The other night, walking around the Vatican’s walled borders, we came across an overpass I’d noticed before, but never given any thought. There’s a flight of stairs leading to the top, which we climbed – to discover the most delightful, perfectly-manicured stretch of railroad this side of Anaheim, California. It was, of course, the last hundred meters of Vatican City’s private railway; shiny, shrubbery-lined tracks which exit from a batcave-like opening set high into a thick brick wall, sealed with a massive iron gate. It’s cool.
Climb the dome of St. Peter’s and you can see the rest of the rail line out back, a Disneyesque station and train collection, all the cuter from that vantage point, seemingly sized to a perfect H.O. scale.
