18 things to see in Vatican

The Vatican may be the world’s smallest country, but it punches far above its weight in sights worth craning your neck for. It’s a microstate with a macro ego, crammed into just over 100 acres. A single square kilometre stuffed with more masterpieces than a Louvre warehouse sale. It’s the only place on Earth where queues to a chapel feel like lining up for backstage passes to the Renaissance. If you’re heading in, bring patience, sturdy shoes, and the ability to gasp dramatically on cue. Bonus points for recognising Latin inscriptions and pretending you remember your A-level Art History. Extra bonus points if you can name a pope who reigned before 1600 without looking it up.

So, 18 things to see in Vatican:

Let’s start with St Peter’s Basilica, because really, how could you not? Michelangelo had a hand in this one, and it shows. The dome dominates the skyline like a divine UFO, floating above the Eternal City in a display of ecclesiastical superiority. Inside it’s all shimmering gold, polished marble, and ceilings so high they might interfere with low-flying aircraft. The Pietà sits quietly near the entrance, looking impossibly delicate for something carved out of stone. You’ll find tombs of long-deceased popes scattered about like a theological scavenger hunt. Nuns whisper novenas with laser-sharp focus while tourists wander around with their phones permanently glued to their faces, oblivious to the centuries of sacred tradition swirling around them. It’s awe and iPhone flashes, side by side.

Climb the dome. Seriously, do it. Even if you’re slightly allergic to stairs and think escalators should be enshrined as one of humanity’s greatest inventions. The lift only gets you halfway up, and after that it’s 320 steps of narrow, spiralling penance through increasingly claustrophobic corridors. Your calves will scream, your lungs might file a formal complaint, but then you’ll step out and see the whole of Rome sprawled like an ancient jigsaw puzzle. Terracotta rooftops, snaking streets, domes upon domes. It’s a view that could make a poet of the most stubborn cynic. Stay long enough and you might even feel moved to sketch something wildly ambitious in your notebook, then immediately give up because, well, Michelangelo.

St Peter’s Square is more ellipse than square, because Bernini was a show-off and geometry was clearly just a suggestion. The colonnades stretch out like marble arms, theatrically poised to embrace the faithful or dramatically frame your Instagram story. The obelisk in the centre? Nicked from Egypt, obviously. That whole ‘ancient imperial loot’ aesthetic. The fountains? Glorious, especially if you like your water features accompanied by flocks of pigeons and the sound of five different languages debating queue etiquette. Come at sunset for peak drama lighting and the faint sound of angels weeping at the beauty of it all. There’s always some movement: tour groups with lollipop signs, priests walking with purpose, and the occasional fashion shoot trying to pass as religious devotion.

Now for the Vatican Museums. More a labyrinth than a museum, really. If you wander without a plan, you might end up in the Etruscan wing wondering how you lost three hours and where your sense of direction went. The corridors are long, the ceilings are high, and every other wall is a painted tribute to Catholicism’s greatest hits. The best bet is to have a rough list of what you’re after, a solid pair of shoes, and snacks. Lots of snacks. There are miles of art in here. Literally. Walking the museum is a rite of passage that alternates between ecstasy and exhaustion. You’ll encounter ceilings you want to lie down and gaze at, even though your neck is already on strike.

The Gallery of Maps is a green-and-gold corridor of cartographic excess. These aren’t just maps, they’re geographical fever dreams painted with enough flair to make modern satellite imaging weep with inadequacy. Imagine someone painted your hometown with the same flourish and decided to throw in a few cherubs and warships for good measure. Every wall is a celebration of Italy in the 16th century, which, if you believe the decorations, was mostly mountains, noble villas, and really excellent weather. You’ll suddenly feel proud of obscure Italian regions you didn’t know existed ten minutes ago.

Then there’s the Raphael Rooms, where the walls look like the inside of a very cultured fever dream. Every inch is frescoed to within an inch of its life. School of Athens is the star, obviously. All those toga-clad philosophers arguing under imaginary architecture. It’s basically a group chat in fresco form. Spot Plato, Aristotle, and a sassy-looking Michelangelo inserted into the scene like a Renaissance selfie. And there are more rooms: battle scenes, cherubs, theological debates unfolding in rich pigment. It’s a masterclass in the power of paint and a reminder that some people peaked artistically in their twenties.

And of course, there’s the Sistine Chapel. No talking. No photos. Just a neck-snapping ceiling tour that makes you question whether Michelangelo ever slept or developed a chronic case of painter’s cramp. The Creation of Adam has become meme material now, but in person, it hits differently. The Last Judgement on the altar wall is a chaotic marvel, full of flailing limbs, angry angels, and a very ripped Christ dishing out final sentences like a holy courtroom drama. It’s all quite dramatic, like a Renaissance Marvel movie with extra theology. You’ll shuffle along in reverent silence broken only by the occasional announcement from the guards telling everyone to stop whispering. A paradox wrapped in fresco.

Hidden behind all this splendour is the Vatican Gardens. Most people forget about them, possibly because they require a separate tour and the guards don’t exactly advertise them. But if you manage to score a spot, you’ll get manicured lawns, fountains, and a bit of actual peace and quiet. A unicorn in Vatican terms. The gardens are a breath of tranquil, chlorophyll-infused air. Shrines, sculptures, topiary shaped like it might be trying to communicate with you — it’s all here. You’ll walk past grottoes dedicated to obscure saints and little benches that look made for papal brooding.

The Bramante Staircase is not open to the general ticket-holding public unless you’ve shelled out for a guided tour, but it’s worth hunting down. A double helix of stone that makes you feel like you’ve wandered into a M.C. Escher print with better lighting. It’s the sort of place where you half-expect angels to glide past you with administrative paperwork. It’s both architectural flex and spiritual metaphor, which is very on-brand for the Vatican.

The Vatican Pinacoteca is where paintings that couldn’t fit elsewhere go to live their best lives. Leonardo, Caravaggio, Giotto, and a whole supporting cast of saints gaze soulfully at you from their canvases. It’s the quiet cousin of the bigger-ticket sights, but honestly, the lack of crowds makes it feel like a well-kept secret. One room flows into another like a procession of visual sermons, each more exquisite than the last. You might find yourself talking to a saint in a painting, before realising you’re in public and need to play it cool.

Castel Sant’Angelo technically isn’t in Vatican City, but it’s so close it might as well have honorary citizenship. The Popes once used it as a bolt-hole in case things got hairy. There’s a secret corridor connecting it to the Vatican like something out of a Dan Brown fever dream. The views from the top are all kinds of cinematic, and the spiral ramp inside is straight out of medieval Bond villain real estate. Plus, there’s armour, cannons, and frescoed rooms that once hosted some very tense papal meetings. You can easily imagine a pontiff pacing the halls, wondering if that cardinal really could be trusted.

The Vatican Necropolis, or Scavi, sits under St Peter’s and requires serious forward planning. It’s not a casual drop-in kind of thing. But if you manage to snag a spot, you’ll descend into a shadowy world of Roman tombs, early Christian graffiti, and what’s claimed to be the actual bones of St Peter. It’s dark, humid, and slightly claustrophobic, but also astonishing. You walk past sarcophagi like they’re garden decorations. A skeletal history lesson with incense lingering in the air. You’ll leave with the distinct sensation of having tiptoed through sacred ground where whispers outnumber words.

There’s also the Papal Audience. Not exactly a sight, but definitely a scene. Held in St Peter’s Square or the Paul VI Audience Hall depending on weather and papal mood. You get to see the Pope, wave awkwardly, and possibly get blessed if you time your genuflection right. There’s a lot of waiting, a lot of flag-waving pilgrims, and occasional outbreaks of enthusiastic singing. It’s theatre with a spiritual script, and if you get a seat near the front, expect a sea of selfie sticks and people crossing themselves on repeat.

The Vatican Post Office is a surprisingly fun detour. They have their own stamps, their own postal system, and posting a card from here guarantees at least one mildly impressed friend back home. Plus, the queues are shorter than the ones for heaven. The staff are brisk, the selection is delightfully niche, and the cancellation stamp is a tiny badge of Vatican geekery. If you’re a philatelist, this is your holy grail. If not, it’s still a great excuse to send mail like it’s 1987.

The Vatican Library is largely closed to the public unless you’re a scholar with credentials, patience, and preferably Latin. But the exhibition hall sometimes shows off treasures: ancient manuscripts, illuminated gospels, and the kind of books that make Indiana Jones types salivate. Think scrolls, dusty codices, and ornate lettering that makes you feel illiterate just looking at it. Even the furniture looks like it has opinions about your reading habits.

The Belvedere Courtyard was once the garden of papal strolls and intrigue, now it’s where you find Laocoön and His Sons. Twisting limbs, agony, drama. Like an opera in marble. Nearby, Apollo Belvedere is all classical perfection and zero body fat. It’s a miracle of art or a reminder to skip dessert. Statues here are less decorative object, more god-level influencers from 2,000 years ago. Every sculpture is a masterclass in chiselled drama and ancient flexing.

Pop into the Sala Rotonda if you stumble across it. It’s basically the Vatican’s answer to the Pantheon, complete with a mosaic floor and absurdly large statues glaring down at you like bouncers at a divine nightclub. Every corner feels like it’s auditioning for a role in a gladiator epic. You half expect Russell Crowe to appear, looking lost and impressed.

And finally, keep an eye out for the Swiss Guard. Not exactly a sight in the traditional sense, but hard to miss with their stripy Renaissance uniforms and solemn expressions. They look like they’ve been styled by a particularly theatrical time traveller with a fondness for bold primary colours. They’re also real soldiers, so maybe don’t try to test their patience for selfies. Stand respectfully, take your photo discreetly, and resist the urge to ask if they do birthday parties. They carry halberds and modern weapons, which is quite the combination.

18 things to see in Vatican, give or take a corridor. The Vatican, for all its pomp and marble, is really just a glorious exercise in excess. And honestly, it does it very, very well. Bring your curiosity, a good battery pack, and a sense of humour. You’re going to need all three. Especially the humour. The crowds are biblical, the art divine, and the experience? Somewhere between pilgrimage and cultural Olympics. Pace yourself. Eat gelato afterwards. You’ve earned it.