Chariots of Fire.

Pompeii, where all roads lead to Mt. Vesuvius.

Pompeii, Italy - A foggy pink sun rose like watercolours over the jagged sculpture of mountains that surround Naples.

Mt. Vesuvius looms tallest of all.

Two thousand years ago, it collapsed upon itself during an earthquake, then erupted – eventually burying Pompeii under more than eight feet of debris. With lava travelling at speeds of up to 80 kilometres an hour, those living in the city simply did not stand a chance.

Homes were crushed under the weight, and all inhabitants died horrible deaths brought upon by the hot ash and gas.

Pompeii simply ceased to exist in 79 A.D.

The silver lining is that the manner of the city's demise is also the reason it has been so incredibly well preserved. It is now one of Europe's most important historical sites.

Thanks to the massive amounts of lava spewed from Vesuvius's roaring maw, however, the crumbled remains of the former port city now rest more than a mile from water. Yet, amazingly, many of the ochre-coloured frescoes that adorned the walls at the time can still be seen today.

Stones of the original road, too – built in 200 B.C., and embedded with small white lava rocks to reflect the moon as lighting – remain clearly etched by the chariots that traversed them more than two thousand years ago. That got me.

At the time, these chariot drivers would have had no idea of the brimstone that was to follow, nor of the future relevance of the marks they were making on the world.

Somewhere in there, I think there's a message for us all.

Going with the Flo-rence.

Shuttered, on the Ponte Vecchio.

Florence, Italy - Strains of wheezing accordion danced through the piazza like an out-of-breath dance partner.

An antique carousel with pastel-painted horses stood at the centre, ringed by street artists spinning names into wire and hawking just-painted watercolours and distorted caricatures.

Everything was a circus of art.

The narrow, jagged streets spill out into many such squares in Florence, which are also filled with markets selling leather goods, stationery and textiles – industries for which the area is internationally known.

Ponte Vecchio – which, because of its history, was the only bridge not blown to smithereens during the second world war – twinkles with gold vendors, and one can only imagine it lit up at night.

At the city's centre lies the massive Duomo – the fourth-largest church in Christendom, which is built of a patchwork of multicoloured marble hewn from the nearby hills, which makes them appear snow-capped.

Nearly 500 narrow stone steps carry you to and from the top of the cupola – even bringing you face-to-face with the massive frescoes inside the dome, while providing unparalleled views of the red clay-shingled buildings below.

It's the romance of Italy as I had imagined.

A Pisa Marble.

Come on, Aileen.

Pisa, Italy - As you first walk through Pisa's medieval stone gates, it's as though white marble sprouts in all directions from the verdant, manicured lawns.

All built entirely of marble, the intricately detailed baptistery, church and bell tower occupy a beautiful complex right within the city of 90-thousand's stone wall. Of course, most are here just to see the famous bell tower, which curves skyward like a banana. It's worth the visit.

Given the region's notoriously muddy conditions, there are actually several leaning towers in Pisa, but the others are like long-forgotten stepsisters. The so-called leaning tower of Pisa – where Galileo is said to have performed some of his (literally) groundbreaking studies of gravity – has actually leaned since it was built during the 10th century.

All around, people appeared to be performing tai-chi, but were actually embodying the cliché tourist photograph: posing with hands extended like a praying mantis to hold the tower up.

Sigh. Yes, I did it, too.

Bathed in Religion.

Reaching to the heavens.

Rome, Italy - Who builds a basilica from a massive, disused Diocletian bathhouse?

Well, Michelangelo, for one, who – at age 86 – designed the towering Basilica of Santa Maria de le Angeli as his last architectural work – incorporating elements of the previous structure into his design.

The church, with stark, buttressed ceilings, is home to Galileo Galilei's first pendulum, and, currently, an extremely defensive exhibit professing Galileo's widely questioned faith, while, ironically, extolling the absolute value of religion over science.

There is also a long, fascinating meridian line-based calendar inlaid into the floor, which is marked by a pinprick of light from a strategically placed hole high up on the wall. I'd imagine it's a more scientific rendition of "seeing the light."

Our final stop prior to catching the train to Civitavecchia was the Church of Santa Maria Della Vittoria, which was featured in the book and movie, Angels & Demons. The relatively small church is home to one of Bernini's three "Ecstasies," which, in the novel, points to the next clue as a Cardinal hangs above a burning pyre at the alter.

The sheen of the extremely ornate frescoes makes it abundantly evident the flames dancing around the church in the movie were but Hollywood magic.

Vatican (f)or Bust.

St. Peter's Basilica, at the centre of the Papacy.

Vatican City - So many busts, in fact.

One of the first galleries at the Vatican Museum is a long hallway lined by hundreds of stone and marble busts: the vacant eyes of various Emperors, Pontiffs and other dignitaries who were obviously not without ego. 

Several have been rebuilt, Frankenstein-style, from assorted unmatched pieces. At every corner, it seems heads pop(e) up like whack-a-mole.

To me, the most impressive galleries were the four rooms painted floor to ceiling by Raphael; the Egyptian artifacts, replete with various mummies and ornately decorated sarcophagi; the map room and the Sistine Chapel. Oh, the Sistine Chapel: larger than I expected, and not round as I had imagined.

I almost felt badly for the rooms that followed: it was as though their colours were somehow muted and awkwardly brushed; as though their antiquities were increasingly tarnished or more cracked. After the Sistine Chapel, they didn't stand a chance.

The Vatican Museum leaves little space uncovered by intricate tapestries, paintings by familiar masters or Ancient Greek and Roman artifacts, often of dubious provenance. It doesn't seem happy just showing you its beauty; it hits you over the head with it.

It's almost too much to take at times. By the end of a long day, I felt as though it was my head made of stone. Paradoxically, the experience is almost underwhelming because it is so overwhelming.

But the artifacts are as awe-inspiring as they are beautiful.

Even the busts.

The Daily Column.

One, two, three, Forum.

Rome, Italy - In the ruins of the Roman Forum, ancient marble columns litter the ground like upturned bones, bleached by the centuries poured over them.

The dust here is older than anything we have back home.

Ancient churches and seats of government lay scattered by the weight of time. Many were built in the eighth century. Before Christ.

It's this sense of time that remains staggering as you wander through the shards of history, which are still being discovered on an ongoing basis that may otherwise be less interesting. My mind simply does not compute everyday life 2,000 years ago.

And this, despite previous travels having carried me to the cradle of humankind.

We also stopped into the church of San Pietro in Vincoli, which reputedly houses the chains in which St. Peter was bound in Jerusalem. It is also home the tomb of Pope Julius II, and a statue of Moses by Michelangelo, which bears a mark akin to a knee surgery scar from when the artist threw a hammer at it in frustration.

Our day ended with a visit to the Capuchin Crypt. From 1528-1870, these monks artfully made extraordinarily ornate mosaics from the bones of 4,000 of their deceased brethren. Frames of pelvises, lamps of mandibles and fully mummified monks stand in intricate patterns in a series of alcoves.

While incredible, it's enough to send a chill up your spine. 

And maybe theirs.

Colossal.

The Golden Arches of 7 A.D.

Rome, Italy - This morning, we melted into the crowd, and into history.

We assembled outside the Colosseum before the lines could grow long enough to form a noose, and thought of the millions of people who had entered since it was built in the year 7 A.D.

I'm thinking the conversations at the time went along the lines of: "So, a guy goes into a wine bar, and finds himself crucified for it."

"Oh, Jesus, yeah; he grew up around the corner from my Ma."

"Yup, he's the one who made my calendar business go under."

(If blog updates cease, I have likely been struck down.)

The rounded stairs were worn soft like pearls by 2,000 years of visitors – some of whom weren't even filled with a lust for blood.

Once flooded for naval battles, then home to gladiators and martyrs torn apart by various beasts; abandoned then inhabited by families who carved homes under the arches and stairs; and wrecked by an earthquake, the Colosseum is – quite literally – a shell of its former self.

Fifteen-hundred years will do that to your complexion.

And give you fallen arches.