Pink Sneakers on the Go

Pink Sneakers on the Go Helpful Tidbits of Info

Posted by Nora K ,

Why is it that no matter how far in advance you plan for your next adventure, something inevitably gets left off the list? Even if you’ve double, triple and quadruple-checked, made certain that your passport hasn’t expired, have booked all of the planes and trains, yet the week before you’re scheduled to depart the country, you realize that your hotel reservations are valid not for July 2013, but for July 2014. Yup, you read that correctly. Yikes!! How does this happen? Well, actually, quite easily, as a matter of fact. You know the small calendar that pops up on the hotel booking websites, where you have to choose the month and date and the “helpful” arrows (<<July>> for example) allow you to click on the desired month and day, yet somehow, inadvertently, I just happened to click on the arrows that changed the current year to the following one – consequently ensuring my pink sneakered feet accommodation for next year but unfortunately, leaving me homeless for this year’s upcoming trip. My one saving grace was that I have made it a rule to always book hotels that have a cancellation policy in place, just on the off chance that I find a better, more ideal, economical and picturesque one in the meantime. Luckily for me, that scenario worked out just fine in the end, allowing me to cancel my 2014 reservations and re-book for this year. Phew!! Crisis averted.

On that note, I felt it necessary to share my pink-sneaker “travel planning” tidbits of worldly wisdom with you.

Pink Sneakers on the Go Helpful Tidbits of Info on planning, packing and organizing:

Always make a list and check it twice! List everything that you will need for your upcoming adventure, from bug spray to sunscreen to extra toilet paper. Hey, you never know.

Check with the hotels to make certain whether or not they accept either cash or credit card payments. You don’t want to have to traipse to the lone bancomat machine out in the boonies of nowhere, as I had to, when staying in my suburban Roman hotel.

Make certain that your passport has not expired. Not sure about other countries, but Canada customs will not let you go anywhere if your passport is expiring within 6 months. This recently happened to a friend of mine, whose passport had expired and he was leaving in 2 weeks. It’s quite the scramble to have to worry about yet something else in the midst of planning for your next adventure. You don’t want to have to end up spending your vacation on your sofa, crying hysterically, a river of tears spraying your picturesque travel books - kicking yourself that you have now foolishly forfeited your long anticipated holiday – all because you didn’t check your passport expiry date.

Contact your banking institution and advise them that you will be out of the country so that you don’t run into issues while attempting to withdraw cash at foreign ATMs. Your pin number should be four digits, no more, no less.

Leave all of your valuable jewellery, designer outfits and handbags at home. You don’t want to be a “showy, conspicuous” traveller, a visible target for random thieves and pickpockets.

Wear comfortable (hey, they don’t necessarily have to be ugly) shoes or sandals. You have no idea how many times I’ve cursed my shoe-wear, wishing that I’d opted for that hideous “grandma” style of sandal instead, my bleeding feet almost permanently disfigured with open sores and blisters – hence, my chic pink sneakers. With age comes wisdom.

And last, but not least, pack light – especially if you’re globe-trotting around the world, dashing from airplane to train to ferry. If you’ve ever even remotely considered “kicking your luggage to the curb”, then you’ve packed too much.

Did I cover all of the necessary points? Hopefully I didn’t forget anything and if I did, all that I can say is Yikes!!!!

Come schlep all of your worldly belongings around the globe with me…as you contemplate the complete insanity of cramming your goods into just one lone backpack. Like, seriously??

Next week – I’ll be traipsing around the world in search of new travel adventures and will return to weekly Wednesday blogging on July 17^th. If I happen to come across Internet along the way, then will try and post some pictures and entertaining tidbits of info.

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New adventures on the horizon - from luxury camping to ?????

Posted by Nora K ,

There comes a time in every traveller’s life when one takes a huge leap of faith and just plunges feet first into the next adventure. With that being said, I had now inadvertently committed to traipsing around Europe with my 16 year old niece for part of the sweltering hot summer months. Usually one to economize and travel on the off season, when flights and hotels are at least 35% cheaper, I was now forced to (egad!) pay full price for an airline ticket on a cheap over-crowded charter carrier that was crammed full of loud, obnoxious and care-free teenagers out to conquer the world. Yikes!! What had I gotten myself into?

Don’t get me wrong here. There is nothing more entertaining than hanging out with the French Revolutionary kid, getting banned for life from stepping foot into the Palace of Versailles (kind of kidding, but not quite), eating pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and being called a “mean ol’ Auntie” at least once or twice a day, oftentimes on an hourly basis, as required in order to achieve the desired results.

So, the next couple of weeks are certainly going to indeed be interesting, if not challenging. The kid has an upcoming summer European school trip and the plan is to meet up somewhere on the continent afterwards. Busy reading up on her travel books, my niece had some far-out ideas about what constituted an ideal holiday. Let me share a couple of the highlights of excursions that we are most definitely NOT undertaking this time around: Camping out in the tropical rain forests of the Amazonian jungle is not the picnic “walk in the park” that the kid made it out to be and unless we’re going to go all out and jump on the “glamping” bandwagon, then this middle aged pink-sneakered Auntie will just go check herself into a luxurious spa hotel instead. Like, seriously - relieve my pre-historic girl-scout misery of desperately rubbing two sticks together in order to channel non-existent fire? You call that fun? More like deliberately tormenting impressionable youngsters into believing that caveman Fred Flintstone mumbo jumbo.

This “glamping” thing, on the other hand, has me quite intrigued. Apparently, it’s the “new and improved” upgraded luxury version of archaic old-fashioned “sludging around in the mud” camping. Why cram yourself into a confining sleeping bag in an equally smelly claustrophobic tent, endure being eaten alive by swarming mosquitoes and allow yourself to become possible prey for wandering bears and coyotes – all in the desire to commune with nature? Why not go “all the way” and hang out with the llamas, giraffes and crocodiles from a more chi chi and glamorous perspective instead? “Roughing it” in the wilderness from the comforts of your opulent “home away from home” is a far more pleasant experience when you are sleeping on designer bed-sheets, walking barefoot on luxurious Persian carpets and being catered to by on-site chefs.

Cropping up in the early 1990’s in Africa and Thailand, the phenomenon of “glamping” found a niche market in safari adventure seeking tourists anxious to enjoy the comforts of a five star hotel whilst hanging with the zebras and exotic jungle animals in their native habitats. Willing to fork over hundreds, if not thousands of dollars per night, these “glampers” have brought boy-scout camping to an ultra glam level of “spare no expense” sophistication.

The origins of a more refined and dignified way of “roughing it” goes centuries back, to the time of the Ottoman Empire, where sultans languished the days away in sumptuously furnished tents, their every whim coddled to by their armies of chefs and servants.

And so my dilemma has unofficially begun…where oh where should my pink sneakers take me? The possibilities are endless – from magical carpet rides along the Sahara to house-boating on the river Seine – perhaps I’ll just close my eyes, spin the globe and see where my pink-sneakered feet land. After all, life is an adventure, n’est-ce pas?

Next week – Stay tuned!!

Come traipse along the twisting, winding cobble-stoned paths with me....take a page out of your travel books and imagine the possibilities....

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Arrivederci Roma - Packing, merlot and Signore Bancomat

Posted by Nora K ,

It had started out badly from the get-go. Hustling to catch a taxi to the airport, bags in tow, my pink-sneakered feet splish splashed their way along the pavement, hoping beyond hope to snag that lone speeding cab.

You know the type of day when anything and everything goes awry and nothing goes according to plan. My, those mischievous travel gremlins were laughing it up at my expense, when they thought it amusing to disrupt my travel plans and cause a bit of havoc and excitement as I attempted to catapult myself to the tarmac on time. Missing my transatlantic flight would most definitely suck, as I would then have to spend the night snoozing in the airport lounge, un-elegantly sprawled out on the rock hard plastic molds that doubled as chairs, counting out my last remaining coins, in my desperate attempt to score a cappuccino or better yet, a vino, and soak my misery away, as I would then have to figure out an alternate route home. It didn’t help that I had spent every single last bit of change on acquiring that limited edition “soft as butter” bronze hued wallet, the coveted ”to die for” companion to my priceless designer Italian satchel. Like, there was no way that I would even consider selling my “one of a kind” exclusive handbag in order to finance an airplane ticket home, so, being broke and penniless in a foreign airport thousands of miles from home, was not the most desirable situation to want to have to be in.

How did this happen and how did I manage to get myself into this predicament? After all, I had stuck to my age-old travel rules of retiring early the night before and more importantly, of being all packed and ready to go upon waking. Or had I?

Despondent that it was my last night in magnificent Roma, my pink-sneakered feet had reluctantly traipsed back to my slummy hotel (located so far out in the suburbs, it might as well have been situated in Australia -more on that later) “oh so late” as they had scurried about town, snapping photo after photo of anything and everything worthy of digital documentation, acquiring last-minute trinkets, as well as scouring bolted down shops for a couple of bottles of Italian vino, souvenirs for home and for my “packing party” that was to take place later that evening. Pray tell, what exactly is a “packing party”? Well, in pink-sneaker terms, it is just that – an event where you have a bit of vino and throw some clothing into your suitcase, have a bit more vino and continue packing until your belongings have been neatly lined up in your carry-on bag and suitcase.

It’s remarkably amazing how incredibly well packing goes with the help of a glass or two of Italian red wine as it somehow takes the drudgery out of the dreaded task of trying to figure out how to transport all of your shoes, boots and handbags home in just one suitcase. Yup, just one mid-size orange piece of luggage, ready to be hauled half way across the world, preciously holding all of my meticulously searched for valuables. My plan of merlot indulging and suitcase cramming went along swimmingly well, as the usual hours it took to fill my valise ended up taking a lot less time than anticipated, permitting me the luxury of spending the remainder of my evening sipping vino, writing post-cards and day-dreaming about my Italian adventures.

It therefore baffles me that upon waking, my belongings were still strewn about the hotel room, my suitcase only half-packed and the hotel proprietor banging incessantly on the door, screaming (I kid you not) that the taxi had just left without me in it. Yikes!! To make matters worse, my “out in the Italian suburbs” inn didn’t accept credit card payments, only cash and I was forced to march to the local bancomat – accompanied by the hotel manager - down the street to withdraw some money from a lone graffiti covered bank machine that looked like it had seen better days. Still haunted by my bancomat escapades in Firenze, I cringed in horror at the possibility of being stranded in suburbia, forced to wash dishes and do laundry as live-in help, until I had earned enough Euros to pay the bill – all because Signore Bancomat refused to spit out a couple of colourful bank notes and grant me access to my cash. For if the shiny new bank machines in Florence flat out declined my Canadian bank card, I can surely expect much of the same from a random hole in the wall scribble defaced bank machine located in the middle of nowhere. It therefore both puzzled and shocked me that the banking Gods were in a favourable mood that rainy day, happily spewing out a handful of Euros, thus further perplexing me as I continued to ponder the intricacies of the very mysterious Italian banking system. Go figure?

Needless to say, my pink-sneakered feet actually hoofed it to the airport in time, as the kind owner of our “random hole in the wall” B & B personally offered to drive me to the airport, so concerned was he that I might miss my flight due to his original miscommunication to me with regards to the hotel’s cash only policy.

Now that’s what made my Italian journey so memorable - random acts of kindness from complete strangers willing to help out a damsel in distress – thus ensuring that a foreign visitor feels welcome and at home in a strange land. In all of my years of travelling, despite having encountered a couple of blips and hurdles along the way, I’ve come to realize that despite our diverse customs, heritage and language, when push comes to shove, we are all united as one.

Arrivederci Roma!! See you on my next visit!!

Come traipse around Roma with me…you never know what adventures await…

Next week – where do my pink-sneaker footprints end up??

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Last evening in Roma as I philosophize about life in Piazza San Pietro

Posted by Nora K ,

With less than 18 hours before I boarded my transatlantic flight back to my 9 to 5 daily routine of work, bills and laundry, I yearned to prolong my Italian adventure and soak in as much of “la dolce vita” as possible. Even if that meant un-elegantly hanging out of the window of my speeding taxi, snapping pictures left, right and centre - of absolutely anything and everything worthy of digital documentation - as it wove its way along the roadway, racing me to the tarmac. Since it was now well past 6:00pm and the blush of dusk was soon to descend upon this golden hued metropolis, my pink-sneakered feet had to skedaddle and hop, skip and jump their way along the trodden cobblestoned paths en route to the Vatican and Piazza San Pietro.

Located within the grounds of Vatican City, St. Peter’s Basilica is an archeological gem, the site of the burial place of the apostle, Peter. Originally commissioned by the first Christian Emperor Constantine, in 319, the Basilica is a symbolic representation of the beginning of Christendom. It somehow seemed fitting that my last evening in Roma would be spent traipsing along the sacred ground of St. Peter’s Square, musing and philosophizing about life (one of my absolutely favourite rainy day indulgences) - simultaneously in sync with the collective wisdom of long-gone generations.

It’s not like I actually got to go inside the Basilica, or even view any of its hallowed magnificence, my pink-sneakered feet instead respectfully ambled around the sacred stonework that lined the perimeter of this famous edifice. Meandering along the well-trodden stones, I couldn’t help but place myself into a different time zone, one that was not of this century - but one that I felt attuned and connected to – somehow inexplicably linking me to the past and especially to those whose footsteps had also traipsed upon these weather-worn passageways.

Possessing somewhat of an obsessive and reflective nature, I delight in spending hours upon hours in deep contemplative brooding, pensively ruminating on the unfinished goals, dreams and aspirations of those who lived and breathed in a different era than I. It is no wonder then that I so easily and gratefully lost myself to these meditative states, sinking deeper with each step upon a dusty pebbled path, setting off a flood of emotions and imagined memories.

My two days in Roma enlightened me to the fact that I didn’t have to mad dash around this spectacular city and see all of its “not to be missed” sights and that it was alright if I perhaps viewed only 1 or 2 of those “Top 10” venues, thus permitting myself to relax and indulge in the everyday ordinariness of life. Viewing the rituals and customs of everyday folk - from a hunched over grandmother protectively cradling her grandson’s hand as she helped guide him across a bustling street - to chain-smoking gringos speeding by on sputtering vespas – I was grateful to just meander and be witness to the organized “disorganized” Italian version of the daily hurly-burly.

And so it was upon that golden twilight evening – en route to the square of St. Peter - that I stumbled upon my Julia Roberts moment, unintentionally re-creating that well-known scene in “Eat, Pray, Love”, where her character laps an ice-cream whilst resting on a concrete bench. Not a huge fan of the cold frozen treat, I nonetheless felt an urge to indulge, as I spotted a group of habit clad nuns grapple with the rapidly melting gelato, as they laughingly attempted to devour the now dripping concoction before it splattered all over their regal robes.

There was definitely something almost divinely extraordinary to it - the haphazard placement of sorbet loving black clad gals (aka – the nuns) deliciously savouring gelato that seemed to bring out the impish, fun-loving side of otherwise serious disciples.

Vanilla and chocolate laced sorbet firmly in hand, I spied an empty stone bench, upon which I could rest my weary pink-sneakered clad footsies, and just chill, and watch the world race on by.

It therefore both astonishes and delights me that the mischievous gremlins of travel felt it somehow necessary to delay my visit to this holy site until my last evening in Roma, spewing out a contrived melange of time constraints, haphazard delays and missed opportunities, all leading me to “being in the right place at the right time”, gifting me an almost spiritual and tranquil sojourn that took me quite by surprise.

Come traipse along ancient weather-worn stones and contemplate life with me…

Next week – Arrivederci Roma – Do my pink-sneakered feet get to the airport in time? Stay tuned!!

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How not to stick to an agenda when scampering around Roma

Posted by Nora K ,

As plans oftentimes do, my meticulously detailed agenda of gawking in appreciative wonder at a majority of Rome’s “Top 10” tourist sites, was derailed from the get-go. With less than 24 hours left in magnificent Roma, I still hadn’t seen St. Peter’s Basilica, the Vatican, the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps or the Villa Borghese Gardens. Running late, I had somehow inadvertently strayed from my original itinerary of devoting only 30 minutes to each spectacular structure, squandering precious hours as I lost myself deep in contemplative musing whilst meandering along the decrepit paths of the once glorified Colosseum. Yikes!!

With the mid afternoon sun beaming its merciless rays upon my parched Canadian skin, my stamina was wearing low, my sore and blistered tootsies anxious to “put their feet up” - more than eager to languish in a centuries old trattoria and rest up in anticipation of the next adventure. No longer able to ignore my now incessant hunger pangs, my rumbling tummy reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Figuring that I could quickly run into a pizzeria, grab a bite to eat and sprint towards Vatican City - still leaving me ample time in which to continue playing tourist.

As all well-travelled globe-trotters know, the best dining experiences are inevitably found in random “hole in the wall” bistros located well off the beaten track. Veering off the main road, my pink-sneakered feet hobbled along winding pathways and laneways in search of such an establishment. Criteria being that it had to offer delectable cuisine in a visually appealing venue reminiscent of a family run kitchen serving up five star Michelin worthy repasts, all for a reasonable 15 Euros or less, including vino, of course!! Is that really asking for too much? Apparently so, for such an eatery was not to be found, as either the ambiance was not quite right, or the menu was overly touristic, catering to the masses of hamburger loving foreigners. Lacking the “quaint factor”, dismissed for not being “Italian” enough, possessing little ambiance and welcoming atmosphere, each prospective pizzeria was deemed unsuitable for my finicky tastes. Wasting precious minutes scampering from café to gelaterie to pizzeria, my quest to stumble upon the perfect locale ultimately culminated in my getting hopelessly lost, sandwiched amongst the throngs of tourists haphazardly racing in every which direction. Yikes!!

Now what? To make matters worse and stopping me dead in my tracks, was the mesmerizing allure of a spectacular handbag shop, hawking gorgeous Italian leather satchels in a rainbow of kaleidoscopic colours, seductively tempting me with 50% off discounted prices. To my utter dismay, the boutique was padlocked tightly shut, closed between 1:00pm and 6:00pm, its proprietor most likely partaking in an extra long leisurely Mediterranean siesta. There was no question in my mind that I would become the exuberant owner of an exquisite “one of a kind” purse, a luxurious carry-on in which to cart my truckloads of souvenirs home in.

As it was now only 4:00pm, I had another two hours in which to languish around this unique emporium in the hopes of rescuing my “handbag in a window”, squandering away minutes and hours camped out on its storefront sidewalk. Wasting too much time waiting, my gnawing hunger pains now affecting my ability to concentrate, I begrudgingly set out in search of any type of eatery, whether an exorbitantly over-priced tourist menu or an “ambiance-less” fast food joint. “Ambiance shmambiance”, who cared at this point, after all, food, was food and I needed sustenance now!!

Pizza as art work - only in Italia!

And this is fast food pizza?? - Yum!!

Confident that I would be able to find my way back to the handbag shop, I ran up one street, down another, turned a corner, sprinted past the ultra chic dress shop (the one with the headless mannequins staring at their reflections in the bejewelled mirrors – kind of cool, but freaky all at the same time), past the antique shop, the jewellery shop and a multitude of other storefronts. Did I actually think that I would be able to remember how to backtrack back to the boutique – not!! Yikes!!

So far my plans to traipse on sacred ground in contemplative wonder at St. Peter’s Basilica were thwarted by my foolishly frittering away valuable sightseeing hours searching for a picturesque trattoria and even further decimated by wasting time hanging out on a random sidewalk in front of a padlocked storefront.

Oftentimes the best laid plans do not come to fruition, replaced instead by another set of interesting adventures, the “Gods of travel” somehow mischievously forcing one to embark upon a different path than originally planned. Had I stuck to my meticulously detailed agenda, I would have missed the sights and sounds of Roma at play - the hustle and bustle of the comings and goings of everyday life - a spectator of the ordinary and extraordinary - a never to be forgotten memory of the afternoon that my pink-sneakered feet scampered along cobblestoned paths, carving out unique travel tales along the way.

Come scamper along with me as I veer off the beaten track in my quest for the perfect dining experience, inadvertently discovering a wealth of unique travel experiences along the way…

Pink Sneakers on the Go Helpful Tidbits of Info:

Read guide books, inform yourself about your destination, but do not despair if you are unable to see and do everything on your “Top 10” must-see list.
Oftentimes, the most-beloved travel memories are those that just randomly happen.
Experiencing the everyday ordinary is another way of connecting to the soul of a city.
If you must spend hours upon hours traipsing around a foreign city searching for the "perfect" dining experience, take a chance and let go of your artificially created vision, and venture into a completely different dining realm.
Remember to always let landmarks guide your way - you will not get hopelessly "lost" if you keep track of those "guiding" structures. How do you think that I was able to backtrack back to my handbag shop and acquire my "soft as butter one of a kind" gorgeous satchel?
If, in a pinch, attempt to venture out and try the tourist menu that caters to the hamburger loving foreign masses – and experience a uniquely Italian spin on a foreign imported staple. You just might like it.

Next week– Where oh where do my pink-sneakered footprints end up?? Stay tuned!!

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My Pink Sneaker Marathon Around Rome - Reflections on the Colosseum

Posted by Nora K ,

Guide book in hand, map tucked inside my bag, pink sneakers laced up and ready to go, I was all set to sprint around the “Eternal City” in my quest to leave no stone unturned and discover all of its ancient ruins and temples – the remaining hundred or perhaps thousand monuments that I was determined to digitally document, and, of course, blog about - all within a reasonable 24 hour time frame. Yikes!!

As plans oftentimes do, mine started out with a detailed itinerary, meticulously listing my estimated arrival and departure time at each monument. My rudimentary math skills approximated that I could spent about 30 minutes at each tourist site, enabling me to view 20 “not to be missed” locales within a 10 hour time frame, leaving 2 hours for eating, 4 hours for sprinting around town and 8 hours for sleeping.

Manageable in theory – of course! Do-able – highly unlikely! Insane – most definitely!

Why, oh why, had I foolishly followed the advice of a friend who had once travelled to Rome long ago, advising me that two days would suffice in this ancient metropolis, allowing me ample time in which to immerse myself in the archaeological wonders of yesteryear? Let this be a lesson to all of you would-be travellers out there – take a bit of time to do your own research, listen to the advice of others, but, in the end, make up your own mind about where to go and what to see. I had now placed myself in the unfortunate predicament of being unable to walk in the footsteps of history and mingle amongst long-dead artistic geniuses, whose creative imprints were stamped on virtually every standing edifice. The option of telephoning my place of employment to let them know that I will be extending my three week vacation into a month long sojourn might not go over that well, and it would not be one I would be overly eager to embrace. After all, I needed a job in order to finance my gallivanting around the Italian coast, indulging in mouth-watering pasta dishes and acquiring pricey designer leather goods.

Thus, the Pink-Sneaker 24 hour marathon had officially begun….

First on my list was the Colosseum, an impressive amphitheatre dating back to antiquity, a spectacular entertainment complex specializing in gladiatorial contests and competitions – guts, gore and blood spectator sports involving large scale massacres, where men fought to the death, brutally pitted against the other in blood fueled battles. Even animals were not exempt from these cruelties, mercilessly hunted and slaughtered all in the name of fun and games. Emperor Titus, upon inaugurating the 100 day sports festivities in 80AD, allegedly wiped out 5,000 animals in a single blood-soaked event, culminating in the extinction of a species of lions and elephants unique to North Africa.

Traipsing along the crumbling facades, I couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved that the once imposing structure, one that had deliberately inflicted such inhumane atrocities upon humans and animals alike, was no longer a functioning entertainment venue – but merely an ancient concrete stone edifice that had once symbolized the power and glory of former Roman Emperors.

In 407, Christian Emperor Honorius outlawed gladiatorial combats, and a century later in 523, the sport of wild animal battles was also banned. Its purpose no longer justified, the arena fell into eventual disarray and decline, felled by a powerful earthquake in 847.

As I wandered along the ruins of the once imposing structure that is the Colosseum, I wondered whether the multitudes of multi generational tourists who were also meandering along its decrepit paths were as poignantly aware as I was of the enormity of the barbarity that had been inflicted upon man and beast alike. Each step that I placed on the dilapidated stones brought a flood of emotion, as I imagined what it would have been like to have been a slave, prisoner of war or unfortunate caged animal trapped within the confines of the parameters of its closed walls, forced to partake in a blood sport culminating in its own demise.

Now that I had seen the Colosseum up close and personal, appalled at the atrocities that had been committed against man and beast alike, I was eager to sprint ahead and embrace a more tranquil and spiritually uplifting venue.

Eager to traipse along more sacred ground, my pink sneakered feet practically raced towards an oasis of peace and comfort, St. Peter’s Basilica, located on the grounds of Vatican City.

That was the plan – but, as plans oftentimes do, this one got slightly derailed. Yikes!!

Come walk into history with me as I scurry around Roma and discover the past….

Next week – Do my pink-sneakered feet actually manage to find their way to St. Peter’s Square? Stay tuned!!

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