In hindsight it’s amazing we decided to move on from Rome to Florence when our debit cards, our financial lifeblood, were not working. But with the freedom afforded to us by inexpensive rail travel, it made more sense to travel onward than to sit still. We were, however, more or less forced to use our credit card to obtain a small amount of cash for breakfast and lunch on the 2nd. I also purchased a phone card at the station in Rome with a mind to calling either our bank or the fraud department. We caught our train and intermittently snoozed and watched the landscape change into beautiful, rolling Tuscan hills that belied any worries about banks and business, instead suggesting a more simple way of life.
We were happy to find a room in the second hostel we tried, and one with free internet too! And like usual, we set out to explore Florence on foot, if only to form a mental map that would help us in sightseeing the next day. As in Rome, there were swarms of tourists and we noticed a particular predominance of America travelers. It was off to be walking in Florence and catch wind of a conversation in English as it passed by - American English, nonetheless. Sometimes it was reassuring, nice even, to encounter others who were obviously traveling. We might see a couple wearing big Kelty backpacks and think to ourselves, “Yep, fellow Americans…” Or we might see several people pouring over a map trying to figure out where they were, and we’d feel a sense of sympathy and solidarity. The most common types of travelers seemed to be Americans, Japanese, and Germans. And thus to hear or see a Japanese tourist became reassuring and comforting. But in Florence it was a little overwhelming just how many foreigners there really were. In such a way, the place seemed less authentic.
After a fair bit of sauntering this way and that through Florence’s cobble streets, peaking into vendors’ tents and looking into intriguing shops selling fabrics, artwork or jewelry, we stumbled upon Piazza San Giovani and the stunning Duomo (Santa Maria del Fiore) which occupies it, a beautiful cathedral with light and dark Florentine stone exterior in the rose light of the fading sun. We lingered for a little while in the square and then chose an authentic bistro in which to sup. And following a filling and scrumptious meal, we took our usual after-dinner walk, what the Italians call la passeggiata. We strolled until we heard a deep voice ahead in a square booming in Italian. Following our curiosity, we decided to see what was happening and discovered a slide show and accompanying commentary on the life of Michelangelo. The images were projected onto the side of a building and voice was blasting from speakers set in apartment windows. We didn’t stay too long, as we couldn’t understand the Italian and the loud, deep voice seemed almost menacing, like a Big Brother character from 1984. Who knew that Italian could sound so scary? It was getting late, as well, but before we retired, we happened upon a woman singing in Piazza Repubblica to the accompaniment of an accordionist. Her voice was lovely, the strains of “Ave Maria” resonating in the tranquil night air an apt closure to our first day in this Renaissance city, fair Firenze.
We awoke to the happy twitter of birds and sun spilling onto the terra cotta roofs outside our hostel room window. We had cause for rejoicing ourselves, since I had learned my new PIN in an email from Mandy’s mother. While it was laundry day and some of the morning would have to be sacrificed to this mundane chore, we were glad just to be in Florence and again have access to cash money. At the laundromat we chatted with a couple of Americans and also made a plan for the day. Back at the hostel, we took the time to do some much needed computer work. Then, come afternoon, we toured the inside of the Duomo and beheld a stone floor as magnificent in color and design as the church’s exterior; and we visited an ancient granary-turned-church; we walked around the Uffizi and saw the famed David statue replicated in its original location. We toured Palazzo Vecchio, a bit disappointed that we couldn’t take the Activities Tour which would lead through the palace’s secret chambers and hallways (no English tours were offered till late the next day). The arts displayed were quite interesting and history of the palace made it worth the while.
Afterwards, we moved on to the river, where in crossing the Arno, we were treated to a splendid view of the oldest bridge in Florence, the Ponte Vecchio. Once across the Arno River, we entered a different Florence entirely, one apart from the tourist hordes, where locals could be seen greeting one another in the quiet streets and unpretentious shops found devoid of ornament, some full of antique furniture being lovingly restored by a craftsman. We moved slowly up the green hillside along a footpath bound for San Miniato al Monte and the Piazzale Michelangelo. A short stop for gelato and a little further up the hill and we were able to look out over Florence, the entire city laid out in glorious panorama below. We would be leaving on the morrow, journeying onward to Venice. But all that seemed far away now. As dusk fell, the lights of the town seemed starry and magical, alive with the spark of the Renaissance, a temporal heaven aglow at our feet.
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