One Day in San Marino

Tucked quietly away in eastern Italy - about 10 miles from the Adriatic coast - is the tiny little country of San Marino. At a mere 24 square miles (about a quarter of the size of Salt Lake City), it's the fifth smallest country in the world.

The Sammarinese speak Italian and use the Italian currency (the Euro, nowadays.) In spite of their tiny size and proximity to a much larger and more powerful country, they've been an independent country for somewhere between several centuries and nearly two millennia (depending on who you ask.) They have a proud history of independence, industriousness, and torture.

Fortunately, it turns out that it's not just a country for Europe completionists - it's small, but it's a beautiful and historical place worthy of a visit for anyone visiting the region.

I made the Italian coastal city of Rimini (which, tangentially, happens to be the birthplace of one of my favorite filmmakers, Federico Fellini) my base camp for the journey into San Marino.

(Also tangentially: It was on the bus in Rimini where I encountered the nice but logorrheic Italian who talked to me nonstop - in Italian - about Italian-American films and filmmakers for a full 25 minutes. "Sapete Francis Ford Coppola è italiano? Egli è il Dio della pellicola! Il Padrino, La conversazione, Apocalypse Now! Molto bello! Bellissimo! Martin Scorsese! Robert de Niro! Bellissimo! Bellissimo! Mi piace sottaceti e cannoli! Vuoi essere mio amico? Devo pesci nuotano, volano gli uccelli devo, devo l'amore di un uomo fino alla morte." Note: I don't speak Italian.)

Anyways.

Since Rimini is the most popular stopover for those hoping to visit San Marino, there's a cheap bus service from the city center that offers several trips a day into the country. So I hopped on the bus, and we drove away from the coastline - and up into the beautiful Apennine Mountains. Forty-five minutes later we were in the city - and country - of San Marino.

The first thing you notice about San Marino: It's in a gorgeous setting. The capital city (and the only real city in the country) is located on the slopes of Mount Titano which rises steeply above the surrounding countryside and provides lovely views in every direction.

It also makes walking the streets a pain, since they're pretty much all on a slope - but that's the price you pay for beauty I suppose.

My first destination was the three ancient defensive towers that stand over the city. It's a bit of a hike up through the city, but the views from the tops of the fortresses were spectacular. The three towers are connected by a scenic path that runs along the top of the mountain.

After exploring the towers (only two of the three are actually open to the public), I went back into the city to visit some of the other historic sites.

For such a small country, San Marino has a pretty extensive heritage. I unfortunately wasn't there during the right time of year to witness the changing of the guard, but I was able to go inside the Public Palace and see the senate chambers and - oddly enough - a bust of Abraham Lincoln.

From there, it was on to the very modern and clean State Museum, which held a wide variety of important historical artifacts ranging from prehistory to the modern day.

And then there was the Torture Museum. I don't know why I went in there. Apparently San Marino, like most of the medieval world, liked to employ torture against its prisoners. They found inventive - and sadistic, and evil - ways of punishing/extracting information.

On a more pleasant - if bizarre - note, there was an art exhibit going on throughout the city, which included these, uh... Things...

Even with the unpleasantly steep streets, it was nice to just wander around while I waited for my bus. The architecture in the city is lovely. A particularly pleasant moment was walking by a school of music and hearing some piano music floating through the open windows. It was one of those small but memorable moments that can't be captured on camera - or in writing.

...As the sun began to set over the Apennines it was time to head back to my hotel in Rimini.

Adventures in the Vatican (or: Social Anxiety Ruins My Day)

Big cities... Ugh.

I left my (very nice) hostel at about 8:45 to head for the Vatican. Unfortunately, the metro was hellishly busy, and during the 25 or so minute ride I felt something akin to what sardines must feel when they're packed into cans. Except those sardines tend to be dead, which gives them one advantage.

And because I had humans pressed up on all sides of me (and one particularly annoying lady repeatedly trying to push me further back into the train), I was naturally worried about pickpockets and (like Alanis) I felt compelled to keep one hand in my pocket (with my wallet) and the other on my bag.

It was stressful.

...But the ride finally came to an end, and I made my way (along with seemingly 3/4 of the people on my train) along the pleasant old strada to the Vatican, where I looked forward to a few frolicsome hours of leisurely making my way through the various museums and chapels that make up this ancient and sacred city-country.

Hahahahaha.

Hahahahaha.

(pauses for breath)

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Ahem.

As I approached the dome of St. Peter's, I began to notice the crowds.

Big crowds. Lots and lots of people. All waiting in lines.

I walked by them, hoping that they were maybe trying for an audience with the pope or maybe a Krispy Kreme had just opened up in the area or... Something.

Then I reached St. Peter's Square, and I saw the line - indisputably heading towards the ticket office and entrance - that stretched across the entire (very large) square and beyond. And beyond. And beyond...

Thoughts of running away filled my head. I mean, St. Peter's Square is officially part of the Vatican, so I could say I'd been in the country. That's what matters, right?

But then I thought about the 10,000 touts I had passed on my way, each offering "Skip the Line VIP tours." Suddenly I understood the appeal of what they were selling. I went and sought one out (haha, just kidding - all I had to do was turn around and one was on top of me asking me if I wanted a tour.) After he went through his spiel (I didn't understand a word of it) he guided me towards the tour agency office. I was a bit worried I was being had - these kinds of street tours don't exactly have the best reputation - but I figured it was a choice between that and skipping the Vatican altogether.

I ended up paying quite a bit more than I had hoped for, but I got my tour ticket and was able to skip the lines (though I did still have to wait through an interminable history lecture while we waited for our entry time.)

My tour guide had an adorable accent, and I only understood about half of what he said - but it didn't really matter, because I was getting into the Vatican!

And then we got into the Vatican, and the crowds didn't end. Oh no.

The crowds didn't end.

The whole damn place was jam packed - every inch of every area open to the public was packed with people. There was no point - except the very end - in which I wasn't trapped in the middle of an enormous crowd. I spent two hours squeezing past people, trying to catch fleeting glimpses of whatever work of art we were supposed to be looking at, and frantically trying to figure out where my guide had disappeared to among this seething mass of human bodies.

There he is! Right in front of the piece of modern art...

There he is! Right in front of the piece of modern art.

Crowds make me anxious, so within about 30 minutes I was about ready to head for the nearest exit. It didn't make it any better that occasionally I'd catch a glimpse through a window into the Vatican gardens and see that there actually are areas of the city - inaccessible to us commoners, of course - that aren't filled with people.

But I stuck it through, and I did get to see some pretty cool stuff. The various museums are positively overflowing with works of art, ranging from the Greco-Roman period to the Renaissance and on to the present day. Some of my favorites were the enormous tapestries from the 15th and 16th centuries that covered entire walls, and the wonderfully detailed sculptures (with their nethers hilariously chopped off many centuries ago by a particularly pious pope.) The Sistine Chapel was nice, I guess (and, yes, completely filled with people. I couldn't turn around without running into someone.)

My favorite part, though, was St. Peter's Basilica. It came right at the end of the tour, and the place is so enormous that even these crowds couldn't fill it. It's beautiful inside, and it felt considerably more like a church - and more, well, spiritual - than any other place I had been on the tour. I hung out there for a while, enjoying the beauty and feeling of the place.

And on my way back to my hostel I ran into a restaurant, directly outside the Vatican Walls, called "Habemus Pizza." Which is delightful.

All in all, the Vatican was worth it. But I don't think I'm ever going back. I hope so, at least.

I really hope so.

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I also stopped at the Castelo San Angelo right beside the Tiber. It was nice, but I think I've already reached my saturation point with these ancient stone fortresses. I prefer the fine art of the museums and churches.

And, in my futile attempts to find a metro station, I also wandered through one of those charming narrow, authentically European streets filled with boutique fashion shops and gelato parlors. I may have indulged in the gelato. Twice.

I did NOT get to the Colosseum. In fact, I didn't even see it. Which is kind of funny, since my hostel was about a ten minute walk from the site. But oh well - I'm pretty sure I'll get back to Rome someday.

But not the Vatican.

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I wrote this post while riding on a train heading east out of Rome and across the peninsula to Rimini and San Marino. I rode through some beautiful green and hilly countryside, and the train (or at least my car) was less than a quarter full. It was quiet. It was calm. In other words, it was the perfect antidote to my 24 hours in Rome.

So I Went Inside a Volcano...

Yesterday was an interesting day.

First there were the weirdos at the Copenhagen train station. Then there was the computer outage at the airport that resulted in a line that wrapped around the entire terminal. And then there was the uncomfortably turbulent flight.

...But I'll skip all of that, because yesterday I went into a volcano.

No, it wasn't an active one. It last erupted 4,000 years ago. There's no magma/lava - in fact, it was a cool 40 degrees inside. But it's still one of the coolest things I've ever experienced.

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The volcano - the arrestingly named Thrihnukagigur - is only about 20 miles outside of Reykjavik. However, the crater itself was only discovered in the 1970s - and it only became accessible to the public (through a single tour company) in 2012. 

After the 30-ish minute drive into the mountains with the tour company, you're dropped off in a barren wasteland that apparently doubles as the world's ugliest ski resort in the colder months. (Let's be honest: Iceland as a whole is a pretty barren country. All the black and grey volcanic rock and the lack of vegetation - particularly trees - make for a pretty bleak setting. It's not too surprising that most of the astronauts who ended up landing on the moon came here to train in the 1960s.) 

It turns out that this is just the starting point for the hike - now accompanied by a guide, we get to go on a walk. "It's only 3 kilometers," she says cheerfully. 

"Only 3 kilometers" of trudging through snow, then some permafrost and mud, then some rough uneven volcanic rock. Then some more snow. Then some more volcanic rock. Uphill both ways, etc.

There's a strong cold wind blowing directly in our faces as we hike across the top of these low-lying mountains. They told us to bring warm clothing - I didn't pack a coat, so I have to suffice with a sweater and a hoodie. 

Worse than the wind, before long I'm starting to get snow in my shoes. And then the snow is melting. And then my feet are wet. And then my feet are really cold. ("Oh no, am I going to get hypothermia? Am I going to get frostbite? Am I going to be leaving some of my toes behind in an Icelandic hospital?!")

Walking in the snow is really quite difficult. But - spoiler alert! - I don't get frostbite. Yay!

As we keep trudging, the guide occasionally stops and points something out:

"That's a ptarmigan," she says, pointing to a good-sized bird hopping among the rocks. "It changes colors in the winter."

Can you see the ptarmigan? Can you? Can you?

"That sign there that says [unpronounceable Icelandic word] means 'deep wide crack.' It means that over in that direction there's a big crevasse in the ground that's up to 24 meters deep. You don't want to fall into that."

Apparently that means something along the lines of "fall in here and you'll die." Or maybe it doesn't - I don't know Icelandic.

Later on: "Up here we have to go around the usual path a little bit. There's another big fissure in the ground that we usually cross with a bridge we built, but we don't know exactly where the bridge - or the crack - is because they're both covered by snow." 

After a while, we can see the craters - there are actually three of them - off in the distance. And we keep walking. And walking. And walking.

The three unassuming craters - we'll be going into the one on the right.

-

Realizing that most people are going to be cold and tired by the time they reach the actual volcano, the tour company has helpfully built a little "base camp" house - complete with free tea and coffee (dangit!), souvenirs, surprisingly fast wi-fi, and, most importantly, shelter from the relentless wind. 

After giving us some time to rest and a brief safety lecture, it's time to go...

INSIDE THE VOLCANO!!!!!1!1  [imagine ominous music playing here]

-

That's the name of the volcano. 

From the outside, the crater is pretty undistinguished. Just one of several barren cones of black volcanic rock against a grey, snowy landscape. Have I used the word "barren" already? I think I have. How about "desolate?" 

Equipped with safety harnesses and helmets, we ascend to the top of the crater, where there's a hole. A small hole, with a small platform that will serve as an elevator. You can't see the bottom of the hole. You look over the sides of the platform (which you reach by crossing a sort of bridge), and see how the rocks are quickly swallowed by blackness. 

The lift operator attaches our harness to the platform - you really don't want to fall here - and then we begin our slow descent into the abyss. Very slow - it takes a full six minutes to reach the bottom.

-

Usually magma chambers collapse immediately after an eruption. For whatever reason, however, this one didn't. And that's why today we're able to descend 500 feet into the mouth of a volcano. It's apparently one of the only places like it in the world.

You descend below the level of the actual crater - the dome you can see from the outside - and go below the level of the ground. The rocks change from pretty typical rough igneous to something far more... Varied. And geometrical. And colorful. And beautiful.

The hole opens up after about a hundred feet, and - as your eyes adjust - you begin to understand the sheer enormity of the space. It's a giant cavern, several hundred feet in diameter and 500 feet from floor to ceiling. Quite a bit taller than the Statue of Liberty (which always seem to be the go-to example in cases like this, no matter where you are in the world.) 

My favorite part, though, is the water falling from cracks in the ceiling above. It's falling so far - and in such a small flow - that it breaks up into what seem like individual drops, each one illuminated by the spotlights on the floor of the cavern. It's a breathtaking sight - and one I couldn't really catch on camera. (Of course, I couldn't really catch most of the experience on camera.) 

There are a few moments during the descent when I get a little bit freaked out - it really is a long way to fall - but I get over it.

The platform finally lands, the guide gives a brief explanation of what we're seeing, and then we're allowed to roam freely (well, within the safety lines) for about 30 minutes. 

-

You get off the platform and look around at all the colors around you. You don't think of the inside of a volcano as colorful, but this one is. There's red and orange and blue and green and yellow ("...and scarlet and black and ochre and peach and ruby and..."), all caused by different minerals left behind by the last eruption. You look up, up, up and stand in awe of the sheer size of the space - and watch as the lights on the platform move higher and higher until they almost disappear completely on the way back up to the surface. 

At first I walk around and take as many pictures as I can. But then I realize that the pictures - even the few that turn out - aren't going to capture the feeling of the place anyways, and I put my camera away. 

The place is pretty quiet, except for the patter of the water falling on the rocks and the other visitors stumbling around on the rocky floor. 

I notice a smaller tunnel that goes even deeper into the ground, but we're not allowed to enter it.

I like to imagine that this tunnel leads to Oz or Middle Earth or somewhere like that...

After I've fully explored the perimeter of the accessible area, I sit down and just try to take everything in. It's slightly chilly (my feet are still wet), I'm a little worried about falling rocks, and I kind of want to stay here forever. 

My best attempt to capture the falling water.

Yes, I had fun with silhouettes. I think they help give a sense of scale.

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Alas, our 30 minutes pass and we have to go. So it's back up on the platform, back to the surface, back into the howling wind. 

And then back to the base camp, where they serve us a surprisingly delicious lamb stew - and some more coffee and tea (dangit!) 

And then back across 3 kilometers of snow and volcanic rock and slush and permafrost and more snow. 

And then on the bus back to my hostel, where I can finally take off my wet shoes and socks. (Yay! No frostbite!)

Thank you for joining me on this journey Inside the Volcano.