I am Karan from Olympia, WA.
Almost every other name used here is a pseodonym pseudonim pseudonymn alias.
The rest of it is true - mostly - and all of it is my own.
Don't even think about taking any of it, unless of course, you want to pay me.
Random Wisdom: Do, or do not. There is no 'try'. - Yoda
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The counter says that 3220012 have been flummelized, but I personally think it's all a big lie.
[ Sunday, November 06, 2005 ]
Don’t take a knife to the Vatican
Way back in 1972, Laszlo Toth took a few hammers to Michelangelo’s Pieta and proceeded to damage one of the most famous sculptures of all time. The damage was extensive. Then in 1991 while touring the Vatican grounds in his little wave-to-the-crowds car, Pope John Paul II was shot by Mehmet Alì Agca. He too sustained extensive damage. Both recovered nicely.
These two incidents eventually led to the current security gauntlet through which all visitors to the Vatican must pass. The gauntlet includes various “gates” which are intended to not only collect admission fees, but to spread the crowd thin so that visitors can be viewed by an enormous police presence, rivaled only by the guards seen all over the Leonardo di Vinci airport. After the crowds are spread out, every person passes through a metal detector and then all bags are passed through one of those airport screening machines.
Nobody told me.
Please read that again.
Nobody told me.
Carol, Nancy and I planned for our visit to the Vatican. Toward that effort, we studied some of the artists and then hired a private guide to lead us through the place, explaining historical and artistic bits as we went along. Our guide, Raj, was very well suited to this effort but he didn’t tell me to leave my weapon at home either.
That morning, as we were preparing to leave, I packed my bag and on a last minute whim, tossed in my trusty Swiss Army knife, a really nifty model that comes with two blades, a toothpick, a corkscrew, a nail file, a couple of screwdrivers and if I look hard enough, probably a tool to help move gall stones and one that helped Neil Armstrong chip rocks off of the moon. It is a grand tool, one I took to Italy with the idea that if we bought cheese, salami and wine, well, we’d have a way to slice and screw open the things. Good plan.
As you may have already guessed, my little knife was caught by the eagle eyes of the Italians monitoring the airport screening machine. Nancy, Carol and Raj had already made it through the line and were standing off to the side waiting for me. I was standing alone, by myself, solitary and singularly in the middle of the room drinking in all the ambiance and views that come in such a place. I had a vague notion that something was happening over at the machine where my bag was located but in my most dim way, I was ignoring it with all my looking around business.
I finally perked up when the guard asked me if I had a knife in my bag...if I could figure out a way to describe the time warp that my mind went through at that moment...the gaaahluuuug that percolated up to my consciousness as I finally connected with what the excitement was and how it all became part of my experience...well, if I could explain it, I’d tell you, really.
For now though, you just have to understand that in that split second between “did you bring a knife?” and my “oh no...yes, I’m sorry” I thought exactly these thoughts....
“knife?
OHMYGODIFORGOTTHATIBROUGHTTHEKNIFEWITHMEANDNOW
I’MCAUGHTI’MSOGOINGTOJAILMYTRIPISSUDDENLY
GOINGTOBEMOREINTERESTINGTHANIPLANNEDON
DOINEEDALAWYER?ARETHEYGOINGTOHAULMETOJAIL?
GODTHISISSOEMBARASSING...”
Certain that he’d found himself some crazy American version of Toth or Agca, he quickly passed me off to the head guard who just took one look at my bitty knife and then one at me and laughed and waived my knife and me through. Waived me through! I was excused, forgiven and allowed to continue with nary a stop in prison or any Italian insane assylum.
As I walked over to my little tour group, I was still feeling embarrassed yet moving quickly toward thinking how funny it all was. I was way ahead of the rest of the group in that regard. Carol, Nancy and Raj stood there all mouth-agaping and in shock that I had attempted such a thing and more than a little astounded than I was allowed to continue with my knife in my bag.
Although I didn’t do/would ever do such a thing, it was now possible for me to take home a really special souvenir, maybe one like the one here, one I really liked: Perugino’s Saint Benedict.
I’m sure no one would have really missed it, after all it was old and dusty.
Next time....the Vatican hurt my feet.
This is an on-going saga of my recent trip to Italy. I traveled with two friends, Carol and Nancy, while we toured the countryside for almost a month. Read the whole thing in one place here.