Yesterday evening, I realized that my hotel was five minutes from the Borghese, Rome's biggest park: a perfect place for running. So, leaving my map at home, I headed off down the street, which turned out to lead directly to the Spanish Steps, an area, full of gorgeous boutiques, and thronged with tourists. I suppose I should have studied my map more closely. I made it through the crowds, however, though not without attracting a lot of stares. But I realized that during my short time in Rome I hadn't seen a single jogger. I have no idea how the people here stay so skinny; the younger ones anyway. Maybe it's the nicotine.

Running is a great way to discover a city, but even at 8.00 it was still a little warm and sticky for running, and by the time I got back to the hotel, I was in a pig sweat (to use one of my mother's loveliest expressions): but I felt great.

I'd been feeling full of energy all day, and I'd decided to go out for dinner and then a drink. But when I studied the map I realized that the gay club I was thinking of going to was way over on the other side of town in a shady neighborhood. Besides, by now it was ten p.m., I still had to eat dinner, my energy was finally beginning to flag after a long, full day, and I wanted to get up early tomorrow to be first in line for the Vatican museums. So I decided just to find a nice place to eat and be done with it.

I suppose the hardest thing about traveling alone is eating alone. Somehow, it seems particularly ... wrong in Rome, the city which, after all, but the "rom" in "romantic". Everyone else is in a group, except me, boo-hoo :) But last night I discovered that by sitting at a sidewalk cafe with the tables and chairs unregimented, I could sit on the outside of the tables, facing out, and not see the reproachful looks of other diners. With occupying myself with these notes, I felt comfortable in my own skin, which isn't always the case when I dine out alone. Besides, I was serenaded by a talented violinist!

Dinner entertainment

But I'm such a wuss! On the way to the restaurant, an extremely hot guy crossed the street about twenty feet in front of me. And, what's more, he blatantly cruised me! I smiled back, and we did the stare-stare, hesitant-walk, look-back business. But I didn't have the nerve to go after him! On the one hand, it made me feel great that such a sexy guy was interested, while on the other hand, I was left trying to figure out what stopped me from following up on it. I think it's really a sort of prudery - somewhere deeply ingrained in me is the distrust of sex for sex's sake. Mind, I'm protecting myself too. I know that first time sex with a new person is rarely successful for me, so I steer clear of it, for the most part. It was probably for the best that I didn't follow the guy ... but even so ...

I was up bright and early this morning so that I could walk over to the Vatican and be in line for the museums half an hour before opening time, 8.45. Several hundred other people had the same idea, and beat me to it. But, I hadn't been there five minutes before the line had extended behind me for several hundred yards! I'd gotten there just before the tour buses, thank God.

The lines behind me at the entrance to the Vatican museums

Once inside the enormous museum complex, the crowds were just horrible - massive jumbles of people inching through endless hallways and coridoors, the walls and roofs lined with priceless treasures, treasures which most of us ignored in our slow dash towards the Sistine Chapel, the destination I think we were all aiming for. It was kind of like the first five minutes of the New Year's sale at Harrods, right after they open the doors, where everyone makes a mad dash for the cut-price china.

One of the less crowded rooms en route to the Sistine Chapel

Room after room with gorgeous ceilings

They say that all roads lead to Rome. Well, in the Vatican, all signs seem to point to the "Cappella Sistina", but it never seems to be round the corner, despite the optimistic signs: and the Pope has placed room after room of quite awful modern religious art in your path as a form of penance.

I knew I was heading towards what is considered one of the supreme experiences of art in the World. I was scared of being underwhelmed - could anything live up to the expectation? But I had nothing to be scared of. I entered the large, crowded hall, was immediately aware of walls and ceilings covered with colorful, writhing figures and sat down on a bench at the side to take it all in. The central panel in the ceiling, the iconic "Creation of Adam", with the almost touching fingers of God and Adam, became the first painting ever to move me to tears. It has such a strength, and such meaning, even for an atheist like myself: the tender love of God, and the simple trust and adoration of a virile man.

After about twenty minutes in the chapel, I headed on to the Museo Pio Clementino, which is a little reminiscent of one of those enormous supercenters that sell garden statutary - rows and rows of statues - none for sale, of course, and all ancient, but lined up in such numbers that I began to feel a little numb. And I've never seen such a collection of perfect male physiques since I last worked out at a gym in West Hollywood.

Overwhelming numbers of statues at the Museo Pio Clementino

Perfect male physiques

Recovering from art overload in one of the Vatican snack bars

I was too tired to wait in the sun in another long line to get in to St. Peter's; I guess I'll get up early tomorrow for that.

Piazza S. Pietro, in the blazing sun, with St Peter's flanked by a pair of snaking sets of enormous columns.

A pigeon poses for the camera inside the colonade of columns. A second after this, I was interrupted by a policeman telling me tripods were forebidden. What is this thing they have here against tripods?

After a long nap at my hotel, I set out again to explore the neighborhood around the Spanish Steps. This is a long set of curving stairways, very popular, apparently, as a spot for sitting and roasting in the extremely hot sun. By the way, I've yet to see a shirtless Italian ... alas :)

On the Spanish Steps

I had a late lunch at Babbingtons, the English tea-room that's been a bastion of Empire in Rome for decades. It's probably little changed from the days of "Tea with Mussolini", a time when English society ladies, infatuated with all things Italian, would congregate here and discuss the gauche American tourists in horrified tones. Today, though, the tea-room was full of Japanese tourists. The menu, however, was probably unchanged - shrivelled lettuce, runny egg and buttered toast, for the most part; and outrageous prices.

Babbington's Tea Rooms

I spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the neighborhood, tossing a coin in the Trevi Fountain, shopping for a new backpack, and looking at men's fashions at places like Il Discount dell Alta Moda, which should have been called "... Molto Alta Moda".

Looking dorky, tossing a coin into the Trevi Fountain. You're supposed to toss it over your shoulder like that to make sure you come back to Rome some day.

Yet another enormous plaza, Piazza del Popolo

Smart girl on a moped. Those darned mopeds - they're everywhere, and they make so much noise!

For dinner, I found a great take-out place - exquisitely cooked, simple food - salted chicken and peas, rice with fried tomatoes, and took it back to my hotel to devour while writing this journal. I think I'll call it a night now, though. Besides, "Laurel and Hardy is on the TV - in English!

Another long, busy day - I think I need a vacation :)