Firenze (Florence, Italy) Day 2
I had the most incredible evening last night! I climbed up to the Michelangelo lookout point over Florence and watched the sun set over the buildings, making them sparkle. The bell tower of the Duomo rose over the pink, red and golden city. The fresh breeze cooled my sweaty neck and back. A silent cathedral perched up on the hill above the monument, providing an even more spectacular look-out point.
Finally I broke the spell and climbed down, descending staircase after staircase as the birds sang their goodnight lullabies. The smell of sweet flowers lined the descent from the monument. Once at the bottom I walked purposefully to the fantastic gelato shop along the Arno river. I ordered cookie and hazelnut gelato, then sat on the wall beside the Arno watching the sun set.
As I slowly let each bite melt on my tongue, two young, trendy Italians in fashionable, designer clothing pulled their fancy car up to the gelato shop. The driver ran inside leaving his car double parked and hanging out into traffic. He emerged a few minutes later with his own cup of gelato. Gelato–the great equalizer of Italy. From fashionistas to paupers, everyone relishes it.
As I sat quietly, the breeze stilled completely. The water became like a mirror, reflecting the bridges, buildings and sky perfectly, creating another Florence. (It’s so lovely two wouldn’t be a bad thing–maybe we could keep all of the obnoxious American tourists out of one of them?)
Suddenly I experienced a moment of vertigo. I felt like I was falling into the city in the river, that I was in the city in the river. Up was down and down was up and I couldn’t tell where I was at all–maybe halfway in between.
To break the spell I hopped down off the wall. The river was too beautiful to leave, though, so I strolled beside it. I reached the bridge one away from the Ponte Vecchio. Again the breathtaking view hypnotized me. I could do nothing more than sit on the bridge and take it in. There was no need of words, of language, of anything but eyes to drink in the view, and skin to feel the rough bridge under my hands and the embrace of the balmy night air. A man sat quietly to my left, slowly sipping from a bottle and taking drags on his cigarette. I could imagine his simple pleasure and kind of wished I could buy another gelato (my “harmful substance” of choice).
The minutes melted into eternity, light fading into darkness. Then a tiny breeze came up, disturbing the surface near the left bank, breaking the mirror. It spread to the bridge. In a matter of minutes there was only one Ponte Vecchio. The magical city under water had gone back into hiding.
I let out a long sigh and climbed stiffly down from the bridge. Regretfully, slowly I inched away, my mind still full of the enchanted scene.
My stomach prickled with hunger, driving me toward a restaurant with the most cheerful wait staff I’ve met in years. I sat at a table in view of a small, exquisite carousel below a highly arched building. The enthusiastic waiter brought me a pizza with mozzarella, tiny tomatoes and fresh basil. I ate the pizza as if in a dream, hardly believing I was in Florence living this life.
After the meal I ambled lazily, full of food, across the square to listen to a man wailing on a saxophone backed up by piano and drums. After be-bopping to his beat for a few songs I pointed myself toward the Duomo for one last look. There I happened to see Aaron from the first night hanging out with super-chill, non-annoying American girls. (Side note: I found as a general rule the Americans in Florence were pretty annoying–loud, obnoxious, bossy, unaware of showing any consideration to the host culture…I heard Americans loudly complaining about ridiculous things, yelling on their cell phones in English the middle of street markets, bossing waiters around at the top of their lungs so everyone in the restaurant had to listen to them, etc. No wonder we don’t always leave a nice impression abroad. I was embarrassed for their behavior and did NOT want to be associate with them.) One of the girls had been doing the same program as me in another city in Spain so we had a nice chat sharing horror stories and our love/hate relationship with the Spanish government. Also, I finally got the reaction I’d been hoping for when I told her I’d been on “El Hormiguero.” She freaked out! It was great!
After a long, relaxing chat we called it a night. I board the train for Bologna tomorrow. On to my last Italian city.
