Having a small fit of pique, in Florence. It's all mild, really- went to the train station to get tomorrow's ticket to Siena; my credit card won't work, which means a $20 international phone call to sort out. Switch to the machine that takes cash, which tells me after I have deposited my 20 €, that it does not intend to give me change. And despite this being quite a civilized place, it is by far the most difficult in terms of internet access. I stop at two places, both of which insist on seeing the passport I have locked in my hotel room. Mille grazie. I will now have to go back to the place across the bridge I found yesterday, with the loudest snuffling pug dog you have ever heard.
The only thing for a fit of pique, in Florence, is to sit in a lovely piazza and drink wine. This comes with a little surprise assortment of snacks. Today it's olives, and some sort of cheese-pepper crackers, and a little dish of snack mix. So, forgetting the last hour, some snippets from Florence:
On Rooms With a View:
I really do have one. It's a budget hotel, but it's on the piazza with the Duomo. How did they pull this off? It seems to be a crumbling corner of a glorious old plazzo. I suspect this because of the fresco on my ceiling, which is beautiful- and cut exactly in half, by the new wall subdividing this space into two guest rooms. I want to go knock on my neighbor's door, just to see the other half. Also, there's the smallest, oldest, scariest elevator I've ever seen, which takes ylou 3 flights up with a lot of banging and creaking. I wouldn't mind the walk, except that there are no lights in the stairewll, so even in the daytime you have to feel ahead with your toes on the landings before you commit to a step. All of this just adds to the charm. Upstairs it's cozy and cheerful.
On David:
I went to the Galleria dell'Accademia today, to see Michelangelo's David. (I stopped at the beautiful Ospedale degli Innocenti on the way, for those who are interested.) I've mentioned that statues, most of the time, are not a very moving art form for me. This one, of course, is different. I stood there, staring, from every angle, for something like 20 minutes. There's something about that left foot, bearing no weight, making it look like he's just about to step off of the pedestal. The hands, other than being just a little bit on the disturbingly large side, are practically moving. He is so alive that at one point, I actually turned my head to see what he was looking at, before I realized what I was doing. I'm not the first to say it's a masterpiece, but that doesn't make it any less true.
On Food, Mostly Beverages:
Every city has challenged my budget with a different surprise. In Cairo, it was camels; in Istanbul, it was boots; in Athens, it was taxis. Here- it's beverages. I can't seem to go more than a couple of hours without hanging out in a piazza, which means cafes, or vinos, or birras, or at least mineral water. It's just part of the cost of living here- this whole pedestrian city is designed around piazzas. There are tiny ones tucked in between buildings, giant ones full of fountains, and long thin ones full of market stalls. So it's begging you, really, to sit down and enjoy yourself, and linger over your drink to people-watch. And the food...these people have a tight relationship with prosciutto, which I fully endorse. And olives, which I've come to love. Their sweets are just barely sweet, which is perfect. Except for the gelato, which is in its own category. I had some in Rome, which I have to say, I found uninspiring. I'm not a big ice cream eater anyway. But, determined to conquer this culinary obstacle, I tried some again last night. I bought a cone of caramel, outside the Duomo. The guy behind the counter packed my cone full, then took a tiny little spoon and carefully placed some diced caramel cubes on top. Creamy, but light and airy, with chewy little bits of candy. Wow.
On Playing Hookey:
The closer I get to the end of my trip, the less I feel like being inside. It's so odd- I love art history, and experiencing architecture, and this is one of THE world's best places for both of those things- but all I want to do is walk. Walk, and sit in piazzas drinking coffee and wine. I think that's ok. this trip is about experience, not academics. I have been studying, and learning, and sitting inside, for quite some time now. And so: I am skipping the Uffizi. There. I said it. In Virginia's list of Florentine suggestions, she mentions of the Uffizi, "It can start to feel epic towards the end..." And she is right. It contains treasures, and would enrich me as a human being, and expand my understanding of art and culture. But I am not in the mood for Epic. The Vatican Museum sapped my energy, for Epic. I have seen the Uffizi, years ago, and it was memorable, and it was Epic. And so I'm skipping it. It feels like skipping class: I appreciated every minute of grad school, and almost never skipped. All the more decadent, and therefore fantastic, when you do- an afternoon movie the week before a studio review; a nap when you should be in the carpentry shop; watching Glee with friends when you should be working on your portfolio; all of these, on occasion, a wonderful thing. Just like skipping the Uffizi, to hang out in piazzas and drink wine...
On Amore, Idiocy in the Face Of:
Oh, this one pains me to write.
Last night I was sitting in the Piazza Signoria, having a glass of wine. (This is a recurring theme.) A young man walks by, says, "Buona Sera," to the people at the corner table, and then "Buona Sera," as he walks past me. I respond in flawless Italian, "Buona Sera!" and he says, "Ah, Americana." So my Italian is not remotely flawless. We chat for a minute about Florence. He is charming. He looks a little like a young Colin Firth. And we all know how much I love a young Colin Firth. I totally chickened out when he said, "You need-a some-a company, eh?" It has become a total reflex, to politely dodge people trying to sell me carpets, or ply me with mystery drinks, or offer to be my Egyptian husband. So without thinking I smile and offer a lame excuse, thank you but no thank you, and he is not pushy so he says good night and walks away.
And then I realize what I have done, and am completely and utterly dismayed. So now I am left sitting in the piazza with wine and time to reflect, and what I am reflecting upon is this: when a charming and handsome young Italian man, Colin Firth with an accent, strolls by and asks if you need-a some company, YOU SAY YES, you fool, what are you, just AFRAID OF HAPPINESS? Damn. This is is an even worse decision than, say, committing to a six-hour bike ride in Dar. I had a fight with myself on the way home. There was cursing. "Sure, join me for a glass of wine," would have done nicely. "Absolutely, pull up a chair," would have been fine. And I remind myself, you have to be careful about your Travel Face. You use it when you have to, to keep from being beseiged in markets and, well, anywhere in Egypt. But your Travel Face isn't who you are, and it shouldn't be used out of habit, because there goes Colin Firth. Again I say, damn.
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