakfasts this morning. I've seen peach juice on other occasions.

    Before I regurgitate, more, I will give short snippets from yesterday.

    Our march out of Tor Vergata was mostly pleasant. We had a slow, steady pace and stopped a few times.

    Many of us cheered and waved to people from other countries. Some Italians cheered "Viva America!" One of the jubilee volunteers traded his sweaty blue t-shirt for one of my orange Maine t-shirts. Before we packed up, I spotted a German pilgrim wearing an orange Maine t-shirt, complete with lobster pin and blueberry pin. I kept thinking he was in our group.

   Our march was supposed to be short —about three miles to a subway station. We passed the station and learned the metro was closed and we would have to be bused. We would have to hike further towards a bus station.

    Ian had led our large group, but after hearing about our hike to a bus, he said we should all break up into different groups. He was tired of yelling.

    I got people to sing the refrain from the Proclaimers' "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)." Finally, I remembered one version from "Though the Mountains May Fall" and Cheverus guys knew it because it's always sung at masses. 

    Note: A memorable name —Irish Village Disco Bar, near St. Paul's Outside the Walls.

    A few of the girls started complaining about being hungry. Ian turned around and told them to stop whining. You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for it, he told them. Jesus went into the desert for 40 days, he said, and he didn't complain.

    "This is nothing!" he said. 

    There was a pause, and I said, "Amen, brother!"

    "It was Jesus, right?" Ian asked later. I told him yes.

    A short while later, we stopped under a tent by the road to rest and have something to eat. Many of the students had not brought food with them despite Ian's command before we left to bring food and water. With a longer march, they needed something to eat.

    Underneath the tent lay many discarded lunch boxes many pilgrims were given. It contained an assortment of snacks such as Pringles potato chips, pudding, pear juice, crackers, cookies and tinned meat. Everyone said the tinned meat smelled like cat food.     

    With some scrounging through the boxes, we did find cookies and a few crackers.

    When I saw a group of pilgrims pushing a shopping cart filled with backpacks, I became jealous.

    [back to giving details from the Saturday night vigil]

    We heard the crowd shout "Gio-VANNI PAO-lo" with a clap-clap-clap-clap. Once the crowd shouted in Italian "John Paul II we love you." The pope shouted back "John Paul II, I love you."

    Joe heard it through the translator on the radio how the pope said at 11 o'clock, "It's 11 o'clock, now what do we do?"

    During his speech, he paused at one point and said, "Don't worry. I'm almost finished."

    "He talks a lot for an old man," Brian said.

    As the pope prepared to leave, fireworks shot off in an area behind us. No one expected them. They were beautiful, shooting up in three volleys of golden, swirling patterns. Music played over the speakers along as the fireworks went off. After the roads of surprise, people cheered.

    The grass we sat on became damp in the evening. Joe's eggshell foam mattress and sheet were wet.

    I bedded down in my fleece Wal-Mart sleeping bag on two trash bags. No one else among the 2 million people fell asleep, judging by all the cheering and laughing Italians who passed me. Two people tripped over my pillow as they walked by. I pretended to be asleep. A group of French tourists sang "La Marseillaise" at 12:30 a.m., complete with drums and a brass section.

    A word about sleeping on the ground in a Mediterranean country—it's cold. All the condensation soaked my fleece sleeping bag, and rather than get up, I lay twisted in a fetal position with my arms folded over my chest.

    Mass began at 8:45. It began to get hot after 9 a.m.

    Communion was distributed quickly. Priests standing under white umbrellas appeared close to our section. I received communion from a Filipino-looking priest, who said, "Corpus Christi" to me.

    I wish I could say the pope's homily was moving. I found it complicated. He did make a good remark in his final goodbyes in different languages about how all the youth must go out to the world, and how doing good for Christ is hard, but with God's help, it is possible. I did like how pilgrims from different nations cheered when he spoke their language.

    Back to today. Our bus is driving through Umbria, the region in central Italy where Assisi is located. We have driven through many tunnels through mountains and spotted several castles on hilltops. 

    Small notes — our campground is amid camps of Italians. Ian, who has broad shoulders, long blonde hair and a light brown beard, was approached by small kids who said, "Hercules! Hercules!"

    Brian said at a concession stand at Tor Vergata an Italian guy asked Ian, "You drive Harley-Davidson?" and made a handlebar motion with his hands.

    I talked with Anna [a parent and parish group leader] about the heat yesterday. One of the parents said the temperature was over 100 degrees. I talked to Anna why so many Maine people were stricken. She kept reminding students to cover themselves up because so many boys had their shirts off. She had told girls not to bring tank tops and said they were furious with her about the rule. They brought them any way. 

    All the uncovered skin, and feet included, contributed to heat stroke, she said.

    "Why did Arabs cover themselves?" she asked the kids. Good point.

       Nuns wore habits, carried umbrellas and walked slowly, she said, and were fine. All the Italians we saw walked slowly, according to Anna.

    Another good point. Sometimes the emphasis on "Mediterranean lifestyle" Americans speak about is a little condescending. Italians move about more slowly during the day because it's damn hot.

[recalling a subway trip on the way back from Tor Vergata]

    The subways were packed, a sweaty affair. I used to laugh about how Japanese subways sometimes have people pushed into cars. I saw people slip in through the door to our car and feel my arms compressed because of people pressing against me.

    I talked to a pilgrim from India before we started getting packed with people. When we began to approach a stop, I saw people lined up on the platform and began to move away from the doors. The subway driver hit the brakes suddenly, and I flew in the air and landed on a bedroll lying on the lap of someone in a seat. I bounced into the air.

    Fortunately, I wasn't hurt, although my back was sore.

  

The Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, Assisi

    12:38 p.m.

    We are on a steep hill leading up to St. Francis' basilica. 

    4:51 p.m.

    

    Our group shopping in Assisi, a time capsule of a medieval town. Take away all the shops selling religious articles, leather goods and baby clothes and not much appears to have changed. It's a steep ride to the basilica, with roads zigzagging into the town. At one point, we walked through a gate, wooden doors included.

    I'm sure Assisi prides itself on its appearance, complete with two large parking lots for buses.

    

    Brian had another great line today as a car looking 30-40 years old passed us on a narrow street. If it hit me, it would probably be the one that is damaged, he said [it was also tiny].

    Of course, I should write about St. Francis' tomb. It's just I did not like waiting in line for another church [my seventh for the trip, counting chapels and basilicas in the same category].

    

    The tomb is above an altar. People knelt in prayer around it. A black friar in a gray robe sat at a table next to the tomb with a microphone next to him. He was the source of the message ["No photo. Phone off."], I think, rather than a recording.

    Time to backtrack —

    Thursday night Brian and I left the restaurant shortly before 10 p.m. We went in the wrong direction, then turned around. We found Barberini Square and Brian said, "Dude, if we can't get on the subway, we can take a cab."

    The subway was open, but crammed. We stood on the platform and when the subway doors opened, two guys stood in the tightly-packed car with hands raised saying, "No-No-No." The next subway looked equally crammed until a few people left from a car a few ahead of Brian and me. He started running and we squeezed in. 

    We hopped onto a train to Castelfusano. A group of French pilgrims talked with Argentinians, and at one point one of the French guys sung, "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina." The Argentinians in turn sung the macarena and the French guys danced. 

    We visited St. Peter's again Friday, hitting the Vatican Museum first. When all our group crossed the street next to the Vatican Museum, we cut into the line. What amazed me outside the Vatican was its huge walls, slanted like a pyramid's.

    

    The entrance to the museum was stunning, marble (I think) or some whitish stone with modern registers and stairs. We emptied out into a courtyard with illustrations of the Sistine Chapel and the Last Judgement on it. Groups would gather outside the courtyard to explain Michelangelo's works before entering the halls.

    The courtyard outside the Vatican Museum.

    A girl from Maine looked at the illustrations and asked, "Did Michelangelo do both of those?" I said yes.

    All the pictures from my high school Latin books came from the busts and statues in the Vatican Museum's halls. I saw the Lacoon, the ancient statue that influenced Renaissance artists. 

    The Lacoon is on the right.

    The guide tried to stop and tell us about the busts and tapestries we saw, slowing down the stream of people around us, So many groups were there that everyone walked in front of each other's photos. I thought we reached the end of a hallway when I discovered it was a door leading to a hall connected directly with ours.

    To enter the Sistine Chapel, we went through a windowless, white hallway down some stairs with prerecorded messages in a number of languages telling us not to take pictures. After entering another hallway and taking a left through a doorway, I saw part of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. The entrance was to the right of the altar in the chapel.

    The chapel was dim, with no lights inside. Instead, lights beamed through windows. The windows did not have clear panes but were white, perhaps to limit the lights' effect on the frescoes.

    Unfortunately, people took pictures in the chapel — with flashes. Ian said he walked around telling people who took pictures, "You're going to hell."

    The inside of the chapel is about the size of a basketball court, longer at the ends with no room for bleachers. A guard stood nearby, clapping his hands every few minutes to remind people to quiet down. Shortly after his claps echoed around us, people, myself included, talked.