Firenze

Our trip to Florence did not begin well.  Mountain View Inn.  Aviano.  No taxis.  We were told it was about a mile to the gate where our taxi would meet us.  So we set out, pushing bags over stone sidewalks.  Charming to look at – not so luggage-friendly.  We struggled our way to the gate, grateful for the sun.  As I have said, God has blessed us in so many ways on this trip.  I don’t know what we would have done with rain.  

Just outside the gate our cab pulled up seconds after we arrived.  The drive was exciting as always.  But we enjoyed it because we were not driving, nor were we hauling bags along the street.  The train station in Portenone was charming and filled with helpful, English-speaking agents.  We made our way into the small coffee shop to wait.  Steve got us cappuccinos and cornetti.  (A cornetto is the most beautiful, edible thing in Italy.  It’s large, much larger than a croissant, but shaped like one.  It consists of many flaky layers and is lighter than hot Krispy Kreme donuts.)  

Did I just call the train station charming?  It was, until we had to haul the luggage down a long flight of steps and under the tracks to the other platform.  I cease to be amazed at how fit Europeans are after I’ve shared living areas with them for a time.  Six months over here and I’m sure I’d be much more wiry.  After a beautiful ride through the Tuscan countryside, we arrived in the Venice station and more stairs but only a short wait until the next train.

The Florence station was busy and exciting and, being a hub, was all on one level.  We found a cab and rode to the Hotel Arizona.  Honestly.  This is a small hotel in the center of Florence that is run by three brothers.  We met the youngest one who was fun and delightful.  The only thing he liked better than talking about his city was learning about the United States.  

Our room was on the fifth floor, sloping roof, sky-light – no window.  We were staying in the attic!  But it was roomy, modern and thoroughly charming.  And it had a bed!  After a few minutes to catch our breaths, we set out to explore.  Beautiful and friendly.  And sculptures everywhere.  There is one area where an outdoor sculpture museum subjects the most beautiful works of art to the elements.  

Someday if I can figure out how to get my folding beach chair onto the airplane, I’m going back just to sit on a street corner and watch the traffic.  Tiny narrow streets converge sometimes four or five at sharp angles into a main thoroughfare.  And there are no stop signs!  So the bravest driver wins.  And there is no way for them to see if someone else is coming.  Very exciting.

We somehow found the Duomo Piazza.  It was, well you just run out of superlatives after a while.  Overwhelming, majestic, unphotographable because of its size.  This piazza was not a big open space like most; so we could not get far enough back to include all of the Duomo in the frame.  After we stood around with our mouths hanging open for a bit, we realized that it was getting dark and we were getting hungry.  

Did I mention that the streets converge at strange angles and run in no rhyme nor reason?  I’m still not sure how we made our way back to the hotel.  We had a map and we worked at it.  That’s all I have to offer.

We went to dinner at a restaurant recommended by the hotel, Accadi Trattoria.  We had heard that we should be prepared to invest a couple of hours in our meal.  Dinner is a relaxed social occasion.  The man who seated us was friendly and obviously had a vested interest in the place.  Neither he, nor the young woman who served us, ever seemed to stop.  As soon as an order would appear in the window, they would be there to serve it.  There was a big table with platters of the various ingredients for antipasta that she would organize into beautiful plates.  Our food was amazing and obviously native Florentine.
  

Our server was sweet and friendly and the couple at the next table were as well.  They were Finnish.  Suddenly the kitchen door swung open and a little, old, grizzled Italian man came out with two platters that he delivered out the front door of the restaurant.  Steve and our table neighbor both said at the same time, “Sushi?”  

We all looked a bit confused and continued to eat.  We were chatting with our server and asked her if she was the owner and was this a family business?  She said, “No, he’s the owner.”  She pointed into the kitchen at a Japanese man and his two Asian cooks just as the little old man brushed by with more sushi.  They delivered over a dozen plates out the front door over the course of our meal.  We still don’t know where they were taking it. 

 

Next morning we didn’t have much time.  We needed to be at the train station to get a train to Rome by noon.  I so wanted to go to the Academie Museum to see Michelangelo’s David; but my hopes were not high.  I had read about the great crowds and long lines.  We decided to try anyway.  By this time we knew our way around well enough to make our way straight there.  As we walked up, there were no lines but there were no people there either.  With a sinking heart, I found a man in uniform and explained that we did not have a reservation.  He pointed to an area marked off with closed tape and told us to stand there.  Less than five minutes later, we found ourselves standing in front of a ten-foot-tall David on an eight-foot pedestal.  Again, a blessing I would not have believed.  No crowds, no lines, no waiting, and not enough superlatives to explain what we saw.  We could see the veins in his arms and legs and the muscles in his neck.  There was seating – so we sat quietly and just stared, amazed.  When we finally left the building, the line waiting to go in was a block long!