Roman Demons by Fiona Dunlop

It is the start of a sweltering summer’s day as I join a motley group of tourists on the steps of Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome. In front of us stands our straw-hatted guide, Dion, a bright-eyed, diminutive New Zealander who we later learn is a psychiatric nurse on leave. Very appropriate. Beside him is a leggy Texan trainee-guide, Sheryl, who will soon demonstrate her cheerleader skills. “So who’s read the book?” asks Dion cheerfully. All hands shoot up except mine. They belong to two elderly Australian women, an American family, a brainy-looking American in his 30s, a pale and timid young Scottish couple, a pair of cheerful middle-aged Scandinavians and a similar British couple: these will be my companions for the next four hours. Together we are to embark on a holy grail - of a ghoulish, distantly literary kind.

Some odd factors influence tourism and in 2005 Rome had more than its fair share, from the death of a Pope to the annointment of a new one, an HBO/ BBC2 TV series set 2000 years ago with the hardly inspired title of “Rome” and, not least, the Italian translation of Dan Brown’s first book “Angels and Demons” - aka Angeli e Demoni, set almost entirely in the eternal city. With films and books playing an increasing role in holiday destination choices (more than 25% of Britons, for example, choose on this basis; think “Lord of the Rings”), Rome is definitely entering boom-time. Suddenly the city is perceived in a malevolent light as tourists, instead of clutching Time Out or Fodor’s gospels, leaf through 600 odd pages of implausible murders, symbols and satanic plots linked to the election of a new Pope. Brilliant timing in terms of the papal turnaround (or was it a calculated countdown?), as worldwide sales of Brown’s opus soared to over 10 million following John Paul II’s death.

From the Italian translation it was but a short leap to the creation of “Angels & Demons” tours which steer aficionados to the monuments featured in the book. Although I have avoided reading any of Brown’s books, I am curious about his web of intrigue set against Rome’s artistically unrivalled backdrop. Grandiose, generous, voluptuous, this city is like nowhere else. But I have distinct misgivings about such a take on it: how enlightening can this fantasy be?

Despite being reassured by Dion that you don’t need to have read the book to appreciate the tour, I feel none the wiser after his outline of the Illuminati sect, their dastardly machinations and the hero’s symbol-strewn quest - which is to be our morning path. My companions, however, nod enthusastically before we troop into Santa Maria del Popolo, home to the Chigi family chapel where the Baroque sculptor Bernini (allegedly a leading Illuminati figure) plays a starring role alongside Raphael. As an afterthought, Dion points out two unrelated masterpieces by Caravaggio beside the altar, though no mention is made of Rome’s first stained glass windows or the frescoes by Pinturicchio, the Borgias’ favourite artist. But hey, this is Dan Brown’s Rome. Luckily, Dion takes his role with a pinch of salt, albeit stressing that this is the only tour “authorised” by the maestro.

After whizzing across the Tiber without any commentary, things go a bit awry at our next staging-post, St Peter’s Square no less. Here, after close examination of a cheek-puffing cherub etched in the ground beside the obelisk (“Now what does that imply?” asks our trusty guide. “Yes - it’s air!”) our blue bus appears to have been hijacked - by the Illuminati perhaps? Temperatures are rising in tandem with the price of bottled water; Japanese tourists huddle in the shadow of the obelisk while hardier souls shuffle in the queue to St Peter’s. That is not on our agenda however and, after a quick appraisal of the elliptical lay-out and brief mention of Galileo’s and Coepernicus’ theories, we loiter thirstily at a shady corner while Sheryl goes in search of our driver. Eventually it’s back in the bus and onwards.

Symbolic Egyptian obelisks crop up in every piazza we see except Piazza Barberini - our next stop; we are told that this one was removed 20 odd years ago during construction of the metro - a chapter of contemporary history for once. After another round of her energetic “Go angels! Go demons!” Sheryl hands out cheap rayon scarves to enable those of us with sinfully unclad shoulders to enter the adjacent Santa Maria della Vittoria. Interest levels rise palpably as we hear Dion’s salacious account of Santa Teresa’s erotic fantasies, reflected not only in Bernini’s extraordinary sculpture of her orgasmic ‘ectasy’, but also in an extract from her writings displayed in English beside it. Far from lost in translation, Dion coyly admits her spiritual wrestling “brought a blush to my cheeks”. And of course sculpted angels point us in every possible direction, apparently mirroring the experience of Dan Brown’s tweed-jacketed hero, Langdon.

At the Pantheon, we are briefly shown Raphael’s tomb and the ingenious oculus of the roof before having a shot of espresso at La Tazza d’Oro, a nearby cafe which, in Dion’s words, is yet another example of Brownesque “product placement”. Bonding sets in as we enter the third hour of our tour and temperatures hit the mid 30°s. The slick American who turns out to be an IT prodigy confesses to having read all four of Brown’s books and enthuses about reliving“the best and most fast-paced”. For me, however, confusion is deepening as the enigmas pile up and seraphic arrows change direction. Then it’s on to the Piazza Navona where, besides yet another obelisk and the iconic baroque fountain (“symbolising what?” - “yes, water!”), there follows some elementary geography: “So what river could represent the continent of Asia?” We mop our brows; eventually the Ganges is mooted.

From here on it’s an uphill battle against time and temperatures as we trudge through the backstreets to cross the Tiber (fittingly across a bridge lined with Bernini’s Stations of the Cross) to the Castel Sant’ Angelo. En route the two Australian ladies collapse at a pizzeria leaving the rest of us to struggle on and up the ramp inside Emperor Hadrian’s mausoleum, aka the HQ of the Illuminati. After admiring the frescoes of the Farnesi apartments we troop out onto the roof for spectacular view of St Peter’s.

Like Santa Teresa I hear voices - in my case distant mutterings from my companions about helicopters and a secret passage to the Vatican: all very demonic. It’s 40°, nearly 2pm, and I’m dazed and confused. My personal demons are taking the form of fettucine, mozzarella di bufalo, carpaccio, rucola..., altogether forming a distant, utopian vison. I decide that were it not for Dion’s ironic asides this tour would have left me very cold – despite the climatic conditions. I’d rather have real history, but then I’m not part of Dan Brown’s illuminati. What is certain is that this skewy perspective will last little longer than the life of a record bestseller and DVD.

A version of this was first published in the Financial Times.