"This is life." Part 2

Florence – Feb 24

As a small preamble to this extenuated blog, I would like to say that these events are now almost three weeks old in my mind. I may not sift through them as easily due to the extended circumstance in which they were written. Thank you, as per the usual, for your patience with my blogs! Those of you that read these are amazing.

Enough with the flattering! Let’s do this. Days 2 & 3 went as follows:

The morning after our first night in Italy, we rose relatively early and the five of us readied ourselves for the long haul to the great city of Florence, a four to five-hour drive from Turin.

After escaping the crazed hurry of the city morning, we reached the open road through the countryside of northwestern Italy [I’m sure our valiant driver, Lisa, let out a sigh of relief once on the country interstate]. We were to head east for about an hour, and then divert our path from the ever-nagging route that the “Navi” wanted to take us on. Our old-fashioned, paper map and live navigator route would take us south toward the coast, passed the city of Genoa.

Our path led us through the coastal mountains, climbing up toward the passes and tunnels that were dug through the mountain to better access the Mediterranean. The seasons seemed to change with every passing second: we drove through bouts of sunshine, torrents of rain and sleet, then outright snow with white-patched roads sending chills through the car as we passed the intensely charged moments in quiet concentration, then back down through tunnels and along the side of the mountain, through quieter rain, then into the glorious sunlight offered by the reflections of the sea.

My first sight of the Mediterranean. Though brief, it wouldn’t be my last. The coastal highway guided us along the mountainous terrain that fringed the sea. We passed high mountain villages tucked into singular valleys, then low, sweeping port cities with docks loaded with cranes and crates waiting for the next floating giant to take its fill. The sea glittered, as the sun shone through the patches of cloudy skies. The grey of the sky, churning with clouds, melded with the grey of the sea, churning with waves to create an almost endless perspective: the horizon was lost as the sky met the sea. Then, it was all gone in a flash as the car entered another tunnel.

The tunnels showed us dramatic changes in landscape: one moment, the sea with a city fastened to its shores, then after the darkness of the tunnel, the next moment would bring us higher still in the mountains facing a half-modern, half-antiquated city abutted to the mountainside. Needless to say, the drive proved to be an absolutely marvelous experience.

Once we left the final crossing of snowy peaks, we eased down into a wide flat, possibly as wide as the peninsula itself. The sun shone again, and we decided to drop off the freeway for a quick bite to eat at a roadside convenience station.

These stations are positioned all along the toll-sustained interstates and highways of Italy [at least, all along the portions of Italy I was able to see]. This particular station was fixed with a bustling, chow-line restaurant; a bit more stylish than a regular canteen. The cook grimaced at my attempt to pronounce the Italian pasta: a creamy mixture sprinkled with salty bits of smoked pork on top of spaghetti noodles. My first Italian pasta! Even though it was at a slightly commercialized establishment, the pasta was great. It tasted even better due to the fact that the sun was shining, and I finally had the time to stretch my legs, but that’s just complicating the equation.

Bolstered by the quick stop, we quickly finished the final leg of the journey. All the while, we discussed a dilemma: we had booked tickets at the Uffizi Art Museum, but we were worried that we would not make it to the museum in time to pick up the tickets. The information provided on the booking slip hinted to the fact that refunds weren’t thought of as a habitual action; it also hinted to the fact that rules were of the utmost importance. We were all a bit on edge, especially since that just added to the fact that we had been driving for almost five hours.

With the city in sight, the car was parked in a lot by a supermarket (free parking at the edge of the city, a great way to save on cash!). After spending a few more euros on tram tickets into the city, we were off. The tram took us to the main train station of Florence, near the ancient heart of the city. A heart, we would soon find out, that still beat with the strength and pride of its earliest days.

The group oriented itself, and then we were off, arms full of our luggage. As we walked, I sensed that we would soon be in sight of the Duomo of the Florence Cathedral. This building, of wondrous magnitude, had been one of the sole reasons I committed myself to the journey. They say it is the journey, not the destination that matters. In this singular case, I would have to disagree.

As we half-walked, half-jogged down the sidewalk, dodging through the crowds of tourists and locals, alike, I spotted the great dome. As a pilgrim might stop upon his arrival to the great Jerusalem, I stopped, mid-step, and gazed up at the structure before me. I lost all sense of the world around me, and my eyes moistened. I could hear Michelle, “Jesse!” But I couldn’t tear my eyes away. “Jesse! It’s the dome!” I could hear her smiling, “Yes, I know it is!” I was positively beaming from the excitement. I had made it.

Though, as soon as I had made it, we had to be off. The rest of the group had hurried off down another street, away from the dome. The Uffizi Gallery was temporarily placed higher on our list of priorities, especially since we were running about 20 minutes late. Struggling under the weight of our bags, we arrived at the gallery, queued in the short line for reserved tickets, and, with luck, we received our tickets and headed off to pass through the metal detectors! 

Plaza of the Uffizi Gallery. Photo courtesy of Michelle S.

The Uffizi Gallery, as I read on Wikipedia, was one of the largest, oldest, and most famous Italian Renaissance art collections in the Western world. A few of the well-known pieces [I qualify well-known, as in, I knew them before I got there… Which, obviously, means that they are well-known]: The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, Medusa by Caravaggio, and (my favorite) Judith DecapitatingHolofernes by Artemisia Gentileschi [one of the most important works by a female artist of her time]. Overall, the experience was dumb-founding and a bit exhausting. We arrived later in the afternoon, and the gallery closed earlier in the evening. By the end, we passed through many rooms at a brisk walk, bringing a new definition to the term “moving picture.”

Il Duomo, the Baptisery, and the Campanile by night. 

From Uffizi, the group traversed its way back through the Florentine streets, passed the now glowing Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore (Florence Cathedral), then up another street to reach our lodging arrangement for the next two nights: Hostel Archi Rossi.

Entering into the “lobby,” the Archi Rossi gave me a whole new perspective on the idea of a hostel. This place resembled that which we had just left: a gallery for works of art. The walls were covered with paintings, directly on the plaster. After checking in, we escorted ourselves to the first floor (remember, first floor would mean second floor, if we were in the States). The doors and greater portions of the walls were covered with felt-tipped, permanent marker scribbles of all sorts: names and dates, places of origin, friendly notes and risqué messages. If you have ever been to the Pie Pizzaria just below the University of Utah campus under the University Pharmacy, then you know what I’m talking about.

The room, comfortably fitted with two bunk beds and a single, overlooked a small courtyard. We settled ourselves in momentarily before heading back out to the streets below to find a place to eat. A respectable establishment, located just down the road, suited our tastes perfectly.

Established in 1943, the Trattoria Nerone Pizzaria Ristorante has everything anyone would want from an affordable Italian pizzeria: ambiance, history, style, and flare. The mismatched furniture seemed to be from the original founding, with some tables fitted with benches, while another table (lower than the others) stood up to a couch gilded with golden woodwork and knobby feet. Candlelight flickered at each wooden table, each a character of its own with a thousand memories scrubbed into the grain.

Our server, an older woman with a kind face, directed our order with a professional manner, speaking fluent English without the slightest bit of consternation. I ordered the Quattro Stagioni pizza and a flat mineral water, with a cappuccino to follow (as would soon become my custom). A quattro stagioni consists of four items on a delicious, thin-crust pizza: artichoke, olives, salami, and mushrooms. The olives were fresh, pits still intact. It was delicious. The atmosphere and the company mixed with the authentic Italian cuisine left us all in a great mood, but the night was still young!

We planned to meet our Italian friend, Ambra, at the Piazza della Signoria near the replication of Michelangelo’s statue, David. However, our after-dinner dessert was more important: gelato. After pizza, cappuccino, and gelato, the whole experience of everything I had seen so far overwhelmed me. I turned around to face everyone, as we walked with our frozen treats, and exclaimed, “We are here! I can’t even… I… This is life!” Lisa automatically returned, “That’s the title of your next blog!”

Piazza della Signoria.

The group meets up with Ambra. Photo courtesy of Michelle S.

We were soon standing under the looming tower in the Piazza della Signoria, where Ambra, along with her English speaking friend, Marta, were waiting for us. Ambra had planned a bit more sightseeing for us, by this time it was nearly 11:00 PM. First, we crossed the Ponte Vecchio, the famous bridge featuring many high-end jewelers during the day. Then onto the square beneath the Pitti Palace, a grand building lacking the artist’s flourish, but enough pomp and circumstance to hold my gaze. Back across the Ponte Vecchio, we traversed the streets, every now and then catching a glimpse of il Duomo peering down on us. 

Il Porcellino, the boar of Florence. Photo courtesy of Michelle S.

We came to stand under a columned pavilion featuring a bronze sculpture known as il Porcellino, a boar; the boar of Florence. The nose shone bright in the city lights from the traditional rubbing of the snout. The practice involves placing your hand on the nose in the hopes of returning; it reminds me of Matrimony Springs back in Moab: once you’ve tasted the water, you’ll always feel the tug of Moab calling you home. From il Porcellino, our group walked a few city blocks farther to sit in the square at the Church of Santa Croce, the largest Franciscan church in Italy with a crypt that holds the remains of Michelangelo and Dante.

Church of Santa Croce.

The night came to a close. We parted ways, Ambra and Marta heading back to their car, and our group back to the Archi Rossi. At this point, a small midnight snack was in order: des gauffres avec crème et chocolat! A perfect end to a staggering day. We fell into bed, ready for another day of exploration.

Florence – Feb. 25

Whew! Day 3. Just think, if you’re tired reading this; I actually had to experience and process all of this! I’ll try to keep my long-winded explanations out of Day 3. Anyway, call this an intermission: snack break? Stretch your legs? Bathrooms are down the hall to the right. Oh, the sun is finally shining! You had better go enjoy it while it lasts.

…

You’re back? Well, let’s get cracking.

Sometimes I just have to have my way. This sounds a bit childish, but sometimes it works out for the best. Apart from the great reviews, the Archi Rossi features an amazing continental breakfast, featuring many breakfast staples and hot food items to make two Dutch, a German, an Indonesian, and an US American happy. I knew, even from the pictures online before reserving the room, that this would be the choice. It took some convincing, because it wasn’t the cheapest option, but I think in the end we were all happy with the result.

As per the usual, I was late for breakfast. Though, I was still able to pile my plate with toast, sauerkraut and sausages, mini quiches, fruit, tomatoes, and baked beans. The food was amazing. I think I’d go back to the establishment just to have the breakfast. Anywhere else, the all-you-can-eat breakfast would have cost just about as much as the room rate. In the end, we were happy.

The sun was shining when we stepped outside, ready for a day of discovery. It had rained the previous night. The cobbled streets resembled a patchwork of miniature canals or river deltas. As we made our way down the street, I spotted the telltale signs of a street market: canvas pavilions with differing goods stacked to the ceiling. We meandered through the market escaping with most of our money, though I was worst off: I had succumbed to a new scarf and a genuine Italian leather belt. Later, near the Ponte Vecchio, I would buy a new wallet, fitted with a snap pocket for all the blasted coins that the Europeans insist on carrying around.

Ghiberti's door [a replica]. Photo courtesy of Lisa H.

Our main goal in the course of the morning was the Basilica and its surrounding wonder. We came into the square of the Baptistery, the Basilica, and the Campanile. The Baptistery, designed by the great Ghiberti in an hexagonal shape with the famous bronze door, stood before the doors of the great Basilica. The intricate bronze doors of the Baptistery gleamed in the morning light: Ghiberti’s design had won out over Brunelleschi’s design for the great doors. Though, in the end, it would be Brunelleschi’s design for a dome that would give the Florentine Basilica renown.

Brunelleschi's Duomo, the Baptistery, and the Campanile by day [with construction].

We made our way into the great hall of the Basilica. Again, I stood, astounded. To think, this structure was built with the technology of its age: a huge place filled with the solemnity of the ages, the expanse of air suspended between the gargantuan stone walls brought a hush to the mass of people below. A reverent tranquility had settled itself there long ago, as a dragon would on top of its hoard. A tranquility that no one would dare to disturb.

Properly known as a groined vault, I think. Amazing.

Soon, we had paid the fair to walk ourselves up to the top of the dome. A grand work completed in the name of grander ideas, yet a place that does not boast. A monument, an homage to man’s brilliance, that just is, without any trace of hubris or self-serving ideologies. A structure built for the purpose of worshipping God’s power on Earth. No matter your beliefs, upon entering such a place, you understand the dignity and strength of faith.

463 stairs later, after scrambling up the sloping stairways that would be much scarier traversing on the descent, we reached the lantern, the apex from which I could see the whole of Florence. At this point, I think the photos describe that which words have trouble defining. After a few moments of gazing out across the land, the city’s chorus rose up to the dome: the city bells rang out, and the Campanile sung a sweet, throbbing melody.

Perspective from the lantern.

A view from the lantern.

Panorama 1

Panorama 2

After our descent, we walked aimlessly through the Florentine streets, drunk from the experiences of the morning. Our wanderings took us back to the Ponte Vecchio, now bustling with tourists and hawk-eyed merchants. Clouds roiled overhead, though decided against spilling over into the streets below.

Along the way, the Ponte Vecchio in all its glory stands.

Once we had our fill of exploration, we found the path back to the Archi Rossi, deciding to rest for the later portion of the afternoon. The evening consisted of a long dinner, filled with games and laughter at a sister company to the one previously visited. The next day would find the group splitting to appease the interests of all, though each would come back with stories of their own to tell.

At the close of the day, I knew I had found one of my most favorite places in the world. That singular brush of the boar’s snout will surely prove to be a relentless tug, one that will hopefully pull me back to this wonder-filled place.

You made it! The end of Part 2 of 5. The next portion will feature Venice in less than 24 hours. I am grateful for those that stuck it out. I hope the photos acted as a bit of relief from the monotony! Enjoy yourselves today more than you did yesterday. Passez des bonnes aventures!