On its final approach before landing, the United 747 jumbo jet banked right, allowing Olivia an aerial view of Florence from her window seat. At the center of the city, the Duomo, the arching rooftop of the city’s majestic central church, dominated the architecture along with the Palazzo Vecchio bell tower. Surrounded by thousands of red terracotta tile roofs, the cathedral dome of the Santa Maria del Fiora seemed like a wonder of the world.
The captain’s voice came over the PA system. “Flight attendants, please take your positions, and prepare for landing.”
During the long flight from Detroit, Olivia had studied her travel books and city map. She tried now to match the pictures with what she could actually see. The rich brown Arno River gently swirled beneath a succession of bridges flowing west towards the sea. She caught a glimpse of the smaller dome of San Lorenzo and thought she could make out the famous Ponte Vecchio as the only heavily covered bridge that led towards the Palazzo Pitti, but she wasn’t absolutely sure. There would be plenty of time to explore Florence during her nearly two-month stay. Although tired from lack of sleep, Olivia felt a rush of adrenaline as she viewed the ancient city for the first time.
The flight was a mixture of tourists, a group of ten young seminarians from the Detroit Sacred Heart Major Seminary, and Olivia’s group of ten young women who were in their first year of study to become Felician Sisters. The seminarians and Felicians from Detroit had been selected to take part in an eight-week workshop to be administrated by the Archdiocese of Florence.
They were the best and brightest from southeastern Michigan who would work on fresco renovations in the San Marco Convent and study art history as part of their stay. They had been selected based on extensive biographical checks, scholastic achievement, and lengthy essay work. After all the scrutiny and intensive orientation classes, Olivia was honored to be included in a program that had been formally approved and funded by the Vatican.
The rigorous schedule would provide the students first hand exposure to the ancient city of Florence that had given the world the beginnings of the Renaissance. Florence commanded its throne as the capital city of Tuscany, a central Italian province. The city had risen over the centuries along the banks of the River Arno and was surrounded by gentle, rolling hills.
As Olivia watched the city from her window, sunlight covered half of the tile roofs below, awaiting the cover of dark rain clouds that were moving in from the west. The large jet landed at the Amerigo Vespucci Airport just northeast of the city. Olivia breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the wheels touching down. She crossed herself gratefully as the plane taxied to the gate and was connected to the gangway that would allow the passengers access to the terminal.
There was no problem with customs, and the students soon found themselves in baggage claim on the ground floor. The young women from Madonna College waited patiently for the single suitcase each of them had been allowed to bring. The young seminarians took the initiative of pulling off the luggage as it came by on the conveyor belt. Even surrounded by the hubbub of the baggage area, Olivia could hear repeated thunder outside.
When the students finally gathered on the walkway in front of baggage claim, rain pelted the taxicabs and shuttles that were queued up to carry people into the city. The tourists seemed to gravitate to the taxis and buses, but the students had been provided with vouchers for the train that would take them to the Fortezzoda Basse. As the train sped towards Florence, the students looked over their instruction sheets or talked quietly. Olivia sat next to her friend, Vanessa. They had known each other a little back in Detroit, but sitting next to each other on the long flight to Italy had drawn them closer. Although they were both in training for the sisterhood at Madonna, they were in different areas of study.
As the train pulled into the station downtown, they could see the skyline of Florence from the Pallozzo Della Mostre and the rain was now coming down much harder. September was known for being a wet month throughout northern Italy. People sheltered under their umbrellas while waiting for buses or taxis that would take them to their final destinations in the city. Many of the tourists were there for the upcoming visit to Florence by Pope Paul II in celebration of the role Florence played in the arts. Olivia stood inside the bus station holding her small black cloth suitcase and scanning the information sheet. She turned to Vanessa.
“It says here we’re supposed to catch a bus to San Marco.” Olivia looked around, and then pointed to a small, green bus. “Is that it?”
- R.T., Beyond Vows – Novel Submission
Reader:
Well, after all, this is Tuscany Press. Should we be surprised by a story that includes a group of Felician Sisters, a religious order of Polish origin, on a journey to Florence? Nope.
This is a story in which the author has set the stage for what? The reader – in this case me – is left trying to figure out what direction the author will take. My generation of reader is more willing, I believe, to wait patiently for the author to sort out the story line. Nuns and seminarians in Florence; nuns to help with restoration while studying art; seminarians…? This reminds me of a comment by a bishop who once said, “Any problem could be solved, for the most part, by a bus full of nuns.” OK, the bus is about to arrive.
