Easter is definitely the time to be in Rome. Watching papal ceremonies on TV does not compare with witnessing them on-site, they are spectacular shows – even for Protestant souls like mine! It’s not so much the thrill of the grandiose ceremonies, with the inevitable fierce competition for the best photo of the pope mobile; it’s the faces in the crowd. It’s the little Grandpa standing motionless for two hours just to hear His Holiness while others are drifting for the best view at the Way of the Cross. It’s the tiny Grandma who can’t clap because she could only walk to St. Peter’s Square with two ski poles on Easter Sunday; it’s the old couple carrying two chairs to the Square and sitting under umbrellas in the Easter Vigil’s pouring rain.
Seeing these people awakens a longing for a faith like theirs – in God, or anyone or anything else, for that matter.
Valentine’s Day defines February for many; not by chance there are an increased number of tourists arriving in Rome. The proverbial charm of Italianos, public works of art and secret city legends, innumerable padlocks left on outdoor railings by couples who wish to lock themselves up in the other, all give the impression that the capricious little Amor constantly hovers over this city. Yet I wouldn’t say it’s difficult to pick the work of art that speaks best of him: what could be more befitting than the story of the god of love himself falling in love. 