Ahhhh…Florence. If you haven’t seen the movie A Room with a View, stop right now, go rent it, watch it, and THEN read this blog entry. Ok, ok. You don’t have to watch to movie right this minute, but just know that I really, really, really like that movie, and that the first half of it takes place in Florence. And also I really, really like that movie.
Our day trip to Florence was designed by my kindly husband, George, as “A Way for Me to Get a Break from the Kids.” Now, I love our kids, and—truth be told—the boys have proven themselves to be way better travelers than I am. BUT, given that I have been with them almost 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for almost five weeks now, taking a break from my dear sweet offspring seemed like a very good plan.
BUT, since William and Henry haven’t been to Florence yet, George suggested that we all ride the bus there together (thus eliminating opportunities for me to get lost on the way—which I tend to do. A LOT). Once we arrived in Florence (aka, the birthplace of the Renaissance—a tidbit from the guidebook, by the way), George and the kids would have their “Boys’ Day Out” while Brandi and I would have a “Sisters’ Day Out.”
Sounded good to me!
So, the plan was to arrive in Florence, walk from the bus station to the cathedral (the Duomo), and then go our separate ways.
Once we reached the Duomo, George and the boys went off to climb the 414 steps of the Campanile (bell tower) to give the kids a good view. (See? In Florence, it’s ALL about the view.)
Our day trip to Florence was designed by my kindly husband, George, as “A Way for Me to Get a Break from the Kids.” Now, I love our kids, and—truth be told—the boys have proven themselves to be way better travelers than I am. BUT, given that I have been with them almost 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for almost five weeks now, taking a break from my dear sweet offspring seemed like a very good plan.
BUT, since William and Henry haven’t been to Florence yet, George suggested that we all ride the bus there together (thus eliminating opportunities for me to get lost on the way—which I tend to do. A LOT). Once we arrived in Florence (aka, the birthplace of the Renaissance—a tidbit from the guidebook, by the way), George and the kids would have their “Boys’ Day Out” while Brandi and I would have a “Sisters’ Day Out.”
Sounded good to me!
So, the plan was to arrive in Florence, walk from the bus station to the cathedral (the Duomo), and then go our separate ways.
Once we reached the Duomo, George and the boys went off to climb the 414 steps of the Campanile (bell tower) to give the kids a good view. (See? In Florence, it’s ALL about the view.)
And Brandi and I stopped at the first food stand we saw and bought a waffle for the equivalent of $12. (See? Because for us, it’s all about the food. And also we’re a little bit stupid and impulsive. We saw a waffle stand, and so we wanted a waffle. We did not check the price. We did not think about it being near the biggest tourist destination in Florence. We just smelled waffle and so we bought waffle. And then we learned it was $12. –That waffle, by the way, was delicious. It had whipped cream on it and fresh berries…tiny tiny little blueberries and blackberries and maybe some strawberries. I don’t know for sure. We ate it pretty fast.)
After scarfing down our waffle with a view of the Duomo, we wiped the berry stains off our faces and got ready to see some art. Or history. Or churches. Or whatever the heck it is people want to see in Florence.
Let’s go!
First stop: those big bronze doors on the baptistry. (One moment please while I look up the name…)
After scarfing down our waffle with a view of the Duomo, we wiped the berry stains off our faces and got ready to see some art. Or history. Or churches. Or whatever the heck it is people want to see in Florence.
Let’s go!
First stop: those big bronze doors on the baptistry. (One moment please while I look up the name…)
–Ah, yes, they are called “The Bronze Doors.” To be more specific, they are called Ghiberti’s Bronze Doors. Very pretty. A lot to look at. And a lot of tourists being kind of pushy-shovey. So. Done with the doors. (I think they aren’t the originals anyway—maybe not, I’m not sure. Either way, I was done with the doors.)
Next! An even better view…
My plan was for Brandi and me to go to the Piazzale Michelangelo for the best view of Florence in Florence. The guidebook said it was a pretty long walk, and then a steep hike up the hill, so my thought was that we’d do it first thing before the day got too hot.
And it’s a good thing we went early. Because it was already stinkin’ hot.
We walked from the Duomo to the Ponte Vecchio (the beautiful old bridge that that didn’t end up getting destroyed by the Nazis on their way out of the city. Seems strange to thank Nazis for anything, but…Thanks for not blowing up that bridge, guys). We snapped some pictures, pushed past some tourists, took note of the Uffizi Art Museum (where we would NOT be visiting today, thank you very much). –It’s not that I have anything against art, per se. It’s just that I’m too lazy to wait in line for hours to walk through a museum for hours. And George already went to the Uffizi earlier this month with his class, so that counts enough for both of us, right?
Anyway, we’re walking alongside the Arno River, and I quote to Brandi in a bad British accent, “I believe you just threw my photographs into the Arno.”
“What?”
“It’s from A Room with a View. Haven’t you ever seen it?”
“Yes. You made me watch it when I was, like, twelve.”
“Oh, well, that’s from the part where Lucy Honeychurch bought these postcards, see? And she’s near Sante Croce church, and she sees these two Italian men fighting, and one ends up getting KILLED. And it’s very disturbing. And she faints and drops her postcards, and George—not my George, a different George—catches her as she faints, and later he goes to pick up her postcards. But they have BLOOD on them. So they’re walking by the river, and he throws them in and she says, ‘I believe you just threw my photographs into the Arno.’ –Do you remember that part?”
“No. All I remember is the part where the men are running around near that pond and they’re naked and I remember being very excited because I could see their penises.”
“Ah, yes. The “Come and have a bathe” part. Love that. When Mrs. Honeychurch says, ‘Oh! Look!’ and then, ‘Nooooo… DON’T look!’ And poor fat, naked Mr. Beebe. So funny.”
“Yeah. I don’t really remember anything else. It was a long time ago. How much further until the view?”
“Not much further, I think.”
“Can I get my coffee now?”
“Sure. But not here. Let’s keep walking. We’ll get it later. Come on…”
So, we walk and walk and walk. And then we get to the part where we start climbing up the hill, and maybe Brandi looks just a little bit sick. After all, she just hiked seven hours the day before. I felt kind of bad. But, still, I knew it would be a good view, so I said, “Come ON!!”
And when we finally got to the top, it WAS a good view. It was a spectacular view. It was, indeed, the best view of Florence in Florence, and totally worth the hike. Brandi and I took lots of pictures with her camera (George had mine on his excursion with the boys). And Brandi kept complaining that all of her shots were crooked, but mine were straight. And I explained it’s because I’m upright, loyal and true. And she laughed just a tiny bit, and resisted the urge to throw me off the precipice, so I’d say that counts as me being hilarious.
We then walked to the other side of the piazza where there was a different view—this time of the Tuscan countryside—and Brandi asked again, “Can I have my coffee now?”
“Sure. But not here. Let’s walk back down the hill some.”
“You’re lying, aren’t you? There is no coffee.”
“Nooo…There’s coffee. It’s just right down there,” I said, pointing. And she didn’t believe me, but still she followed. (Ahhhh, what a good little sister.) We got partway down the hill, and TAH-DAH!! A really nice coffee place.
“See? I told you so.”
“Yeah, but I bet you didn’t even know this place was here.”
“True. True. But at least now you get your coffee.”
We bypassed the tourists sitting on the patio in the hot summer sun under ineffective table umbrellas, and walked inside to the café bar, where I ordered us two caffé lattes. I explained to Brandi that, in Italy, you pay less to stand at the bar to drink your coffee, PLUS you seem more European and fancy. Or something like that.
Either way, there was ice-cold air conditioning blasting out from behind the bar, and it was magnificent. Sooooo cold. And our coffee was soooo hot and delicious. Plus, we got to watch the guy make drinks for the waitress to take out to the chumps sitting in the heat. Coffee AND a show. Very entertaining. So, we stood there for a rather long time, sometimes moving our arms up and down juuuust a little to get some of that A/C blowing towards our armpits…but we did it in a very sophisticated, European kind of way.
Finally, after we were all jazzed up on coffee and air conditioning, we made the much easier hike down the hill back towards the heart of Florence. But, on the way, we stopped at an art museum.
YOU HEARD ME. I said I went to an art museum. And it was LOVELY.
We went to the Pitti Palace. (Mostly because the cheesy guidebook said it would be a Pitti (haha) to miss it. –And also because it was supposed to have very short lines to buy tickets, and also lots of paintings with the Madonna and Child in round frames. I just LOVE paintings of Mary and Jesus in round frames. I don’t know why, but I just really, really do. Enough to get me into an art gallery, and that’s really saying something. PLUS, it was a palace once owned by the Medici family, so there was plenty of fancy palace stuff to look at. To me, that’s a lot of bang for your museum buck.)
It was wonderful. And the whole thing only took about an hour. Totally worked for me! (Oh, and Brandi liked it, too.)
After that, I don’t remember what exactly we did. I remember Brandi wanted some pizza from a take-away pizzeria, so we did that. I remember I did NOT want any pizza, because, frankly, I’m tired of bread, tomato, and cheese type foods. Instead, I got it into my head that I wanted a freaking kebab. I wanted a nice, non-Italian KEBAB. And I was determined that I would get one. And, even if I was starving, I would eat nothing else BUT a kebab. (Well, except for gelato. But that’s not really food, now is it?)
So, we’re walking and looking for a kebab stand. (“Dové un Kebab?” –Where a Kebab?) And then we nearly walk past the Straw Market where a girl like me can buy pretty Italian purses in the great outdoors. –This is NOT the same as buying a purse off a sheet on the sidewalk from a man with shifty eyes, by the way. This is buying a purse from an adorable outdoor market from a man with shifty eyes.
I won’t go into great detail (What? Why stop now?), but I will say that I got a super cute red leather purse—REAL LEATHER! The man proved it by putting a lighter next to it and showing me how it wouldn’t melt. (I kind of freaked out a little at that because I really liked the purse and didn’t care if it was leather or not. I just didn’t want him to set it on fire.) After the pyrotechnics, however, he came down in price by 10 Euros, which made me feel like I’d really accomplished something. So I bought the purse. And I love it. (And it has no burn marks on it! –That’s because it’s MAGIC.)
The rest of the afternoon was spent walking, eating gelato, peeking in stores, and me saying “Dové un Kebab?” –All in all, I’d say my sister and I had a really great time, enjoying each other’s quirks and talking past each other and just generally having a wonderful afternoon together.
And, luckily, we both crashed from our coffee high at about the exact same time, and at around 3:00, we looked at each other and both said, “Bus station?”
So, we headed off to the bus station (with me still looking for that frickin-frackin’ kebab stand). And once we were nearly there, we stopped in at one final store for Brandi to buy some gifts to take home. I asked the lady behind the counter, “Dové un Kebab?” And she said—in English—“Go out the door? Turn Left? Go down. And then, Kebab.” “—Ohhh, Grazie! Molto Grazie!” I gushed.
After a few short twists and turns and generally not knowing if we were going the right way, we finally stumbled upon it. (Cue heavenly music HERE.) The kebab stand. It was on a grimy, filthy street, and the place didn’t look like much. But inside was a man with a knife and some meat and all the yummy fixin’s, and I got me a Kebab.
And it was TASTY.
Next! An even better view…
My plan was for Brandi and me to go to the Piazzale Michelangelo for the best view of Florence in Florence. The guidebook said it was a pretty long walk, and then a steep hike up the hill, so my thought was that we’d do it first thing before the day got too hot.
And it’s a good thing we went early. Because it was already stinkin’ hot.
We walked from the Duomo to the Ponte Vecchio (the beautiful old bridge that that didn’t end up getting destroyed by the Nazis on their way out of the city. Seems strange to thank Nazis for anything, but…Thanks for not blowing up that bridge, guys). We snapped some pictures, pushed past some tourists, took note of the Uffizi Art Museum (where we would NOT be visiting today, thank you very much). –It’s not that I have anything against art, per se. It’s just that I’m too lazy to wait in line for hours to walk through a museum for hours. And George already went to the Uffizi earlier this month with his class, so that counts enough for both of us, right?
Anyway, we’re walking alongside the Arno River, and I quote to Brandi in a bad British accent, “I believe you just threw my photographs into the Arno.”
“What?”
“It’s from A Room with a View. Haven’t you ever seen it?”
“Yes. You made me watch it when I was, like, twelve.”
“Oh, well, that’s from the part where Lucy Honeychurch bought these postcards, see? And she’s near Sante Croce church, and she sees these two Italian men fighting, and one ends up getting KILLED. And it’s very disturbing. And she faints and drops her postcards, and George—not my George, a different George—catches her as she faints, and later he goes to pick up her postcards. But they have BLOOD on them. So they’re walking by the river, and he throws them in and she says, ‘I believe you just threw my photographs into the Arno.’ –Do you remember that part?”
“No. All I remember is the part where the men are running around near that pond and they’re naked and I remember being very excited because I could see their penises.”
“Ah, yes. The “Come and have a bathe” part. Love that. When Mrs. Honeychurch says, ‘Oh! Look!’ and then, ‘Nooooo… DON’T look!’ And poor fat, naked Mr. Beebe. So funny.”
“Yeah. I don’t really remember anything else. It was a long time ago. How much further until the view?”
“Not much further, I think.”
“Can I get my coffee now?”
“Sure. But not here. Let’s keep walking. We’ll get it later. Come on…”
So, we walk and walk and walk. And then we get to the part where we start climbing up the hill, and maybe Brandi looks just a little bit sick. After all, she just hiked seven hours the day before. I felt kind of bad. But, still, I knew it would be a good view, so I said, “Come ON!!”
And when we finally got to the top, it WAS a good view. It was a spectacular view. It was, indeed, the best view of Florence in Florence, and totally worth the hike. Brandi and I took lots of pictures with her camera (George had mine on his excursion with the boys). And Brandi kept complaining that all of her shots were crooked, but mine were straight. And I explained it’s because I’m upright, loyal and true. And she laughed just a tiny bit, and resisted the urge to throw me off the precipice, so I’d say that counts as me being hilarious.
We then walked to the other side of the piazza where there was a different view—this time of the Tuscan countryside—and Brandi asked again, “Can I have my coffee now?”
“Sure. But not here. Let’s walk back down the hill some.”
“You’re lying, aren’t you? There is no coffee.”
“Nooo…There’s coffee. It’s just right down there,” I said, pointing. And she didn’t believe me, but still she followed. (Ahhhh, what a good little sister.) We got partway down the hill, and TAH-DAH!! A really nice coffee place.
“See? I told you so.”
“Yeah, but I bet you didn’t even know this place was here.”
“True. True. But at least now you get your coffee.”
We bypassed the tourists sitting on the patio in the hot summer sun under ineffective table umbrellas, and walked inside to the café bar, where I ordered us two caffé lattes. I explained to Brandi that, in Italy, you pay less to stand at the bar to drink your coffee, PLUS you seem more European and fancy. Or something like that.
Either way, there was ice-cold air conditioning blasting out from behind the bar, and it was magnificent. Sooooo cold. And our coffee was soooo hot and delicious. Plus, we got to watch the guy make drinks for the waitress to take out to the chumps sitting in the heat. Coffee AND a show. Very entertaining. So, we stood there for a rather long time, sometimes moving our arms up and down juuuust a little to get some of that A/C blowing towards our armpits…but we did it in a very sophisticated, European kind of way.
Finally, after we were all jazzed up on coffee and air conditioning, we made the much easier hike down the hill back towards the heart of Florence. But, on the way, we stopped at an art museum.
YOU HEARD ME. I said I went to an art museum. And it was LOVELY.
We went to the Pitti Palace. (Mostly because the cheesy guidebook said it would be a Pitti (haha) to miss it. –And also because it was supposed to have very short lines to buy tickets, and also lots of paintings with the Madonna and Child in round frames. I just LOVE paintings of Mary and Jesus in round frames. I don’t know why, but I just really, really do. Enough to get me into an art gallery, and that’s really saying something. PLUS, it was a palace once owned by the Medici family, so there was plenty of fancy palace stuff to look at. To me, that’s a lot of bang for your museum buck.)
It was wonderful. And the whole thing only took about an hour. Totally worked for me! (Oh, and Brandi liked it, too.)
After that, I don’t remember what exactly we did. I remember Brandi wanted some pizza from a take-away pizzeria, so we did that. I remember I did NOT want any pizza, because, frankly, I’m tired of bread, tomato, and cheese type foods. Instead, I got it into my head that I wanted a freaking kebab. I wanted a nice, non-Italian KEBAB. And I was determined that I would get one. And, even if I was starving, I would eat nothing else BUT a kebab. (Well, except for gelato. But that’s not really food, now is it?)
So, we’re walking and looking for a kebab stand. (“Dové un Kebab?” –Where a Kebab?) And then we nearly walk past the Straw Market where a girl like me can buy pretty Italian purses in the great outdoors. –This is NOT the same as buying a purse off a sheet on the sidewalk from a man with shifty eyes, by the way. This is buying a purse from an adorable outdoor market from a man with shifty eyes.
I won’t go into great detail (What? Why stop now?), but I will say that I got a super cute red leather purse—REAL LEATHER! The man proved it by putting a lighter next to it and showing me how it wouldn’t melt. (I kind of freaked out a little at that because I really liked the purse and didn’t care if it was leather or not. I just didn’t want him to set it on fire.) After the pyrotechnics, however, he came down in price by 10 Euros, which made me feel like I’d really accomplished something. So I bought the purse. And I love it. (And it has no burn marks on it! –That’s because it’s MAGIC.)
The rest of the afternoon was spent walking, eating gelato, peeking in stores, and me saying “Dové un Kebab?” –All in all, I’d say my sister and I had a really great time, enjoying each other’s quirks and talking past each other and just generally having a wonderful afternoon together.
And, luckily, we both crashed from our coffee high at about the exact same time, and at around 3:00, we looked at each other and both said, “Bus station?”
So, we headed off to the bus station (with me still looking for that frickin-frackin’ kebab stand). And once we were nearly there, we stopped in at one final store for Brandi to buy some gifts to take home. I asked the lady behind the counter, “Dové un Kebab?” And she said—in English—“Go out the door? Turn Left? Go down. And then, Kebab.” “—Ohhh, Grazie! Molto Grazie!” I gushed.
After a few short twists and turns and generally not knowing if we were going the right way, we finally stumbled upon it. (Cue heavenly music HERE.) The kebab stand. It was on a grimy, filthy street, and the place didn’t look like much. But inside was a man with a knife and some meat and all the yummy fixin’s, and I got me a Kebab.
And it was TASTY.
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"A young girl, transfigured by Italy! And why shouldn't she be transfigured? It happened to the Goths!"
I LOVE YOU, KRISTIN!!!
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