Florence

In the matter of rain

When you are navigating a city alone, rain, of the modest type, can be your friend. It can cause you to look at daily life there in a new way. It gives a luster to cobbled streets and it adds interesting shapes and colors as people flip open their umbrellas. So honestly, I am not disappointed to wake up to rain.

Since I had sunshine yesterday, I know what the Tuscan hills look like. My eyes now focus on the moving waters of the Arno, the wet red tiles of the rooftops, and the shades of damp orange on the houses at the water's edge.

When I walk to my chosen destinations, I notice how deftly locals maneuver their umbrellas. Living in Florence is a challenge for walkers in the best weather conditions. The sidewalks are very narrow. You spill out onto the street to pass someone, mindful of the occasional cyclist, listening for the cars that come out of nowhere. When the umbrellas come out, you have to learn how to move your rain shield, to avoid knocking eyes out of passerbys. Florentines are experts at this.

Streets empty out. Especially on a rainy Monday morning. (The big museums are closed today so it's a day of fewer tour groups passing through. The city seems to have cut its tourist load by about 75%.)

So, it rained today. I liked that!

In the matter of hotel staff

Many hotels have good, hardworking staff members. Indeed, I'd say the small hotels are more often than not places where you'll find friends in those who work there. But I have to say, my hotel's staff is over the top. I know they are paid to do this, but when even the breakfast server greets me by name and knows, too, that this is my one an only breakfast (my plane takes off before dawn tomorrow) -- well, I'm impressed.

You know how yesterday I set for myself the job of finding a comb (because mine, cheaply made, had broken)? I didn't find anything in the department store. Much later, upon my return to my room, I found not one but two new combs laid out for me. Yep, someone had gone to the trouble.

This morning, too, the hotel front desk person (who often has very little to do as there aren't that many new guests arriving at this small hotel) came over and chatted with me in Italian about my travels in this country and his own visits to Torino, to the Alps. He indulged my (occasional) (okay, not so occasional) language lapses, helping me when I was missing a word or phrase. I appreciate this. You cannot improve unless you practice what you remember and learn new words. He took the time.

In the afternoon, another front staff member came over to where I was sipping a coffee to say good buy and wish me a good journey tomorrow. You have been so nice, I wanted to say good bye. I have been nice? You're the one who got me the combs, aren't you...

I will always remember the view from my room. And the exquisitely comfortable bed, and scrumptious shower here (the farmette shower is very weak and it takes forever to heat up). And the breakfast pastries!

But mostly, I will remember the kind staff, that are especially kind to the solo traveler.

Speaking of breakfast, this was mine:

In the matter of museums

I picked three for today: Museo del Bargello, Museo Gallileo, and Museo Ferragamo. Eclectic? You bet! Let me introduce you to all three.

This is the morning when I finally walk past the biggies of Florence: the Palazzo Vecchio on the Piazza della Signoria and the Duomo. I don't spend time admiring any of them in great detail. It's just not the day for it. They are like the Eiffel Tower -- important emblems of the city and they deserve your respect each time you pass through. But I dont feel obligated to include them in a closer examination each and every time I'm here. You can't spread yourself too thin or you'll sink under the weight of it all.

For photos, I have to say that both the Duomo and the Palazzo are best when caught from a distant point in a quick, maybe even surreptitious glance. 

Or with a proper camera for the occasion. Mine is not a proper camera for the occasion. 

Now, the museums: 

I dont remember ever being inside the Bargello. Given how many times I've been in Florence (a dozen maybe), that seems rather incredible, but there you have it. So it was a no brainer for me. Today's the day for it.

 

 

A quick fact check for those who dont know it: The building itself dates back to the 13th century. First a seat of government, then a prison (think: executions in the courtyard!)...

... and now finally a museum. It's nearly empty today. I dont know why. People are spoiled by art everywhere in Florence. 

But, oh, the sculpture! There's a whole room of Donatellos, and it includes two Davids!

 

 

 

Here's the more audacious bronze David, which has to have raised some eyebrows in the day (he did it years before Michelangelo sculpted his own, now extremely famous David). A guy without clothes, in a hat and designer boots. Okay!

Here, too, you'll find the panels that were submitted in the competition to do the bronze doors of the Baptistery. Only two survived (the others were melted down) -- the winning one of Ghiberti and the second place finish of Brunelleschi.

I read earlier that this competition may have changed Florence forever, since Brunelleschi got so pissed at losing, that he abandoned sculpture and turned his attention to architecture. And Florence is the better for i!

This museum also has Michelangelo's Bacchus. The artist was so young when he did it! (Just 21.) Maybe that's why there's an almost playfulness in this statue: drunk, leaning, almost as if ready to fall over (he's supporting himself on his back foot!).

Wonderful museum. Really great. And empty!

From art, I move on to science and fashion. Let me talk about these under a different heading.

In the matter of shoulders of giants

Florence is full of memories for me. I remain loyal to it, despite the great variety of thoughts that run through my head as I walk the wet streets of the city. When you're 70, you're going to remember: your first trip to the city and the relief when parents said morning was for museums and afternoon was for ice cream. You're going to remember that you came here with your boyfriend when you were just freshly an adult and you wasted many minutes sitting on a bench and arguing with him how often you should wash your hair. You're going to remember when you first brought your own young family and you booked a family room in a bed and breakfast up the hill, only the owners decided to go away at the last minute. No email then, no cell phones. They left instruction to go down to the Arno River instead and stay at the hotel of a friend. It was my first and very memorable upgrade! A fantastic hotel on the river! Only, in trying to keep the budget steady, we ate a take-out lunch in the room, and someone spilled olive oil on the bed covers... Oops! You're going to remember a return trip with somewhat older daughters, where we rented an apartment and pretended we lived in this incredible city. You're going to remember when you came with your new boyfriend, who'll turn out to be your partner for, well, maybe, who knows, for life? But he was just a fairly new sweetie and we were just learning stuff about each other. We'd been hiking in the Cinque Terre and then it started to rain so I proposed we hop on a train and make our way to Florence. Terrible idea! Boyfriend was not as in love with Florence as I was. I wanted to go out to dinner, boyfriend said -- you go. I want to sleep. It took years before I fully grasped how good it is to have a boyfriend that doesn't judge my choices, and that in return, asks that I not judge his (at the same time, he learned what makes me sad and he will go the distance to avoid doing that; in the future, he will spend time at the table with me, even if eating is not his thing at the moment). And you will remember when, in trying to please fairly new boyfriend, you took him the next day to the Uffizi but also to the Galileo Museum of Science. Because you know that boyfriend, with incredible engineering skills, likes science more than he likes Renaissance canvases.

I returned to the Galileo Museum today, not so much because I like to look at ancient instruments used in scientific discovery, but as a book mark to my trip that was so focused (as it often is in Italy) on churches.

Galileo. An astronomer, a physicist, a philosopher. Born in 1564. Oldest of seven. Dad send him off to study medicine at the university, but Galileo had his own ideas and switched to math and science, such as it was then. Hired first to teach math at  U of Pisa, he was then fired for abandoning old belief systems on motion and heaven and earth. And he really made himself unpopular with the Church (capital C here) when he concluded that Copernicus (that famous Pole!), back in 1543, was right: the earth does orbit the sun. Not the other way around.

(Armillary Sphere, 16th c)

For this, he was called to Rome, where he is found guilty of heresy. Placed under house arrest for the rest of his life. Takes another 100 years for the Church to lift the ban on studying/teaching Copernicus theories and, you wont believe this, it isn't until 1992 before the Pope publicly declares that Galileo's findings are correct. Talk about stubbornly clinging to the party line!

 

 

From the Galileo Museum, I walk over to the Ferragamo Museum. This definitely is a first for me! (I get in free because of my choice of hotel, which, as I said, is owned by the Ferragamos.)

Okay, so there are the shoes. 

 

 

But what is really interesting is the life's story, very well depicted of Salvatore (the eleventh out of fourteen kids!). You could like it for its rags to riches elements. And for his gutsy pursuit of a better life. But also for his talent (he made his first pair of shoes at age nine). And his smooth move into the world of Hollywood stars and elites.

And finally, for his return to Italy, where, in Florence, he established his shoe and fashion empire. And then the poor guy dies early of cancer, leaving a widow and six young kids. Luckily his wife was well integrated into the business and continued to grow it, eventually with two of her daughters, turning it to what it is today. (I washed my hair with Ferragamo shampoo this morning. Lovely!)

 

In the matter of squares and bridges

I made a point of passing through three great squares and going over two great bridges. Here they are, empty, beautiful.

(Vecchio)

(della Signoria)

 

 (della Santissima Annunziata)

(di Santa Croce)

(Ponte Santa Trinita)

In the matter of artiginale gelato

I do know that the word "artisinal," when placed before foods, is much hyped and overused. But in Italy, artisinal, as placed before gelato, means something. It tells us that the gelato is made by the store owner, daily, in small batches, using only fresh ingredients. No preservatives, no fake colors. 

Note that I avoid using the term ice cream, because gelato is not really ice cream. Gelato has less cream and more milk. No eggs. Less fat, less air, so it has a different texture. 

To be in Italy and not eat gelato? Impossible! And yet, I haven't had any. My days have been full of food and full of everything else and frankly, chasing down good gelato stores was going to take time that I simply did not have. 

But today I have the time! 

You say -- too cold! Too wet! I say -- that is so un-Italian! In fact, at the end of my museum run, I find La Carraia at the Oltrarno side, and as I stand there wondering which flavors I could possibly choose from the tempting selection...

...no fewer than a dozen Italians come in, get their ice cream fix and go out.

(I like her bag...)

 

 I finally pick the cream with chocolate and orange, and the more traditional pistaccio. Heaven. On. Earth.

In the matter of dinner

You already know that I had trouble finding places to eat here. For tonight I finally chose Il Guscio. On the "left bank," of course! I don't remember what else lead me to it. The menu maybe?

(dusk, out my window, with clouds this time...)

(rainy walk to Il Guscio)

How was it? On balance, good. Very informal once again and a bit out of the way. All points in its favor. There is the question of ordering well -- I think I strayed there. The fried artichokes as a starter were a total wow! They may not look good in a photo, but the taste was spot on! Hot from the fryer!

(with burrata on the side)

The pasta dish meh reaction is on me. The description (with shrimp and zucchini flowers) was too much of a draw. I should have thought a little harder. I mean, why order shrimp in Florence, zucchini flowers notwithstanding! (the pasta itself was beautifully made).

Then, did I really need to order lamb with artichokes? I know I am in Tuscany. I know I need to slide into their meat culture, but it was just too much, even though I again skipped lunch so that I could do a three course dinner.

Dessert? Vin santo and cookies. Their home made ones were superb. The lovely wait person gave me a baggie to take the leftover cookies home.

Ordering in new restaurants is hard.  You want so much to try their best, adjusted to your palate. That's a lot of guesswork! I'm sure I could have done better at Il Guscio. And the big question, the one that says it all -- would I go back? Would I recommend it to friends? I don't know. Maybe.

Since I could not pick up any signal inside the building, I was forced to put my phone down and just space out. (I hadn't taken a book, because, well, I thought I had my (turns out useless) phone.) I used the time to listen in on other people's conversation and to watch them order their own meals. Not sure that helped much. I had Americans right next to me, and the dad talked nonstop, and the mom said absolutely nothing, and they all just wanted steak and a salad.  

The walk back, in the rain, was lovely.

Tomorrow, I can't even say I'll be in Italy. I'm out of the hotel by 4:30 a.m. and hopefully, at the farmhouse by evening, or by night if I dont push the clock back the requisite seven hours.

Enviously wishing you all a good rest!

Ciao, with so much love!

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!