I rinsed dish soap off a plate and placed it in the rack. Turning to where my daughter Tammie was sitting at the table, I asked, “Can you find an English Mass celebrated, here in Rome? An Italian one would be all right, but I would prefer understanding the words of each prayer.”

Looking up from her phone screen, Tammie announced, “I just found one. It’s called Chiesa di San’t Isidoro. Since it’s close to the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps, would you like to spend the afternoon visiting those places?”

On Sunday morning, we got up early to allow travel time. We didn’t have to wait very long in the shade of a lovely small tree for the bus to come. The large, lumbering vehicle was full. Shortly after we boarded, most of the passengers behind us began to sing a song in French. I turned and noted that our impromptu choir consisted of a jolly-faced, zucchetto-wearing Bishop and several of his collar-wearing seminarians. They got off the bus before Tammie and I did.

Pointing to a shaded street that curved around several large buildings, Tammie explained, “Even though the street curves, we’re to walk straight up that hill to the end of the block. Then we should be able to see the church.”

We walked past several sidewalk cafes that hadn’t opened yet due to the early hour. The huge shade trees along the way had unusual, gray, smooth trunks, and large leaves. Looming up in front of us was a very steep, long flight of stairs. Reaching the top, we saw a lawn enclosed within a fence and a dirt driveway. Beyond it, further up the hill, was the church we were looking for. Several cats were roaming around the yard and sitting in boxes under shaggy evergreen bushes.

Only one other couple was in the small church when we entered. Amazing frescos adorned the walls and ceiling. The vast amount of art overwhelmed my senses. There was so much of it, I felt unable to focus on any of it. Ten minutes later, a trio of adults entered the church accompanied by a dozen teenagers. A loudly whispered conversation between one of the adults and a monk revealed they were an Australian youth group on pilgrimage.

Before Mass was to begin, I wanted to visit the restroom. A monk led me out of the church through a side door and towards a door next to the sacristy. He held that door open, revealing a cloistered area with walls and ceilings covered with frescos and trees growing in the open center. The bathroom could be found, he instructed, “On the far side of the cloister.” I was stunned by the beauty of this unexpected oasis.

At the end of the Mass and the final blessings, the monk invited everyone to join him in the lecture room to hear about the history of San’t Isidoro’s church and college. Tammie and I eagerly followed the group into the cloister. The lecture room was one of many rooms accessible from the enclosed walkway.

Construction of the church college for discalced Franciscans began in 1622, the same year Sant’ Isidoro of Madrid was canonized. It was designed by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Two years later, the property was passed on to Irish Franciscans who had fled Ireland due to English persecution. Under the leadership of Luke Wadding OFM, San’t Isidoro became a Pontifical Irish college. They also dedicated the church to Saint Patrick at the same time.

Feeling like we’d received a surprise gift experience, Tammie and I left the church yard and walked down the steep staircase, looking forward to breakfasting at one of the sidewalk cafes, which were now all open.

My daughter and I spent the afternoon visiting the Spanish steps and Trevi fountain. Thousands of tourists jostled for room in the streets around those attractions. The popular attractions lost their appeal for us because of the heavy crowds.

At one point, Tammie and I took a side street not as heavily used. Instead of gift shops with cheap souvenirs, this cobble-stone street was lined with high-end stores like Cartier’s (jewelry), Bulgari (luxury gift items), Gucci (clothing), and Prada (clothing). Their doors were all open, but fashionably dressed guards stood at attention at each entrance.

I found this expensive shopping district more fascinating than the crowded, noisy, area around the famous fountain or the picturesque steps where everyone was jostling for the perfect picture-taking opportunity. Like the hidden beauty of the cloistered area behind San’t Isidoro, the silence and calm simplicity of this rich street appealed to me. However, unlike the church where everyone was welcome, these stores only wanted the rich to enter, and to spend large amounts of cash.