Friday, Jan. 17, 2003 - 6:11 p.m.

Day Three: Sunday � December 29th

10:00 a.m. Arrived at San Marco Church all set for my very first mass performed by Gregorian priests and was quickly directed from the massive and stunningly gorgeous 18th century cathedral down a lush side passageway into what the guide book describes as "an intimate chapel for a more up-close and personal experience."

10:05 a.m. As the procession of priests and altarboys and whoevers entered the small wood-walled, stone-floored, rec-room style chapel filling with a couple dozen folding chairs my lofty dreams of a Gregorian choir of dark-haired handsome brooding Italian priests and brothers singing the gospel of the Lord in divine harmony was shattered. Instead what the eager and enthused Gregorian Chant tourist got was three very old priests, one of which was most likely Swiss, two altarboys, and I�m being kind attaching the word "boys", one old nun with one old squeezebox, and two thugs who stood patiently blocking the exit until after the collection plate circled the room, twice.

10:10 a.m. Cruel joke or is the author of my guild book tone deaf? Maybe the first string is in the recording studio readying their third album of bygone Gregorian favorites or maybe the "A" team has been requested to sing New Year�s mass in an oh-so-special appearance with the Pope. Maybe not.

10:20 a.m. Oh my God.

10:25 a.m. In an attempt to speed things along in hopes of finding the Prada store before lunch I loudly tap my foot a beat faster than the accordion music in hopes the nun and priest pick up the pace. I reluctantly accept the fact that if they can�t hear how severely off key they are they're certainly not going to hear my tapping foot. That and one of the exit guards laid a thick hairy paw on my shoulder.

11:15 a.m. An hour and fifteen minutes and 20 Euro later the doors were opened and the disillusioned tourist were allowed to exit.

11:55 a.m. Ah, Prada. There is a God.

Day Four: Monday � December 30th

To be continued�

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