St. Zara's

They had closed down the center of St. Peter’s when my mom, Aunt Paula, Dana, and I visited. It made the humungous church seems smaller, more accessible, and totally killed the awe-inspiring vastness of the space. I didn’t mind, because I had been there so may times, but it was kind of disappointing to know that my companions weren’t getting the big thrill they deserved. I guess they have to set up a couple thousand seats at some point, but I wish we had missed the process!

We saw a tiny wedding while we were there: they were just finishing up and the bride swooped out of the small side chapel wearing designer silk tiers. Her bridesmaids came trailing out in their fire engine red sheaths with their bare shoulders discreetly covered with matching scarves. At first I thought nothing of it, and said Congratulations (in Italian) along with everyone else. As the wedding party left the scene and tourists began to crane their heads inside the chapel, it hit me. Married! In the VATICAN! Who do you have to know to do that? I didn’t even know you COULD do that. I went home and told Tom that in addition to getting married by Elvis, at a drive through, and underwater, I now wanted us to be married in the Vatican. He nearly fell off his chair laughing.

The other funny thing I saw was when a priest emerged from a confessional in the full floor length black and white dress regalia. The thing that made it funny was that he was carrying a Zara shopping bag and fumbling with what looked to be a receipt. I thought: wait, is there an outlet in there?! In the Vatican? Why have I been shopping anywhere else? Alas, a quick peek inside the confessional revealed no trap door or department store window. Just the faintly musty smell of sweating penitents.