Faces and limbs of plump angels frolic across the ceiling of St. Peter’s. I stand, head-back, then sit down, overwhelmed by brilliant blues and reds, the height of pillars and statues. A group of tourists stand to one side, listening to their tour-guide. They focus cameras and click north, south, east, and west. I, and the white-haired man asleep on the chair in front of me, will be shown on film in China.