Firenze

Venizia or Firenze. That was a decision that I was not ready to make. Polling my friends, it was like asking them if they preferred Pepsi or Coke. The results were split, and everyone had their own reason to justify their answers. Venice is beautiful, they said. The canals a novelty that could not be experienced anywhere else. Florence is the home of so much art and history, the others retorted. There is so much to do and so much beauty to see, the architecture alone worth the trip.

The latter eventually became triumphant, and I took the overnight train from Stuttgart to Firenze via München to spend the better part of two days in the historic Tuscan capital.

The train itself was quite an experience, and not necessarily one I would like to repeat. The ride from Stuttgart to München was the same as it always is – pleasant and inconsequential. But when I sat down in my reserved seat on the train that would take me through the night to Firenze, I found myself in a crowded compartment that seemed to be an oven on-the-go. I stripped down to one shirt, rolled up jeans, and bare feet, and still the sweat poured down my face. The German family sitting with me refused to open a window or move the temperature lever from hot to cold. Apparently the elderly gentleman next to me was feeling ill. I would be lying if I said a part of me was not bitter at the old man’s poor health. I ended up playing musical compartments, bouncing around until I found one containing travelers who had no problems ushering through a cool breeze.

I stayed here for the better part of the night, until I was woken up at 03:30 by a conductor looking to check my ticket. I gave it to him, and he asked where I was going. “Venezia”, I replied. He responded with an expression of shock and pity, explaining to me that the train to Venezia had just detached from the one I was sitting in, and I was instead headed for Roma. After noticing me becoming frantic, he reassured me that I could simply get off at the next stop (Bologna), and take the next train from there to Venezia. I would arrive at 08:00 instead of my originally planned 06:30. Calmed down, I tried to battle off the embarrassment in order to find sleep once again.

But this should confuse you. Wasn’t I on my way to Firenze to begin with? Yes. I was. I had mixed the names of the two cities, and had not realized it until 10 minutes before I planned to get off at Bologna. Had I not realized it when I did, I would have been on my way to Venezia, probably not knowing it until hours of walking around knee deep in the street canals in a futile search for the David di Michelangelo. Great way to start my trip. The important thing – I had taken the correct train, and was on my way to Firenze.

I got to the Santa Maria Novella train station before the sun hit the city. I got myself my first Italian cappuccino, a croissant, and some freshly squeezed orange juice. Not knowing what to do before I could start sightseeing, I walked to my hostel, the Archi Rossi.

The hostel was literally five minutes from the station. How convenient! The receptionist there told me that though I could not check in, I could at least register, pay, and use their facilities. Perfect. I freshened up and finished my Berlin blog just in time for a free walking tour organized by Archi Rossi that began at 10:00. Throughout these morning activities, I became friends with some travelers who hailed from Maine, my American neighbor. I ended up spending most of my time in Firenze in their company.

One of them passed along to me a novel that was given to him by another traveler. If any of you have read “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” by Stieg Larsson. I’m reading it now, and fully intend to pass it off to another random traveler.

The walking tour was as expected – a bit short, abbreviated, and leaving me longing for more. The tour guide was enthusiastic at least, and told the story of Firenze like no other story mattered – the way a great tour guide should. We learned the history of the Medici family, and how the city was briefly the capital of Italy.

Il Duomo, a main Firenze attraction, reminded me of the Taj, particularly because of the green and white marble. I think it is true, though, when people say that the real beauty in that Piazza lies at the entrance of the Battistero di San Giovanni – a series of historic scenes carved in gold layed out in an array that stretches the length of the two wooden doors.

What was surprising was that the details within the scenes protrude out rather than being dented in. I’m not sure which is more difficult to accomplish, but I get the feeling that it must have required a significant amount of skill and patience.

A person in our walking tour expectedly wanted a picture in front of the Duomo. But due to his constant disapproval of the pictures I kept taking, we ended up staying there for a good several minutes before realizing that we had lost our group. We raced around the center of town trying to find our tourmates, but to no avail. We then ran to Piazza della Signorella, thinking that at some point the group would end up there. To our surprise, we realized that we were standing right in front of David.

How could it be that this legendary piece of art is placed so happenstance in the center of town, absent of the well-deserved packs of tourists? We were looking at a clone. I should have realized, noticing the lackluster effect the statue had on me. I hoped that real thing would have something more to offer.

We eventually stumbled across our group once again. I was grateful for this, for now I could keep some company in Florence just a little while longer. The tour ended in Piazza della Signorella, and the Mainers and I decided to get some lunch on the other side of the River Arno. For my benefit, we purposely crossed Ponte Vecchio, the famous tourist trap that connected both sides of Florence together. It was hard to tell we were even on a bridge, the multitude of shops lining the entire way and blocking most of the view of the river. Still, I can say I’ve been there.

We found a local pizza shop, Gusta Pizza, and I sat down to have my first authentic Italian pizza and my first glass of authentic Italian wine. The pizza was absolutely delicious and the wine forgettable. Afterwards, the Mainers took me to the best gelateria in town. I am usually a froyo man, but that day I had an affair, an affair completely worth the consequences. I had a mix of some cookie gelato and a custom creation, the name of which I now forget. I still have dreams about that dessert.

Onwards to a leather market in Santa Croce, where we spent the better part of the afternoon. We darted in and out of leather shops, trying to fulfill most of our gift obligations that we will undoubtedly have to fulfill upon our return to the States. Don’t misinterpret this: if you receive a gift, rest assured it is a product of my sheer willingness to share my appreciation of our acquaintance and nothing to do with your greediness for a token of my travels. Be grateful. For those of you who don’t receive anything, just know you are in my thoughts, and that should be enough. Envy is an ugly emotion.

As it often happens with ad-hoc encounters, I lost the Mainers shortly after our decision to make our way back to the hostel. I took the opportunity to squeeze in a last bit of sightseeing before transitioning to the nightlife. I walked to Piazza della Michelangelo to see what many claim as the best view of the city – better than even the top of the Duomo, and free. Those who have said this have good reason to argue, the view is absolutely gorgeous. I saw the entirety of Firenze for the cost of a few burnt calories.

Afterwards, I made my way towards Palazzo Pitti, and even though it bore the same lackluster architecture that is common to many of the city’s landmarks (sorry to offend), the sheer size of the Medici Palace was enough to make it worth my walk. Even more, it was refreshing to see the dozens of couples scattered about the plaza in front of the palace, turning the landmark into an almost haven of love. A great way to end my day (yes, I know the Boboli Gardens were just around the corner, but they had already closed).

I made it back to the hostel, freshened up, and ran into my new Maine friends. A youngin from Boulder came to join our ranks, and we all made plans to see the city nightlife after we each found our own dinner. The others chose to stay in the hostel while I decided to test a nearby Ristorante, Il Porcupino. I was one of the only patrons, at one point the sole visitor. The wait-staff took the opportunity to give me company during my meal, exhibiting a sense of humor that I missed so much in Deutschland. I became enamored with the Italian personality during that dinner.

I met up with my new friends once again in the hostel, all prepared to hit the town. We had a drink in house, and in the process expanded our group to include some Aussies and some Canadians. One drink turned into several, and before we knew it, it was 02:00 and we were all causing a mad ruckus in the hostel cafeteria. So much for the Firenze night life, we created our own! Safe to say I’ll always prefer great company over a glamorous itinerary.

In the morning, I had Archi Rossi’s slightly skimpy breakfast while waiting for two Aussies I met the day before (aptly dubbed the “Zim girls” due to their native heritage) so that we could see the real David di Michelangelo together. Though delayed a bit, and lost along the way, we did make it to the Accademia di Belle Arti to encounter a large line of others who had similar interests. We made it to the front in under an hour and paid 10€ for admission. We saw some of the art leading up to the main attraction, including some sculptures in progress by Michelangelo. Although the paintings were not much to talk about, the unfinished sculptures offered a unique novelty of seeing a mastermind at work hundreds of years after his death.

Il David di Michelangelo stood at the end of the hall of the works in progress, stepping stones toward a great accomplishment. We did not realize the magnificence until we stood at the foot of David, heads bent back and mouths grazing the floor. What a marvel it was. No clone, no picture, no description can do this work of art its justice. Perfect in every sense, in every way. If there is a God, this is the man she envisioned when setting in motion the series of events that would lead to our existence. David’s most powerful attribute lay not in his pectorals, his biceps, his buttocks, his thighs, nor his groin, but in his eyes. A calm confidence exuding his pupils, carefully studying his enemy, waiting patiently for the precise moment in which to sling the rock that lay in his right hand. Looking into his eyes instills admiration, respect, fear, awe, and even hope that all evil is surmountable.

The Zim girls and I left the Accademia in search of a café for a light lunch and coffee. We were unsuccessful, and ended up back at Il Porcupino where I was pleasantly surprised to find that the waitstaff warmly remembered my patronage the night before. We had some pizza, I had my first espresso, and we ventured back to the hostel.

We were both headed for the train station, but the Zim girls were on their way elsewhere. I was headed for Pisa to see the leaning tower, and I’m not quite sure where they went off to. My new friend from Boulder joined me, and we hopped on the 6€ regional train for a brief one-hour ride. We picked up a new mate from the UK, a fourth generation Indian that had loads of opinions to share of his take on our world affairs.

Pisa was nothing to speak of outside of seeing the tower. The tower itself was only good to cross it off the list of things to see. The city does not have anything else to offer, and after an hour of inventing different ways to pose in front of the Leaning Tower (hilarious, by the way, to watch others do the same), we returned to Firenze.

My train back to Stuttgart left a few hours later. I took the last bit of time to appreciate the hostel’s unique interior décor. Lining the walls were works of art as well as mementos left by all of its previous guests. Everyone who visits leaves some sort of mark on the wall, in the form of their name, message, doodle, sketch, drawing, painting, graffiti tag, or whatever other way they could invent. I put my mark at the base of my bedroom door – Room #20. It is in blue, and looks like something an amateur graffiti artist would create. If you ever visit this hostel, find it for me. You and I will both be equally thrilled (Hint: there is a picture of this mark on my next blog about Praha).

After saying my goodbyes, I went off to the train. The way back was similar to the first, though without the confusion of being on the “wrong” train. It was hot, but I managed to get in a few hours of sleep. The morning came pretty quickly, and before I knew it I was back in my office relying on espresso induced cappuccino to stay awake. The sign of a great weekend escape.