The Pantheon

Somehow, during our first visit to Rome, we missed seeing the Pantheon. So on Saturday, the Pantheon is our quest.

We purchase all day passes on the Metro, figuring that along with the Pantheon, we'll try to stop at each of the stations on the line to at least take a look around. However, after we get off at the Spagna station, and we're in front of the Spanish Steps, something unfortunate happens: I ask one of the locals for directions.

Thus begins a trek across the better part of Rome. It is also a trek across Lisa's patience, as I confuse the directions, missing the piazza that Lisa (correctly) insists is where we should turn. Finally, hours (maybe days) later, we arrive at what I determine is the correct location.

It isn't.

So I am fired as the family navigator, and Lisa takes over. Within short order, we arrive at the Pantheon.

Something happens to my sense of direction when we're here in Italy. At home, I have a near perfect sense of direction. You could tell me, 'Dan, I need you to drive me to [insert the most obscure town you know], which is somewhere near [another obscure town]. I don't have a map, nor a GPS. Can you get me there?' And I'll get you there (well, you know, if I like you) in the most direct, time-efficient way possible.

Lisa, on the other hand, can get lost between the garage and the end of the driveway. She'll refer it I-57 as Memphis Avenue, because there's a sign that says, 'Memphis 300 Miles'.

Yet when we come to Italy, I seem to have forgotten to pack my sense of direction, whereas Lisa can somehow intuitively find anything and everything, without a map, in the dark. Blindfolded.

I don't get it. Maybe I think in grids, and she thinks in roundabouts.

Anyway, Lisa gets us to the Pantheon, and it is spectacular. It's a sunny day, and as we enter the building (which is free of charge - something the Italians seem to have overlooked), the temperature drops about 10 degrees. It's cool, it's dark, and as I look up, the open circle at the peak of the dome allows a bright beam of light to cut through the dimness. It reminds me of the religious paintings where the saints are illuminated from heaven. Lisa and I stand in the beam, which is nearly blinding. The perfect geometry of the dome is breathtaking. Raphael's tomb, along with other less-notable, patrons, is inside. Between the beauty of the dome and the reverence of the religious shrines, it is a moving place to be.