The Vatican Museums run roughly seven kilometres of galleries, and every path bends toward one small room. You shuffle for over an hour past gilded ceilings and crowded marble halls: Egyptian mummies, Etruscan gold, Raphael's frescoed apartments, a corridor lined with forty painted maps of Italy. Then the doors open onto the Sistine Chapel. Guards hush the room and cameras go down. Above you spreads Michelangelo's ceiling: nine scenes from Genesis, with the near-touching fingers of God and Adam at its heart.
Michelangelo painted that ceiling on scaffolding over four years, and on the altar wall his later Last Judgment swirls with hundreds of figures. Look for the colour: a cleaning late last century lifted away centuries of candle soot, and the pinks and greens that came back are brighter than most visitors expect to see. The seven kilometres you walked to get here started with a single statue, dug out of a Roman vineyard and bought by a pope within weeks. Five centuries of popes went on filling the rooms behind it.