Chilled Popes and 5 Finnish Firemen
Elizabeth Clarke
It was on the first evening of the trip over dinner in a trattoria that Lynsay first mentioned what was worrying her about the dead popes. Our orders for dinner had been placed to the attentive Italian waiter, who coped admirably with the unfamiliar guttural sounds and flat vowels rarely heard out with Lanarkshire and had managed to serve the party of thirteen pupils and their three teachers. Even Donna's vegetarian stance and Stephanie's insistence that she did not like pizza, pasta or cheese did not seem to faze this gentleman.
The visit to the Vatican that afternoon had been a wonderful experience and, after spending some time in the basilica itself, we descended to the crypt, which houses the tombs of St Peter and many subsequent Bishops of Rome.
As she toyed with her lasagne a few hours later, Lynsay explained to me that she had not at first realised that the popes were actually interred in the sarcophagi which lined the small passageways in the Vatican crypt. She had assumed from the carved images on many of the tombs that these were simply memorials and had been quite shocked to learn that that their bodies actually lay within. I suppose that this was what prompted her to pose the question, 'Were they... you know... chilled or something before they were buried?'
My mind drifted back to my university days, when as part of my French studies, I had read the novel Les Caves du Vatican by Andre Gide. This title will no longer conjure up for me the tale of intrigue which centred on a plot to replace the pope in the Vatican with an impostor, but rather I will muse on the fate of the 148 dead popes buried in the caves beneath St Peter's Basilica, chilled for all eternity like the best Vino Bianco.
It was a tired group which arrived back at the hotel that evening. Accommodation can always be a bit of a lottery, particularly when working to a strict budget. The night before our departure I had googled the name of the hotel and was pleased to unearth hotel reviews written by previous guests. Although most of these were fairly positive, the following comment did cause me some concern, 'We were put in a single room, which hadn't been cleaned and smelled of male odour and smoke.'
On arrival that morning things had looked promising enough and Dorothy and I ascended the steep wooden stairs to the floor above. I was suitably impressed by my penthouse suite which fortunately was totally free of male odour and smoke. At this point Dorothy could not share my enthusiasm as she was having her first of many battles with the swipe card which substituted for a key. Her efforts to enter her room over the next few days resembled a task from the The Crystal Maze. After many unsuccessful swipes, she was always so relieved to see the red light on the door turn to green that she would lunge at the handle and literally fall into the room in her quest for the elusive crystal.
Hotels of this type are fairly typical in the centre of Rome. Occupying a small space on one or two floors of a large building, the only facility that they have other than the bedrooms is a small reception, unmanned most of the time. It was in this small reception area on our return from dinner that first evening that our peace was shattered by the arrival of the unwelcome guests.
Dorothy and I had grabbed the two comfy armchairs and Elaine occupied a swivel chair which she had pulled out from behind the reception desk. This gave her a clear view of the glass door which led to the outside stairs. It was logical for the group on the other side of this door to assume that Elaine actually worked in the hotel and they seemed surprised that their waves and gestures did not immediately gain them admission. The fumbling of their key in the lock, loud drunken shouts and much banging of the door finally left us with no option but to admit them. The error of our ways quickly became apparent when the reception area was suddenly invaded by five inebriated gentlemen, shouting greetings. 'Good evening, lovelee ladeez,' was repeated several times before they stumbled through to their rooms.. Our sense of horror was complete when we realised that these were next to the rooms occupied by our girls.
For the next ten minutes, with their doors wide open, they continued to converse at the top of their voices in a language which we thought sounded vaguely eastern European. At one point the oldest and most vociferous member of the group appeared, stripped to the waist, showing off his muscles and telling us that he did not come cheap. Panic began to set in! If these guys addressed us three as lovelee ladeez, what would their reaction be to the twelve attractive young ladies in our party dressed in their skimpy nightwear? After warning the girls not to venture outside their rooms, we settled ourselves for a long and uncomfortable night. Our concerns were lessened however when the newcomers emerged, dressed for a night on the town, and made more formal introductions. They were apparently five firemen from Finland on a short city break. With much relief we wished them a good evening and watched them exit through the glass door.
In anticipation of a noisy and even more drunken return by the revellers, safety warnings were issued to all and Dorothy suggested that we follow her advice and jam a chair under the door handles of our rooms. My protestations that this was surely a fire hazard were met by howls of laughter as we realised that, should such an unfortunate incident occur, we could not be in better company, with five Finnish firemen on hand to save the day.
