After adventuring around Europe for over two weeks, my girlfriends and I were feeling pretty confident about our ability to navigate the backpacking life.  We’d mastered the Eurail system, found safe, and sometimes stunning, lodging in many cities across France, Germany and Switzerland.  As our train pulled into the station in Venice, Italy, it was a dreary summer morning.  Cold rain was falling and we snagged hot coffees at the café in the train station and pulled out the travel book to look up phone numbers for hostels.  It was the early 2000s – before smart phones or iPads – and each new country visited required a new calling card.  We tried to get through but seemed to be having issues with the phone card or the accuracy of the numbers in the travel book.  Eventually we decided to just head out on foot – trying to navigate paper maps and carrying our belongings in tall packs through the wet, winding streets. 

About 3 hours into our search for lodging, spirits were starting to get low.  There was no room for the four of us.  Anywhere.  We were wet, cold and starting to feel desperate.  Sleeping on the streets of Venice in the rain did not seem like an attractive option.  The last host to turn us down seemed to sense the defeat in our pleas and mentioned that there was a local convent who took in women overnight – we could try them.  My girlfriends and I first laughed to ourselves – but as the hours ticked by, we eventually resigned ourselves to the fact that a hot shower and a dry bed, even in a convent, was better than none at all.  We took a water shuttle across a channel and found our way into the convent.

None of my travel companions were Catholic, but we were (mostly) Christians and felt like we could survive 1 night with the nuns.  We met with the host nuns in a small, dusty office and they explained that for the equivalent of about $7 we could have a bed for the night.  They led us to the lodging, which was in a beautiful, empty sanctuary with high, arching ceilings.  The entire space was filled with around 30 twin beds, lined up in rows.  Each with a homemade quilt and a small, metal nightstand. 

I felt like I had just walked into the Italian version of the children’s book: Madeline, which had always been a family favourite and a secret fantasy of mine…  having grown up with only 1 sister and always longing for the chaos and crowds of a big family.  I loved gatherings on my dad’s side of the family, full of dozens of cousins of all ages.  A crowded “kids table” and tiny cousin Lauren eating as many white dinner rolls and sweets as she could get her little fingers on.  There may have even been one particular holiday where Lauren’s family (mom, dad and FIVE other sisters) accidentally piled into their Suburban and left our home, only to return about thirty minutes later, realizing Lauren was still in our basement with the rest of her cousins.

Through family vacations, and my teen years of working in hospitality at local resorts, I always had a sense of longing for those big families – those with 4 or more kids or people celebrating big family holidays where there would be a hodgepodge of cousins and siblings all teasing and loving and connecting with each other.  So, in a certain way, I guess the idea of living – at least for 1 night – in the set of Madeline was a dream.

We dropped our packs and headed out for an early dinner.  One of the unique caveats to sleeping in a convent was that the doors locked at 9 pm sharp.  The nuns warned us – we could leave but if we were not back inside by 9 pm, we would be locked out.  So we walked nearby to a spot to get, what could only be described as, an “early bird” dinner in the Italian culture.  We tried to drink enough wine to get us through the coming hours and arrived back at the doors with a few moments to spare.

The lights were on for the next hour – with opportunities to shower or read or talk with travel companions or meet new friends.  The showers were a bit of an experience – not exactly “hot” and very communal in nature, but we appreciated the opportunity to get clean and dry.  At 10 pm the lights were out and it was similar to those days in elementary school.  You know the drill, when the teacher (or nun) turned out the lights, everyone immediately went silent.  And here we were, settling in for a good night sleep… me and my 3 travel companions, and roughly 20 other girls, in two straight lines, in two straight lines, in rain (definitely!) or shine…

After the shock of the sudden dark and quiet set in, people started pulling out small reading lights or flashlights.  I pulled out my flashlight and wrote a bit in my travel journal.  And then I just lay in the quiet magic, absorbing it all – almost in a meditative state, or at least a moment of mindfulness (although my 22-year-old self would not have termed it such).  But I remember the air of quiet community and safety – and the realization that all of us: the Americans and Canadians and Australians and Ukrainians and Germans… we were all more similar, than we were different.  And we were all connected and free and home in this big planet we shared.  I felt a sort of homecoming and connection to God that I can’t fully describe, except to say that there seemed to be a presence; an acknowledgement of a higher power, connecting us and keeping us safe.

The next morning we left the convent…

That was covered with vines
We left the convent at half-past-nine
In two straight lines, in rain or shine...

This morning in the shining sun, ready to explore Venice.  Excited for the fresh dawn, the good night sleep and maybe, just maybe, feeling a bit closer to God, in whatever ways we connected to or understood Her.