from Rome to Florence

There were two nights in Italy before Rome, and there will be two nights in Italy after. Bookends to what was really at the heart of this trip -- time spent here, in Rome, with my Warsaw friends. But oh, how different are these two sets of bookends, the prologue and now the epilogue! At the start of it all, I had one foot still at home, at the farmhouse. I was tired from lack of sleep. I wasn't sure how I'd take to Turin. And I was wondering how this group adventure would unfold. We've all traveled together plenty in the past, but of course each trip is unique and poses new challenges, which you can embrace, or you may crumble in despair. When we were young, everything was fun and easy. We'd sleep in places without running water and with only an outhouse. We'd eat starchy Polish food cooked on wood burning stoves. Times and tastes have changed! And you know how quickly moods can sour if a negative spin emerges and takes hold. And so I wondered if we'd all stay focused on the good.

Now I know, and you know too, that the four days were grand, that my time with these guys was exquisite, that the food was awesome, that the weather, even at its worst moments, was wonderfully supportive of our ambitious walking itineraries. This is the impression that it left on me at least.

Most importantly, I confirmed and affirmed what I already knew -- my Polish friends are my friends for life.

Too, I dusted off some of my Polishness, which has been on hold since Covid knocked my travels to Warsaw out, and since I decided to sell my apartment in that city in favor of putting resources into travel elsewhere. [It was a wise decision. The apartment was tiny, but it still required care -- hardly a sound investment if I only used it for a total of at most two weeks out of each year.] I was telling my friends that a sign of my re-engagement with my Polishness was that I was falling asleep each night with a mixed up syntax of Polish sentences in American contexts, with people uttering words in the wrong language at the wrong time. I had, after all, spoken just about no English for a whole week now. It was all Polish, with the occasional Italian as the need arose.

So this morning I'm leaving.

After breakfast with these two dear ones:

And then we say goodbye. Hard, but not excessively so: I will see them again before the year is out.

I'm packed. That part is super easy -- I've acquired a few articles of clothing for the grandkids and nothing more. I have two clean shirts left and the same combination of corduroy pants to work with. It's a ten minute thing to fold and put it all in my small suitcase. 

Where to now? I am so done with Rome that I don't feel the need to take a walk, especially since I have a 10:40 train to catch and I do have to haul my suitcase to the station still. I sit and think about what was and what will be. Older people do that a lot, in case you're wondering.

And then I am off.

(walk to the station: those Roman pines!)

 

 

(my train, pulling in on time, later -- arriving at its destination ahead of schedule..)

[I have to insert here yet another plug for train travel: it has become incredibly punctual, even in Italy! In fact, if an Italian train is, for whatever reason, late by more than 60 minutes, you can get 25% of the cost of your ticket back. If it's more than 120 minutes late, you get 50% back. Can you imagine an airline doing that for you?]

Where am I going? Well, it was sort of an easy choice. Once I found out I absolutely have to be back home by Tuesday, I knew I had to pick a place not too far from Rome, a place with an easy flight connection to the United States, and of course, a place that I loved. (So Milan is out!) 

(under the Tuscan sun...)

 

I'm in Florence now. 

(walking, from the station to my hotel in the Oltrarno neighborhood...)

 

 

(meaning I have to cross the river...)

 

(I do not stick around to see if the dog falls into the river or licks the ice cream cone...)

I have a funny and sweet relationship with this city -- I know some, but way too little of its history. (I'm not a scholar of the Renaissance.) I appreciate but am not moved to tears by Renaissance art. And honestly, I've been to the Uffizi and Accademia enough times to last me. I know these places are packed with tourists, indeed, I know Florence is just as over-touristed as Rome is (if not more). For all these reasons, well you might wonder -- why do I love this place so much?

I suppose it's for the entirety, rather than its individual components. I like to take in Florence in nearly the same way I take in Venice: to look out at this marvel, this monument to some of the greatest artistic ambitions of the past and link it all into some of what we have today. So, for example, nowhere is it more important for me to have a room with a good view onto the city than here, in Florence. I booked, therefore, a room at the Hotel Lungarno. Even at off-off season prices, it's a bit of a splurge for me, but I cut out a couple of days from my trip, so I feel I actually saved some money, which I then channeled to my stay at the Lungarno. Funny how we twist things to justify an extravagance. 

The Lungarno is not a large hotel, it's not an opulent hotel by any means (though the Ferragamo family that owns it surely is wealthy and the artwork throughout is... impressive), but it is very, very nice and I made sure to emphasize how much I would love a room with a view. 

For reasons I will never understand, they upgraded me. I mean, really upgraded me. My view is so good that I may never leave the room. 

(from left)

(to the middle)

(and the right)

For once, I am pleased that tomorrow it will rain. I can just sit by the window and look out and think. (Did I tell you that older people like to do that kind of thing?)

But it's not raining today.

I have three goals for this afternoon: drink a coffee, walk to a store that may have combs (I broke mine), and go to the Boboli Gardens.

First, the coffee, at the hotel.

Now the comb. The hotel suggested a department store on the other side of the Arno for it, so I necessarily have to cross, using the Ponte Vecchio. Since it's Sunday, I get a real mix of visitors around me. Many Italians and then, of course, the rest of the world. But it's not too packed. For instance, I can take this picture of someone looking out, alone. That emptiness would not be there were it summer.

But I do avoid sidestepping into the nearby square -- the Piazza della Signoria (the one with the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio that I see out my window). It can't be a good experience to go there on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I expect shoulder to shoulder people. I'll save it for a rainy tomorrow

On the other hand, the Boboli Gardens on Sunday? Perfect. It's an expansive park, working its way up the hill behind the Pitti Palace. True, I'm spoiled now with the views -- they have already astonished me from my room! And yesterday's gardens of the Villa d'Este spoiled me as well. Boboli is a far simpler park, even though the Medici family who were behind the plans for it probably thought it to be exquisite. 

 

But I did love listening to the birds along the quieter paths (lots and lots of European robins!) and I loved seeing the signs of spring on some of the sloped lawns. Beautiful anemonies, everywhere!

Fine, I liked the views as well. You can never have too much of Florence from up above.

Outside again, as I meander along the narrow streets of the "left bank" of the city (the Oltrarno neighborhood)...

 

 

 

... I stumble onto a market -- some foods, sure, sausages, cheeses, honeys and artichokes, but also clothing and jewelry. A mishmash of items.

Do I always prefer the left bank (the lesser one) of big European cities? I do. Fewer people, for one thing. Always simpler, cheaper, more welcoming of a mix of people.

A pause now at the hotel, until evening sets in.

(if I sit on the comfy chair and look out to my left, I see both the Duomo and the Palazzo Vecchio)

(dusk)

(evening)

I go to dinner at Culinaria de Gustibus Bistro (also on the left bank). Why there? Well, actually it isn't easy these days to find a place to eat in Florence, especially on a Sunday. More than in any other city I know, Florence eateries rely on tourists to keep afloat. A good restaurant will always have a healthy mix of locals and visitors. But from what I read, once you get established as a reliable place, well, you sort of stay at your elevated position, regardless of whether you deserve to stay there. Why? Because being good leads to a snowball effect: guide books pick you up, hotels recommend you, online foodies list you on their sites. You're well known and people flock to you. But the general perception is that some of the old favorites are resting too much on their laurels. That the massive tourist influx allows them to let go of the locals and still stay busy. So that the food is no longer reliably good there. What this means for people like me, who do online searches in advance of visiting, is that we may be relying on dated material, without knowing that things have changed for the worse. Add to this the Sunday factor (many closures) and your desire not to walk very far, and you're left scrambling.

This bistro, however, isn't one of the old venerables and so I'm hoping for a lovely evening of new Tuscan food.

Honestly, the name and menu (online) had me worried. It sounded perhaps pretentious and I am in no mood for that. 

I was so wrong. Culinaria has been around only 10 years, but it has a loyal local following, with visitors (I heard Americans!) thrown in. The perfect mix. It's very informal. No more than eight or ten tables (and they fill up quickly with people, often people known to the guy who seems to prep foods, seat guests and do a heck of a lot for everyone -- with help of course; if you ever think of going there, dont try to book online -- just call the guy and make sure he jots your name down).  

The menu stretches the Florentine tradition (which is soooooo meat centered) in new directions. You'll see a veggie tanjine and a shrimp appetizer. But I wanted the Florentine foods, done well. And I was not disappointed!

An exquisite artichoke pecorino salad (he chops the chokes himself -- this has to be a labor of love!)

Then pasta, with shaved white truffle (yes, the real thing and sooo aromatic!)

And, because I hadnt eaten lunch today (on purpose!), I finally ordered the next, the second course -- a sliced beef with Chianti spices and herbs and roasted potatoes

All of it was outstanding! I had no room for dessert but he talked me into the traditional ending of biscotti and vin santo. I could not turn it down.

When I next come to Florence, this will be the place I will go to for dinner on my first night. Or maybe last night. The point is, I will return to it, of that I am sure.

(a walk home, under the light of a nearly full moon...)

I am tired tonight. It's been an extraordinary week -- I never could get to bed before midnight (dont blame my friends -- we parted ways earlier than that. Blame Ocean!) Rain, you're welcome to wet the streets tomorrow. I'm fine with taking it easy, all day long!

Good night!