Holy Week in Rome

St. Peter's on Good Friday.

Alright, I was just kidding about blogging on Austria next, since I forgot about Holy Week.  A big group of us Bernardians went to the English College—don’t worry, it was Catholic, just the English counterpart of the North American College.  It’s the favorite church of the Coulters, so we followed them there for Holy Thursday Mass, which was celebrated in their “newer” church, which has distinctly Byzantine feel to it.  The Beatitudes are written in mosaics, in Latin, on either side of the nave, and there the backgrounds were all golden.  It was a truly beautiful church, and it had the sense of an ancient church, with a flat roof, columns, and two side aisles.  When the priests processed back to the old chapel with the Eucharist after Mass, the congregation followed, and we prayed in front of the Blessed Sacrament for a few minutes.  It really was a very humbling and reverent experience, which set me up well for Good Friday and Holy Saturday.

Looking at the back as the fire is lit.

On Good Friday, the whole group (minus those who were elsewhere) went to St. Peter’s Square to stand in line for about 2 ½ hours before the service (if you are ever in Rome for the Triduum and want to go, you will need a ticket—which is free—but you can just ask your bishop).  Waiting that long wasn’t too bad, especially in comparison to what it would be the next day, and we were all talking, keeping each other entertained.  When the gates did open, it was absolutely hilarious to see the nuns running to get a good spot along the aisle.  Just imagine a nun in her full habit flying in the wind behind her, booking it toward the entrance.  What was particularly special was not just being in St. Peter’s on Good Friday, but the fact that our seminarians were serving for Papa Bene.  They admitted that they didn’t do too much, but even so, just to be part of it would be an unforgettable experience.  Also, this was the most solemn and reverent Good Friday service to which I had ever been, and something that I won’t soon forget.

The Easter Vigil Mass was even more memorable (and seemingly almost twice as long).  Matt Slattery and I went to St. Peter’s Square at about 2:30 pm to wait for the gates to open at 7:30 pm, and then once we got in we waited until 9 pm for the Mass to start.  Now, it is really frustrating when you get there really early and you see others elbow their way in within an hour of the gates opening.  So, Matt and I kind of barricaded ourselves in and with those in “line” (I say that because it was more of a blob, and it only got worse when the time to enter drew nigh) we tried our best to keep intruders out.  We made friends, had some food, drank some water, and held each others’ spot in line when someone had to go to the bathroom.  Trust me—you cannot survive something like this unless you make some friends within the line.  Throughout the entire time there was this Polish girl who acted so innocently while she budged through all of us and tried to get her family in line as well.  Funny enough though, there was this Aussie from a high school group that pretty much did the same thing with about an hour and a half to go.  The difference, however, was that he was really funny and entertaining.  He was an interesting character too, as he knew more about the USA—at least our state capitals—than most Americans.  He also led those in the front of the line in singing several songs, entertaining everyone as it got down to about a half hour before the gates opened.  From “Don’t Stop Believin’” to “Land Down Under”, he kept the crowd going and singing along. He even knew “I’m Proud to be an American”.  Then he did the unexpected and sang the opening ditty from the Lion King, which was pretty much a shout but right on key.  The Italian/Vatican police were none too pleased, but they had bigger problems, like controlling a line with thousands upon thousands of people, which stretched almost the entire way around the square.

Easter Vigil, as the Gospel begins.

The Mass itself was extremely beautiful and powerful, and began with Pope Benedict lighting and blessing the fire as the basilica went dark.  Then came the procession to the front with many, many cardinals and bishops with their candles lit.  Just a quick rundown of the Mass: there was a lot of incense throughout the Mass, there were readings in French, Spanish, English, Italian, and German, and the Gospel was in Latin—pure gold.  Plus, there was a lot of chanting in Latin, which was cool as well.  The most amusing part of the Mass was when one of the monsignors (I think) said, in Latin, “Holy Father, I present to you…the Alleluia!”  It was a truly powerful experience to see so many faithful Catholics flock to the heart of the Catholic faith, and to celebrate the most important date on the Church calendar.  Plus, can you imagine what it was like not only to be fully received into the faith through Confirmation, but then to receive First Communion from Pope Benedict himself? Simply amazing.  I can fill in the other details later, but for now, I guess this will have to do.

Papa Bene after the Easter Vigil.

After Mass, I remembered that I had some Reese’s eggs from home—thanks, Mom—and I broke those out and some of us shared those, while still in St. Peter’s Basilica, which I thought would never happen.  It was a late night, as Mass got done at about 12:30 am, but we all went for gelato and then went back home.  It would have been even later, but Minh and I had to get up early to catch a cab to the airport to get to Austria, which, I guarantee, is where I will pick up next time.

Welcome to: The Happiest Place on Earth

       No, it isn't Disney World, but it is kind of like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  It is...the Guinness Storehouse.  After we left Cork early in the morning, we headed to Dublin, arriving just before noon.  Since we couldn't check in to our hotel until 2 pm, we went straight for downtown Dublin and the Guinness Storehouse.  Once you get to the main street in front of the entrance, it really seems like a city unto itself.  And it was, as I learned, as Guinness had affordable housing built for its employees when no other housing was available.  It is a very large complex, and the storehouse is just the part where the beer ferments (or used to be there) and where the museum/visitor center is.  It was an absolutely awesome experience, and I spent 3 of the best hours of my life there.  From top to bottom, the people at Guinness really know how to make you get lost in a time warp, which was very much a good thing.  They have tools, vats, casks, and huge kettles, all of which were used a while ago to brew the finest beer in the world (needless to say, the only drink I had in Ireland was Guinness).  There is a long and detailed history that progresses the farther you go up, from level 1 to the Gravity Bar on level 7, where you can trade in your ticket stub for a "free" pint of Guinness, which truly isn't free, but included in the price of admission.  Just a brief history, Guinness was founded by Arthur Guinness in 1759 at St. James Gate, Dublin, where they have been brewing ever since.  So, that was just about the briefest history you're gonna get about anything.  What was also neat was the fact that I was able to have a nearly 360 degree view of Dublin while I sipped on the best Guinness that I have ever had.  I'm sure that I've also left out other stuff, but some other notes--I saw the oldest pub in Ireland, the Brazen Head, as well as Trinity College, though I didn't see the Book of Kells.

The harp that Guinness' logo is based on.

        After the Guinness Storehouse, we met up with the Coulters, as well as the Moosbruggers, and we walked around downtown Dublin, ate dinner, and went back to our hotels.  The next morning, we were all up at about 4:00 am or so, and headed to the airport, whence the Coulters, Jonathan, and I went back to Rome--damn--and the Moosbruggers and Tim embarked for Austria, which is where my next post will pick up.

The Land of Eire--Part III

Blarney Castle.

Here I am kissing the Blarney Stone.

        On the morning of the 17th, after breakfast and Palm Sunday Mass at the local church, Tim, Jonathan, and I drove for a little over two hours to Cork, where we stayed at Jurys Inn Hotel.  It was a fairly nice hotel, right along the river, which opened wide enough to have a couple French Navy ships dock there.  Cork is similar to the size of Rochester, MN, both in size of buildings, area, and population.  We were all pretty tired, so we slept for about four hours and then walked around, looking for a place to eat.  Unfortunately, there really wasn't anywhere to eat, aside from a Subway and this fried chicken place, which was sub-par at best.  Also, the people didn't seem to be as nice as those in Camp, and we all kind of wished we had stayed there the whole time, especially when we were standing on a corner, and a guy in a car shouted out to a sketchy guy with long hair and trench coat, "Get a haircut you (blanking) (blank)!"  To which Jonathan said, "Welcome to Cork!"  So we ended up going to the fried chicken place, which was nowhere even close to KFC, Popeye's or Raising Cane's.  The redeeming part was that there was a digital jukebox there, and I was able to play Bruce Springsteen's "Badlands" and Queen's "One Vision" for 50 euro cents each.  We later went to a real pub, had some beer, watched a Spanish League soccer match, and went back to the hotel.

Marina of Kinsale.

        The next day, which was really sunny and warm, I got up, had the hotel Irish Breakfast buffet, which wasn't too bad, and we headed out to Blarney, which is northwest of Cork.  We went into the Blarney Castle, kissed the Blarney Stone, and walked around the estate for awhile.  The really neat thing is that a noble family, who maintains the castle, still lives in the Blarney House, which is about a quarter mile or so away from the castle; there are also tours there for four hours per day, six days a week, which is impressive, considering that it is actually an active home.  The grounds are really beautiful and are well maintained.  There is also more or less a 30 minute hiking trail at the opposite end of the grounds (away from the Blarney House).

A couple streets in Kinsale.

        We then drove down to Kinsale, which is much smaller than Cork, and is a fishing town on the southern coast of Ireland, about 25 km from Cork.  I really enjoyed it simply because it is smaller than Cork, and has the feel of Dingle.  We walked around for a bit and then ducked into a pub for lunch.  I had hot seafood chowder and warm bread, and we just sat around for close to an hour and a half, just talking and relaxing.  Afterward, we walked down by the bay and through the winding streets, stopping in at the churches and taking in the fact that we were in a small town in Ireland, which was much better than being in Cork, and like being in Camp.  One final note on the city of Cork--there is not much to see there, and I would honestly not recommend going there, because there truly isn't that much to see or do, but I suppose it is a good in-between point for Blarney and Kinsale, among other places, I'm sure.

The Land of Eire--Part II

The rolling dunes of Inch Beach.

         On the morning of the 15th of April, in the year of our Lord, two thousand and eleven, I had the best breakfast that I've ever had in Europe.  No, there weren't any cornetti or stale cereals, it was an Irish Breakfast.  This consists of an egg, baked beans, toast, tea, ham, sausage links, a Jimmy Dean-type sausage patty, a black pudding patty, half of a small tomato, and orange juice.  Although not everyone had this every day, I did because a) it was very filling and I needed some energy for the day, and b) I normally don't get this in Rome.  After breakfast, the five of us packed in the car and drove to Brandon Point, which was about 25 minutes from our place.  Of course we got lost along the way so it took a little longer, but it was well worth the drive along roads wide enough for only one car at a time to pass.  At first it was fairly sunny and warm, but it quickly cooled off and the winds came.  We could overlook the bay for miles, and watched as the waves crashed on the cliffs and the sand.

Inch Beach.

        Afterward, we headed down to the town of Dingle, which was about a 45 minute drive or so.  Along the way, though, it began to rain hard, and we were all pretty nervous, as Jonathan was driving on a mountain road through fog, rain, and again on a very narrow road.  So we got to Dingle and it was still raining, and we walked down a fairly busy (for Ireland) street.  We ducked in a few stores and bought some stuff, but we were mostly just trying to stay warm and dry, or at least as much as we could.  We eventually walked down along the pier and had lunch at Murphy's pub.  The leek and potato soup I got, plus the warm fire, really helped me warm up after being poured on by the rain.
        When we emerged from our lunch about an hour or so later, it was warm, sunny, and clear, which helped us stay and walk around by the bay for awhile longer.  From Dingle we headed to Inch Beach, which is a peninsula off the southern edge of the Dingle Peninsula.  The dead seal on the sand notwithstanding, this was easily the most beautiful beach I had ever seen.  The tide had not yet rolled in completely, so there a lot of sand laid open, which transitioned into sand dunes about a hundred yards from the edge of the water.  Covering the sand dunes for the three-mile stretch along the beach was long Irish grass, between which a bunch of snails were taking refuge from the sun.  We left Inch Beach after at least an hour or so, and after we got back to the B&B we went to the pubs again for some more Irish fun.

The town of Dingle along the Dingle Bay.

        After a full Irish breakfast the next morning, John gave us a map and directed us toward Killarney National Park, about 45 minutes southwest of Camp.  We went up and over the Slieve Mish Mountains, which are more like high, rolling hills than actual mountains.  Despite that, however, I enjoyed them more than the high mountains of Switzerland, perhaps because they would be easier to climb and I would have less chance of falling down.  The park was great, with a lot of beautiful scenery, with a lot of grass, trees, and bushes surrounding a series of small mountains and a large lake, with a couple islands in the middle.  It was a very peaceful and enjoyable place to walk, and at times reminded me of walking in the woods in Minnesota, except everything was much greener in Killarney.
        What really makes this national park unique is Mmuckross Abbey, where, unlike every historical building in Rome, we could go just about everywhere without having rooms barred or roped off.  There was formerly a community here of Observantine Franciscans, devoted to the Holy Trinity.  Henry VIII, unfortunately, forced them out, but they returned, only to be driven out for good by the Cromwellians in 1652.  Despite this, however, it is kept in great shape, and people are still being buried there.  What was most bizarre of all was the fact that the "Gandsey Families, Minnesota, U.S.A." are the primary benefactors of this place, helping it remain in as good condition as possible.

To the left of either the 6th or 7th hole.

        So we walked around the park, taking it in and enjoying even more the fact that we weren't in the commotion of Rome, and then went and walked around downtown Killarney, which wasn't that big, but big enough to walk around for a half hour or so.  We also peeked inside the Cathedral there, which was like the majority of other Irish churches in Ireland--19th century Gothic--but it was still really neat nonetheless, and was a great contrast to Rome's churches.

The 9th hole at 9:30.

Lake and mountain, Killarney National Park.

        On our way back to Camp, we had lunch at the South Pole Inn, named so because a local explorer went there, though he ended up just short of his destination.  Anyway, we got lost, and with me as the navigator, I felt kinda stupid for having misled us for an extra twenty minutes out of our way.  Fortunately, though, we did get back in time for Jonathan and I to grab the clubs of John Doyle and a friend of his, which was really generous, considering that neither of us golf all that well, and we were pretty much complete strangers--it really shows the great hospitality of the Irish.  We headed to Castlegregory--yes I said CastleGREGORY--Golf and Fishing Club, got lost of course, and eventually hit the links by 7 pm.  When I first heard that the place existed, I said to myself: "Greg, you are going to golf on that course."  And I did.  The clubhouse was a crapshack, but that really didn't matter, since the course itself was pretty nice--several holes had the long Irish grasses, one green was about 30 feet higher than the tee box, and some holes had sand dunes, all of which were challenges.  It was well worth it, though, because from the 5th to 7th holes, we played along the side of the course that directly overlooked the beach, the mountains, and the setting sun, for which there are no words (really I'd rather put a picture up here, so that I don't have to spend an hour typing it).  But seriously, it was awesome.  Afterward, went to--where else?--the pubs.  Although this night was "special" as there was a birthday party for one of the local guys at Fitzgerald's pub.  The Railway Tavern was much more quiet and laid-back, so I was there for at least an hour or so, just to take a break from the more popular, albeit more crowded, pub.  When we were at the Railway Tavern, Katie even worked up the nerve to sing Sweet Baby James, by James Taylor in front of the Irish locals that were there--very cool and props to her for that!  That's all for this night, but more to come.  Here is a link to a bunch of pictures from this post: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150167853861956.305889.507151955&l=18feeefcf1

The Land of Eire--Part I

April 14, 2011

Looking out over Tralee Bay from our B&B.

             Alright, it’s finally time to get to my trip to the Land of Eire (or Ireland).  The Moosbruggers, Tim, J Jonathan, Maddie and Marie Coulter, and I shared a small bus, which brought us to Ciampino Airport, which is the cheap airlines’ airport.  easyJet flies out of Fiumicino, but we were flying RyanAir, which is owned by the cheapest CEO in the world.  He once proposed an idea to have passengers standing up for the entire flight, with nothing but a vertical board on which to “rest”, just so they could cram in more passengers.  Enough of that rant—we left at 10:50 Rome time and got into Dublin at about 12:50 Dublin time, which meant a very uncomfortable 3 hour flight, sitting next to a creepy Italian couple, who were all over each other for most of the flight.

            We rented a car for our trip, which made the trip what it was, because we were able to drive all around fairly easily—albeit on the left side of the road.  Jonathan, being the only eligible driver in the group, reserved and drove the car the entire time.  It was fairly scary, yet very humorous, as Jonathan drove right through a red light and we had a fairly close call as we took a U-turn after we had missed the turn earlier.  What really didn’t help us is that the GPS system kept saying “re-calculating” in some snooty British woman’s voice and that Ireland’s highways had been redone within the past couple years, but the GPS wasn’t updated enough, so according to it we were driving under/over/through fields, lakes, and rivers.  So, we made the 4 hour-plus drive across westward to our destination of Camp, Dingle Peninsula, County Kerry, which is an extremely scenic area.

The name of this bar will be familiar to St. Paulites.

           We arrived at Camp Junction B&B at about 6:30 pm or so, and were greeted by our host, John Doyle, the epitome of an Irishman—generous, pleasant, and helpful (a contrast to the Italians)—though he’s technically an American.  He was born in Chicago because his dad had to move there to get work, but his dad moved his family back to Ireland when John was six years-old.  So, he has the Irish accent, and is cool and everything, but—he’s a huge Bears’ fan, which was really too bad to hear.  Anyway, as soon as we got to the living room, he offered all of us cookies and tea, and we were able to sit in extremely comfy seats, all of which was a great change of pace from the hunger and uncomfortable seats experienced in the car.  So, we had some time to get acquainted with the place, and John directed us to Paddy’s Cottage Restaurant, where I had the Atlantic seafood chowder and BBQ ribs.  All of us were filled to the point of bursting, as the portions were huge—the cod that Jonathan got, for example, was about 15” or so, and stretched over each side of his plate.  After a couple hours or so, and a little digestion, we headed to the pub, of which there were two within 150’ of the front drive of the B&B, with John, and he bought us all a pint of Guinness, which was only 3.65 euro, and easily the best in the world, which is no surprise.  And for over half an hour I sat next to and talked with this old guy, who had been drinking since probably two in the afternoon.  That, combined with his Irish accent, made his words nearly intelligible.  I understood one out of every ten words or so.  But, I did catch the fact that he thought I looked like Barack Obama…yeah, I was a little taken aback, and I truly didn’t know what to say, so I just laughed in his face. Overall, though, I'd say that it was a great start to our Irish holiday.  Here's a link to a bunch more images from this post: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150167120571956.304159.507151955&l=ccebb903f9

Italian History Week

            Italian History Week was from April 9^th to April 19^th (I’m not sure on the ending date, since I was gone for it).  Anyway, even though it’s obviously over a week, all the major historical and archaeological sites were free—the best four letter word in the English dictionary.  Unfortunately I wasn’t able to take advantage of it as much as I had hoped, but I went on Monday, April 11^th.  I was up at 5:25 a.m. to go to the station church, which was in Trastevere that day.  Afterward, Morgan Rosand, Matt Northenscold, and I went to the Coliseum first and then to the Roman Forum.  The Coliseum was pretty cool, but we couldn’t go to the top level, though what we were able to see was fairly impressive.  Ordinarily it would have been 12 euro for that and the Forum, but, like I said, it was free for the week.  We were first in line a few minutes before 8 am, which was the time that it was supposed to open, but we were on ITALIAN time, which means that everything opens up much later than advertised, so we entered at 8:30.  Farther back in the line we saw the Coulters (sans Dr. Coulter and Maddie) and Maria Z., and we toured the Coliseum with them.  We did get up to the second floor, where there were better views, including one where the sun was beaming through the uppermost openings of the façade, which made it easier to imagine the magnificence of the building when it was gilded in white marble on the outside, along with a lot on the inside.  Anyway, on the second level, we all packed snacks, so we got those out, and enjoyed a nice 20 minute break.  I had several mini cheese sandwiches with what was essentially Hawaiian bread, along with Galetti, a type of Italian sugar cookie.

Road along the Forum Romanum.

            Unfortunately, most of the seats are gone, but you could see how the arena was able to hold about 50,000 people in its day.  You could just imagine the sights, sounds, and smells of the hundreds or even thousands of animals and people would fight and die in even one day of games.  Most of the floor is gone, but very visible are the underground chambers that held the gladiators and animals right before they rose to the arena floor to fight (although I guess the animals were just massacred—many to, or near, extinction).  This place (in addition to the Circus Maximus) was the center of ancient Roman entertainment, as politicians, emperors, or generally wealthy people paid out the wazoo to entertain the masses.  Regrettably, when the emperor would put on games, he would tend to drain to treasury just a bit.  So, we spent about a total of an hour taking in the Coliseum, and then went to the Forum for a half hour, although the Coulters went to one of the ruined baths.

Caesar's supposed grave.

            The Forum is more in a state of ruin than the Coliseum, but there are a few arches and buildings that survive.  There are columns from various temples, which would have been just massive, and the roads and paths there were paved with what must have been expensive stone.  Plus, according to tradition (or myth/legend), Julius Caesar’s grave is right in the middle of the Forum, and people are still leaving flowers and pictures there. It is like a very shallow grotto into which you can walk, with a wall blocking a direct view of the stone covering his grave, in addition to a small opening to let a few people in at a time.  I wanted to get into the Curia but wasn’t able to, which is fine anyway since we were short on time and had to get to the Angelicum for class.
        I forgot to mention on the first go around that I also went to Trajan's Markets with Jonathan, while we were killing time before lay guys' formation on Tuesday afternoon, April 12th.  They were kind of cool, but probably not worth the 7 or 8 euro that it would have normally cost to get in there, so I'm glad that we got in for free. The interesting aspect of the markets lies in what they were like back in the day--each individual stall filled with vendors selling food, trinkets, clothes, and everything in between.  Just to see all that going on would have been spectacular.  Also, our Italian class (with Ana Maria) and the other (with Marta) went to Castel Sant'Angelo, which was/is the pope's fortress whenever Rome is attacked, as there is a secret passage from the Vatican directly to the castle.  There is a huge bronze statue at the very top, which is the exact position in which Saint Michael the Archangel appeared atop the then-Mausoleum of Hadrian to signal the end of the plague in 590 AD.  You can see pretty most of Rome from the top, and you also get a great history lesson along the way, while seeing the weapons used, like an original (I think) ballista.

Guests at Bernardi

Just a quick note of who has come to Bernardi over the semester.  I want to say that about six weeks ago George Weigel, the famed biographer ("Witness to Hope") of Blessed John Paul II, came for Mass, discussion, and dinner here.  It was a pretty neat experience, but he wasn't exactly what I thought he would be.  Kind of arrogant, but interesting stories about JPII nonetheless.  Unfortunately, all we could muster up for a meal was meatloaf, mystery meat and mystery bean lasagna, along with the standard corn salad and white sandwich bread (which I'm almost certain the houseworkers took from me, because after community night, I discovered that my whole loaf was mysteriously missing...).  Anyway, he booked it before the meal was even done, but I don't really blame him since a) he is probably more than a little busy, and b) the wine was bad and the food was iffy, at best.

Our second big guest was Cardinal Raymond Burke, which was really awesome, even though he's from Wisconsin.  The fact that he came at all was remarkable on two accounts: 1. He's a cardinal. 2. He is always very busy. However, he took a night out of his schedule to celebrate Mass with us, lead a discussion, and eat dinner with us.  He was really impressive, and spoke with such confidence about issues concerning the Church, it was reassuring to hear him speak.  Right before he left, he was very gracious in letting a bunch of us get a picture with him, even though I'm sure that he was very tired.

Our third major guest was Cardinal James Stafford, who not only celebrated Mass at Bernardi, but confirmed Liz Coulter.  He kind of seems to be losing it (he's nearly 80), but he's a cardinal nonetheless. As much as I hate to say it, the Mass was almost laughable, as he truly didn't know what was going on at times (if we sang the Gloria, when the intercessions were--Fr. Carola had to help him--and his homily was a stretch).  His homily was the biggest stretch I had ever heard, and was more circuitous than a roundabout.  He was reaching here, there, and everywhere, as if he hadn't prepared it AT ALL--I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.  It was funny at times, but the funniest line of all was "cast your net north of the future"--what does that even mean?  Even Fr. Sheridan was, to borrow a phrase, very corn-fused.  Also, at dinner, Cardinal Stafford apparently said--out of the blue--"Alright, that's it!" and left.  The whole thing was very strange, but like I said, pretty laughable.