After hopping about to Bologna and Lucca, we decided to spend a few days in Florence, rest up, unwind and see the sights.
In Firenza, a beautiful city of art, I have four really outstanding memories:
First was seeing The David by Michelangelo, in the Accademia. I like art, and have been fortunate to see many excellent paintings and sculptures in museums around the United States and Europe. But I am not “touched” or “moved” by art. I just appreciate it, and marvel at the colors, innovation, and sometimes great ideas expressed.
But David? The David stopped me. The marble glows like it is lit from within. The details are so finely rendered. And then the most amazing thing is that the statue looks different from every angle. From one direction he looks like a warrior, a king, about to win a fight. From another he looks like a kid, uncertain of what he is doing, not sure if this is a good idea or not. He seems to measure and weigh the rock, yet looking at it another way his arm goes from relaxed to muscular and firm gripped.
We sat and stared at it for almost an hour. And really, I am just not that big of an art fan.
On the way into seeing The David, there is another set of sculptures lining the hall, called The Prisoners. They are also by Michelangelo, and are like giant, unfinished parts of men still encased in rough blocks of stone.
Another great memory is when I met the grocery store owner.
When you meet someone, it is customary to ask, Come sta? Which means, “How are you?” Va bene, gazie. would be the normal response.
So, there is this phrase in Italian that hit my fancy, for some reason. The phrase goes, Mi fa male qui… which means, “It hurts here…” and then you point at wherever. I had been pondering this one for a while.
So, we are walking back further and further out of the actual historic center of Florence, into the neighborhoods, and we get into a local shopping district. Gail wanders in and out of stores while I tag along, sometimes standing outside taking photos, other times just wandering aimlessly along. I don’t mean to make it sound as if she spends days and hours shopping, but for me, even ten minutes in any single store is just too damn long, by about nine minutes.
Well, she goes into yet another clothing store, but I have had it, so I tell her I am going to sit just outside the store. There are no benches, but the small grocery across the way has wide, stone steps with boxes of fruit and vegetables on them, so I wander across and take a sit, over on the side. The store is empty, and the lady who owns it steps outside, over on the other side of the steps, and lights up a cigarette as she leans against the entrance.
She looks over, our eyes meet and so I say, “Buon giorno, come sta?” to which she says something along the lines of “Buona, e tu?” (Good, and you?). So I take a breath and decide now is the time.
I reply, “Me fa male qui,” and I point at my butt. Specifically, my wallet.
She looks a little puzzled by this, so I shrug and say, “ Mia moglie… (my wife is) …shopping…” and I point at the dress store across the street.
She looks at me, looks across the street, puts it together and bursts out laughing.
My first joke in Italian, and it worked!
She pulled out two chairs, offered me a cigarette then insisted I take an apple, and we sat together out in the street. Between my very broken Italian which was just barely more than her non-existent English, we passed away the time talking and gesturing about where we are from, our families and kids and lives. When Gail finally came looking for me, my new friend jumped up, hugged her, rattled off a lot in Italian as Gail’s eyes grew large.
We left with big hugs, kisses all around, and another good laugh about “me fa male qui…”
I have since improved it somewhat. After the part about hurting in the wallet, I can add, “Mia moglie á lo shopping. Lei sta spendendo tutti soldi del vino!” which roughly means, “My wife, she is shopping and spending all the wine money!”
So many of our travel memories involve meeting people, and the third most memorable thing in Firenza was the day we met Nadine and Alain, in a café during a hail storm.
There is this particular café, named GustoLeo, we stopped at now and again as we passed. We were lured inside on the first day by a guy who was offering free samples of a crusty, simple flat-bread pizza type thing, with olive oil and garlic and maybe a touch or rosemary? Or basil? At any rate, it was delicious, and though it was supposed to be just a starter, we would buy one and eat it piping hot, right out of the oven, with una mezzo-litro of vino rosso.
The reason we kept going back was because it was located off on a side street we used as a shortcut to get from our hotel and Duomo area over to the art and Ponte Vecchio area. It seemed like we were only a block or two away every time it started to rain, so we’d just duck in, have a snack and drink, read a little, and move on again when the rain let up.
The skies just opened up one afternoon, and it turned into a huge hailstorm. We tacked back in the café a ways, warm, with our books, flat bread and wine, and noticed a couple next to us doing the same thing. Soon we were talking and drinking, and we found out that they were from Northern France, near Havre. A couple hours later we had exchanged email addresses (and have written since) with a promise to guide each other around California or Normandy, whoever visits first.
And in Europe, an invitation to visit is a real invitation they intend to keep.
The last really cool event happened one evening. If you cross the River Arno on the famous Ponte Vecchio, then turn left and walk a kilometer or two up the hill, you come to a small Monastery, San Miniato, where you can walk in and view the church and listen to the Gregorian Chants at 5:30 mass (5:00 in winter). The monks are walled off from us, but their singing carries, hauntingly, drifting through the church.
St Minias had his head chopped off down by the river. He just stuck it back on his shoulders (or perhaps tucked it under his arm? I suppose right side up, eyes to the front so he could see) and trekked right on up here to die. The church was founded at this spot.
That aside, the singing is beautiful, the view from the hill serene, and it adds up to one of those “I don’t ever want to leave” moments.
Just below San Miniato is Piazzale Michelangelo with benches and trees, and I returned here twice to watch the sunrise.
Oh sure, there was more to Florence. The church is magnificent. I climbed the Duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore, early one morning and got on top as the bells all across the city started to ring. Brunelleschi is famous for his dome, the largest free standing one in the world for hundreds of years, and you can walk right up through it to the top. The interior frescos are interesting to look at. They seem so detailed and intricate from the floor of the Duomo, but up close you see how rough and almost crude the brush strokes are.
We saw Ghiberti’s bronze 3-D doors at the baptistery, and poked into several other churches.
The art at the Uffizi Gallery was really interesting. You can wait a few hours in line to get into the Accademia or the Uffizi Art Gallery, or you can book ahead. Ask your hotel or book online here.
When you arrive, you go to a special door to pick up your ticket and then enter through another side door, all while the hundreds waiting in line glare at you.
Marco, at Hotel Dali, booked for us. We had a nice room there, and I ate possibly the best tasting meat ravioli ever in a small bar just across the street. I even ordered a second plate!
Out in the central courtyard of the Uffizi, the porticos are lined with statues, and artists are busy painting away. We bought a nice watercolor from an artist just outside the Uffizi.
The Ponte Vecchio is interesting to walk across, but looks more beautiful from a distance.
In Firenze, there is a lot to just see as you wander around. Good wine, good food, friendly people and beautiful art and surroundings… what more do you need?