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‘‘No," I replied. "I think the Roman drivers must be among the best in the world." ‘‘"Madame," he said, "‘do you think you could drive in Rome?" The first part of the trip was comparatively placid by Rome standards. Then, But you have a third transâ€" port choice, and that may be the best if you are in a hurry. Wednesday morning at 11:30 I was shopping for shoes, and decided I had better take a cab to St. Peter‘s if I wanted to arrive by noon. I was lucky (?). The driver spoke English. This year, I boldly walked outâ€"attempting if possible to find an experienced and overâ€" weight Roman citizen as a buffer between me and the carsâ€"and took my chances with the best of them. If you really want to see the city en route, and there is probably no city where there is more to see, you should walk. This leads tu the exporiâ€" ence of crossing a Rome street, an experience that has encouraged â€" many a_ cardâ€" carrying Communist to revert to prayer, and in public at that. I found this year my streetâ€" crossing technique had imâ€" proved since last June, when I cowered on the ‘curbh, waiting for a break in traffic that nevâ€" er developed. You ‘can take public transâ€" portation, â€" a â€" rib â€" jabbing, bodyâ€"bruising _crus h â€" that couldn‘t be recommended to anyone with a tendency toâ€" wards claustrophobia. to get to St. Peter‘s, once you are in the Eternal city. Nothing much has changed in 1971. By WIN MILLER of The Free Press ROME â€" The pilgrim of the 'Midqlc Ages, wearing a badge to show his place of birth and destination, arrived at St. Peâ€" ter‘s footsore and weary, and thankful to God for living through the perils of the jourâ€" ney,. There are three basic ways Visit to St. Peter‘s unchanged I walked back from St. Peâ€" ter‘s to the hotel, and watched three sculling shells making a The American or Canadian pilgrim, driving to St. Peter‘s thr o ug h that unbelievable, hornâ€"blowing traffic, is the felâ€" low who looks terrified. He is the fellow who is attempting to keep in lane, in the middle of a bunch of drivers who have never heard of "lane." He looks ahead, with an exâ€" pression of horror. He is obâ€" viously thinking one of two things. Either, "How did I get here?" or "How do I get out?" In all this, the North Ameriâ€" can pilgrim is as easy to pick out in the traffic, as it was to identify the mediaeval pilgrim as a native of Spain, or Engâ€" land, or France. When I got to St. Peter‘s, and he opened the cab door with a flourish, I found I was wet with perspiration, and glad to go back to curbâ€"jumpâ€" ing. He was determined to demâ€" onstrate that Roman drivers were second to none. Such bravado! Such weaving in and out to find a nonâ€"existent spot between two cars! Such nipâ€" ping out in front of buses and street cars, to get a position of advantage! That praise, especially with its little hint of a qualification, was heady stuff. ew hazards in Roman traffic The one part of the trip to St. Peter‘s that never changes is its effect on the pilgrim, eiâ€" ther the pilgrim who has come to see the heart and centre of his faith, or the pilgrim who has come to add another place to his list of plaé'eg"l;e"‘l;:;; seen. It‘s easy to imagine how it would develop. Within a few years, thousands of five horseâ€" power outboard motors would be _ puttâ€"putting â€"their way, weaving in and out, ignoring all maritime rules, and someâ€" how escaping unscathed and unsinkable. It opens up new vistas. Why not boat traffic on the Tiber? In those frail little boats, muscular young menâ€" were making the trip between the two bridges in half the time it would take to walk the route, or oneâ€"third of the time it would take to drive. trip down the Tiber from the Ponte Umberto to the Ponte Sant‘Angelo. replace old FHlaxy 18 , 197] e a’?was l)ucky to Then, tiny flashes of light signalled his departure, and everyone strained to look. The little Dutch women cried. The look of indifference warmed to excitement on the face of the The strain of standing startâ€" ed to tell, and sympathy with the footweary pilgrim of an earlier age became more realâ€" istic. The Pope spoke to the pilâ€" grims in several languages, greeting high school students from Connecticut and Maryâ€" land, and some "ecumenical Lutheran pilgrims" from Sweâ€" den, in English. His words, and his apostolic blessing, brought little spatters of apâ€" plause fromâ€" the â€" national groups to whom he spoke. "I was lucky to get a place on the aisle in St. Peter‘s. Two little Dutch women were beâ€" side me, nervously fingering their rosaries. On the other side were a group of Ameriâ€" can tourists, part of one of the hundreds of busloads that had disgorged their human content into St. Peter‘s Square. "C‘est magnifique, oh," said one to another. There could be no argument. QOutside, a group of softâ€" faced elderly French nuns, some of them obviously on their last, great pilgrimage, walked towards the single exit through the wooden barrier. blonde and blase American woman who had been standing on my foot. Roman traffic keeps the St. Peter‘s pilgrim as alert as he has always had to be.