I Left My Kids and Indulged in a Week of Pizza and Polizia: A Trip Report to Rome and Florence
Aug 25th, 2008, 09:49 AM
#101
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mebe,
You're a natural and hilarious writer. I haven't laughed that hard in awhile. Most fun trip report I've ever read. Do you have a Kindle yet? If so, you ought to write a Kindle book.
That Rick Steves Modern Art book, cover by artist daughter, was a riot.
Many thanks! When you get to Florence portion, I have a high recommendation for an alternative not far from where you were staying.
Will we be seeing your photos also? Including your self-portraits that so interested the museum guard?
You're one gutsy gal.
- Andrys
--
http://www.pbase.com/andrys/italy
You're a natural and hilarious writer. I haven't laughed that hard in awhile. Most fun trip report I've ever read. Do you have a Kindle yet? If so, you ought to write a Kindle book.
That Rick Steves Modern Art book, cover by artist daughter, was a riot.
Many thanks! When you get to Florence portion, I have a high recommendation for an alternative not far from where you were staying.
Will we be seeing your photos also? Including your self-portraits that so interested the museum guard?
You're one gutsy gal.
- Andrys
--
http://www.pbase.com/andrys/italy
Aug 25th, 2008, 02:36 PM
#102
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Mebe - you're killing me with anticipation! I have been travelling to Florence twice a year for the last 7 years - other places, too, but always there - and this will be the first time, in October, that I will go alone. Granted I know the city well and needless to say love it, but I am anxious to hear of your adventures there. May I suggest that next time you follow your heart and stay in Oltrarno? There's a wonderful place, fantastically located, where you will be well looked after in superb surroundings: www.florencepalace.it. You won't think the room is small and you're steps from loads of restaurants, and a short walk to the centro storico. I can't wait to go, though I'm thinking it will be strange this time.
Please do get your Florence report in! We are panting...
Please do get your Florence report in! We are panting...
Aug 27th, 2008, 07:48 AM
#103
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andrys -- thank you for all your compliments. Your pictures are lovely, by the way.
Yes, I'm mulling over posting some of my own.
sandra -- sorry to keep you panting!
I'm recovering from a sinus infection (that has infected the whole family). So I've been going to bed early and not sitting down at the computer.
By the way, at the moment, I'm standing at the computer, because my kids are awake and we don't have chairs in the house. You can probably imagine why, lol.
Yes, I'm mulling over posting some of my own.
sandra -- sorry to keep you panting!
I'm recovering from a sinus infection (that has infected the whole family). So I've been going to bed early and not sitting down at the computer.
By the way, at the moment, I'm standing at the computer, because my kids are awake and we don't have chairs in the house. You can probably imagine why, lol.
Aug 27th, 2008, 08:01 AM
#104
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Okay, I've been thinking about this and can't come up with the answer - why is it that you don't have chairs in the house? Can't quite figure out whether it has something to do with children, because everyone else I know with kids has chairs.
Aug 27th, 2008, 09:06 AM
#106
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Hazel - yes, it is the children. It began about six months ago when they learned that flipped chairs makes a great sound. And if a sibling is on the chair, even better.
Then the older sister showed them how to use the chair to access the kitchen counters, and other non-child proofed areas that held all the really fun stuff - like knifes.
But the boys are young (will be two in October) and they are slowly learning. Hopefully, within the next six months, the chairs will come back during the day. And maybe even the coffee table, too.
Then the older sister showed them how to use the chair to access the kitchen counters, and other non-child proofed areas that held all the really fun stuff - like knifes.
But the boys are young (will be two in October) and they are slowly learning. Hopefully, within the next six months, the chairs will come back during the day. And maybe even the coffee table, too.
Aug 27th, 2008, 10:46 AM
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hi Myra!
I've been loving your report! I had hoped I might manage to get over to Rome or Florence that week, but it wasn't to be - did you get my email by the way? I am so glad you had a good time.
Anyway, re the chairs - been there too! It will pass, on to the next stage! Someone once asked me 'does it get better?' and I replied, 'well, it changes...'. But try to enjoy it all because it is such a gloriously short time. My boys are 15 now, but I won't alarm you with what they are up to now!
I have my next solo trip coming up early in October, just 3 days in Dubrovnik, and I am so looking forward to escaping from the kids again!
I've been loving your report! I had hoped I might manage to get over to Rome or Florence that week, but it wasn't to be - did you get my email by the way? I am so glad you had a good time.
Anyway, re the chairs - been there too! It will pass, on to the next stage! Someone once asked me 'does it get better?' and I replied, 'well, it changes...'. But try to enjoy it all because it is such a gloriously short time. My boys are 15 now, but I won't alarm you with what they are up to now!
I have my next solo trip coming up early in October, just 3 days in Dubrovnik, and I am so looking forward to escaping from the kids again!
Aug 27th, 2008, 11:11 AM
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Hi Julia --
I didn't get your email...was it in responce to the pictures I sent, before my trip? I'll try emailing you again.
Yes, I'm at peace with my lack of furniture, or pictures on the walls (since the climb the sofa, which is harder to remove, lol) But it is so much easier than when they were infants! Those were very tough days...
Alright, I brought the chair out to write a little so I'll back to it.
Great to hear from you, Julia
~M
I didn't get your email...was it in responce to the pictures I sent, before my trip? I'll try emailing you again.
Yes, I'm at peace with my lack of furniture, or pictures on the walls (since the climb the sofa, which is harder to remove, lol) But it is so much easier than when they were infants! Those were very tough days...
Alright, I brought the chair out to write a little so I'll back to it.
Great to hear from you, Julia
~M
Aug 29th, 2008, 02:10 PM
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Worse case scenarios occupied my mind while I packed my things: the alarm won’t work and I’ll miss my train (pack your toothpaste). I’ll get on the wrong train (check the closet for clothes). I’ll get mugged in the train station -- what time am I setting the alarm for again? (Just look alert, and you settled on 5:50) Do I have everything packed? (I hope so.)
After a restless nights sleep, I woke up strangely refreshed, said a quiet goodbye to my little room with a view and as quietly as possible, dragged my two bags through the hallway and down the stone staircase to my taxi. Fifteen minutes and eleven Euros later, I arrived at the station. It was still wakening up from the night and eerily empty. A few other travelers stood with their bags, checking the computer screens and hoping their train number popped up. Scruffy, lone men wandered.
This sucks, I decided. I rolled my bag around, constantly checking the computer screen, peeking into the closed store windows, always keeping an empty five foot radius around me. This method worked for a while, until I noticed other people buying snacks and magazines, and thought maybe I should get a little something to eat, a newspaper to read. I moved myself near a closed shop, and without anyone around, I un-zipped my large bag, which held my purse, which held my wallet, and began looking for coins. In my periphery vision, I saw her. And she was coming right at me.
OH MY GOD. The hairs on my back of my neck raised, my instinct alert: watch out -- she looks suspicious; her brown leather jacket old, her shoes dirty, hair untidy. She held her purse with a grip, too tight. Okay, stay calm, I thought. Those stories of people being robbed or attacked flitted through my mind. I quickly zipped up my bag, swung it back over my shoulder, and grabbed my roller. She walked towards me, and looked past me with alert, agitated eyes. I glared at her and twisted my body and bags away as she casually stepped around me. I was not the distracted tourist she hoped for afterall. HA! I thought. Bring it on, thieving bitch! Bring - it - on! A bit of adrenaline produced too much bravado and thankfully, I kept it to myself. I successfully navigated away from my first assailant. Perhaps standing with a crowd was a better idea.
More travelers had gathered near the tracks and I joined them. Girls traveling together eyed me suspiciously, with envy or pity, I couldn’t decide. And I envied the couples who leaned on each other for comfort. How I missed Aaron’s shoulder for my weary head. Finally, my train arrived and climbed aboard. Deep breathe and relax.
I rummaged through my bag searching for my Ipod for the 1.5 hour ride. A man sat across from me. He wore reflective sunglasses with a hairstyle and attire that mimicked the late eighties. Definitely not the chic stereotypical Italian we are programmed to admire. But then his cell phone rang, jolting him out of his physical time warp and he purred out a quiet “prego?” Oh, how sultry. That voice makes up for a lot, I thought.
I looked forward to seeing the hills of Umbria and Tuscany for a second time. My first experience was riding shotgun next to Aaron, who drove our sporty Alfa Romeo like an honorary Italian. I was the “panicker” and Aaron was “quick thinker” and together we made a traveling team: I panicked, he ignored me, and it always worked out.
This tour by train was more relaxing but not as scenic. I saw the countryside from a backwards position and all its glory was broken up by numerous tunnels. Rolling green fields covered in pillows of yellow wild flowers - BAM – black tunnel. A mass of red poppies growing next to stone farm house – BAM-- black tunnel.
I arrived in Florence and the station was busy with the quiet roar of travelers. I had the directions to Hotel Casci in hand, and did my best to follow the left here and take a right here, through the tunnel, and then right, then left – oh there was no point. I got lost almost immediately. I’m just hopeless. But I will say, that the underground tunnel was not dark with gangs of kids waiting to rob and stab you, like I envisioned from Rick Steve’s book. It is more like an underground mall: you can get a hair cut, buy a new outfit and jump online to email pictures of your new Italian self to all your friends.
Nothing like walking with the rattle of luggage following every step, reminded you that you are a tourist and you look as lost as you feel. I walked towards the Duomo – a quick WOW – then found my street and actually found my hotel. YAHOO! I didn’t get lost; I just took a very round-about trail to my destination. I stepped into the reception at 9:50, too early to check in, but I was aware of that, no problem. The older woman welcomed me like a daughter. She told me where to put my bags and offered me a cafe and cornetto for breakfast. Si, grazie! I sipped my cappuccino and sank into a quiet excitement; I was in Florence: a new city to explore and create memories, all my own.
After a restless nights sleep, I woke up strangely refreshed, said a quiet goodbye to my little room with a view and as quietly as possible, dragged my two bags through the hallway and down the stone staircase to my taxi. Fifteen minutes and eleven Euros later, I arrived at the station. It was still wakening up from the night and eerily empty. A few other travelers stood with their bags, checking the computer screens and hoping their train number popped up. Scruffy, lone men wandered.
This sucks, I decided. I rolled my bag around, constantly checking the computer screen, peeking into the closed store windows, always keeping an empty five foot radius around me. This method worked for a while, until I noticed other people buying snacks and magazines, and thought maybe I should get a little something to eat, a newspaper to read. I moved myself near a closed shop, and without anyone around, I un-zipped my large bag, which held my purse, which held my wallet, and began looking for coins. In my periphery vision, I saw her. And she was coming right at me.
OH MY GOD. The hairs on my back of my neck raised, my instinct alert: watch out -- she looks suspicious; her brown leather jacket old, her shoes dirty, hair untidy. She held her purse with a grip, too tight. Okay, stay calm, I thought. Those stories of people being robbed or attacked flitted through my mind. I quickly zipped up my bag, swung it back over my shoulder, and grabbed my roller. She walked towards me, and looked past me with alert, agitated eyes. I glared at her and twisted my body and bags away as she casually stepped around me. I was not the distracted tourist she hoped for afterall. HA! I thought. Bring it on, thieving bitch! Bring - it - on! A bit of adrenaline produced too much bravado and thankfully, I kept it to myself. I successfully navigated away from my first assailant. Perhaps standing with a crowd was a better idea.
More travelers had gathered near the tracks and I joined them. Girls traveling together eyed me suspiciously, with envy or pity, I couldn’t decide. And I envied the couples who leaned on each other for comfort. How I missed Aaron’s shoulder for my weary head. Finally, my train arrived and climbed aboard. Deep breathe and relax.
I rummaged through my bag searching for my Ipod for the 1.5 hour ride. A man sat across from me. He wore reflective sunglasses with a hairstyle and attire that mimicked the late eighties. Definitely not the chic stereotypical Italian we are programmed to admire. But then his cell phone rang, jolting him out of his physical time warp and he purred out a quiet “prego?” Oh, how sultry. That voice makes up for a lot, I thought.
I looked forward to seeing the hills of Umbria and Tuscany for a second time. My first experience was riding shotgun next to Aaron, who drove our sporty Alfa Romeo like an honorary Italian. I was the “panicker” and Aaron was “quick thinker” and together we made a traveling team: I panicked, he ignored me, and it always worked out.
This tour by train was more relaxing but not as scenic. I saw the countryside from a backwards position and all its glory was broken up by numerous tunnels. Rolling green fields covered in pillows of yellow wild flowers - BAM – black tunnel. A mass of red poppies growing next to stone farm house – BAM-- black tunnel.
I arrived in Florence and the station was busy with the quiet roar of travelers. I had the directions to Hotel Casci in hand, and did my best to follow the left here and take a right here, through the tunnel, and then right, then left – oh there was no point. I got lost almost immediately. I’m just hopeless. But I will say, that the underground tunnel was not dark with gangs of kids waiting to rob and stab you, like I envisioned from Rick Steve’s book. It is more like an underground mall: you can get a hair cut, buy a new outfit and jump online to email pictures of your new Italian self to all your friends.
Nothing like walking with the rattle of luggage following every step, reminded you that you are a tourist and you look as lost as you feel. I walked towards the Duomo – a quick WOW – then found my street and actually found my hotel. YAHOO! I didn’t get lost; I just took a very round-about trail to my destination. I stepped into the reception at 9:50, too early to check in, but I was aware of that, no problem. The older woman welcomed me like a daughter. She told me where to put my bags and offered me a cafe and cornetto for breakfast. Si, grazie! I sipped my cappuccino and sank into a quiet excitement; I was in Florence: a new city to explore and create memories, all my own.
Aug 29th, 2008, 02:35 PM
#111
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I had a couple of hours before my official check-in, and after consulting my maps, I decided to begin my tour with San Lorenzo Basilica, only a block from the hotel.
The church was, well, I honestly don’t remember – so I guess it wasn’t memorable. Or at this point, I had visited so many churches that this one blended in with the rest.
I forgot to go the Bibliotheca, which I’m sure would have been remarkable. But the San Lorenzo market – wow.
Leather belts, purses, gloves and wallets smothered the stalls in a wide spectrum of color and filled the air with the rich smell of leather, enticing me to buy something – anything! Lots of tourists were shopping and meandering; women pet and squished bags while their husbands rolled their eyes or hammered out a price with the shopkeeper. I felt light and euphoric and the urge to buy was consuming me. Well, I did promise Aaron a new wallet…
I handled a few and the man pounced. I explained I wanted a man’s wallet, something thin. He showed me a nice one, for 20E. Oh….hmmm…too much. I’ll think about it. Okay – 15E! I didn’t know this was a haggling place – I’ve never haggled before! Good thing to know. But I moved on.
The Medici Chapel saved my wallet, momentarily. After the medal detector, I entered a white crypt with low arched ceilings, filled with tombs (and bones?). Is this it? What a disappointment! How…boring. I saw a staircase that I assumed was the exit and started to leave. But it wasn’t the exit….
When I turned the corner and entered the octagonal Medici chapel, my jaw dropped and I uttered one of biggest, most surprised “WOW’s” of the trip. It felt bold and powerful –a refreshing change from the cathedrals and their soft frescos. My inner mineralogist gawked at the large feldspar phenocryts inlaid within the granite, the ribbons of squished iron-rich minerals in the marbles, the pebbles sliced and shiny in the polished conglomerate. Some mountains are missing some spectacular rock. And we get to admire their natural beauty in the mosaics of this Medici chapel. This was a major highlight of my trip, and a great introduction to the Medici legacy.
The outdoor San Lorenzo Market led me into the indoor Mercato Centrale. Once again the sights and smells excited my senses. Butchers sliced colossal slabs of meat into steaks. Roosters and rabbits, with heads still attached were piled in the display cases, next to tubs of tripe and intestine. I tub of pig snout caught my eye. I took pictures of the barrels of sardines, Aaron’s favorite.
Other stalls sold a rainbow of pasta in various shapes and sizes, including hearts and the Duomo, bottles of olive oil and bags of dried herbs, mushrooms and tomatoes. Upstairs was the grandest “farmers market” I ever witnessed: purple artichokes and onions, cabbages, strawberries large and petite. Within the tourist mayhem, regular folk bought their produce, chatted with shop owners, lived an ordinary day. I bought a basket of strawberries for 1.20E and completed my lunch-to-go with a panini from downstairs.
Outside again, surrounded by wallets, I made another try for Aaron. I found a wallet I liked: thin, plenty of slots for cards, black, soft leather. The young guy said 23E.
Oh that is too much.
What do you want to spend?
Hmm…how about 15E?
15E….I can sell you this other wallet for that. Y
eah, I don’t want a brown wallet. I really wanted the black one, but I not for 23E…
How about 18E, he replied.
Deal, I said.
My first haggle – I’m sure it wasn’t a bargain and perhaps I got a bit ripped off, but it was more fun than I expected and I happily skipped back to the hotel to officially check in.
The church was, well, I honestly don’t remember – so I guess it wasn’t memorable. Or at this point, I had visited so many churches that this one blended in with the rest.
I forgot to go the Bibliotheca, which I’m sure would have been remarkable. But the San Lorenzo market – wow.
Leather belts, purses, gloves and wallets smothered the stalls in a wide spectrum of color and filled the air with the rich smell of leather, enticing me to buy something – anything! Lots of tourists were shopping and meandering; women pet and squished bags while their husbands rolled their eyes or hammered out a price with the shopkeeper. I felt light and euphoric and the urge to buy was consuming me. Well, I did promise Aaron a new wallet…
I handled a few and the man pounced. I explained I wanted a man’s wallet, something thin. He showed me a nice one, for 20E. Oh….hmmm…too much. I’ll think about it. Okay – 15E! I didn’t know this was a haggling place – I’ve never haggled before! Good thing to know. But I moved on.
The Medici Chapel saved my wallet, momentarily. After the medal detector, I entered a white crypt with low arched ceilings, filled with tombs (and bones?). Is this it? What a disappointment! How…boring. I saw a staircase that I assumed was the exit and started to leave. But it wasn’t the exit….
When I turned the corner and entered the octagonal Medici chapel, my jaw dropped and I uttered one of biggest, most surprised “WOW’s” of the trip. It felt bold and powerful –a refreshing change from the cathedrals and their soft frescos. My inner mineralogist gawked at the large feldspar phenocryts inlaid within the granite, the ribbons of squished iron-rich minerals in the marbles, the pebbles sliced and shiny in the polished conglomerate. Some mountains are missing some spectacular rock. And we get to admire their natural beauty in the mosaics of this Medici chapel. This was a major highlight of my trip, and a great introduction to the Medici legacy.
The outdoor San Lorenzo Market led me into the indoor Mercato Centrale. Once again the sights and smells excited my senses. Butchers sliced colossal slabs of meat into steaks. Roosters and rabbits, with heads still attached were piled in the display cases, next to tubs of tripe and intestine. I tub of pig snout caught my eye. I took pictures of the barrels of sardines, Aaron’s favorite.
Other stalls sold a rainbow of pasta in various shapes and sizes, including hearts and the Duomo, bottles of olive oil and bags of dried herbs, mushrooms and tomatoes. Upstairs was the grandest “farmers market” I ever witnessed: purple artichokes and onions, cabbages, strawberries large and petite. Within the tourist mayhem, regular folk bought their produce, chatted with shop owners, lived an ordinary day. I bought a basket of strawberries for 1.20E and completed my lunch-to-go with a panini from downstairs.
Outside again, surrounded by wallets, I made another try for Aaron. I found a wallet I liked: thin, plenty of slots for cards, black, soft leather. The young guy said 23E.
Oh that is too much.
What do you want to spend?
Hmm…how about 15E?
15E….I can sell you this other wallet for that. Y
eah, I don’t want a brown wallet. I really wanted the black one, but I not for 23E…
How about 18E, he replied.
Deal, I said.
My first haggle – I’m sure it wasn’t a bargain and perhaps I got a bit ripped off, but it was more fun than I expected and I happily skipped back to the hotel to officially check in.
Aug 29th, 2008, 03:07 PM
#112
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Mebe,
Thanks for the update to the trip report - I always get a bit worried when trip reports aren't finished
Hope all of you are feeling better after having sinus infections - I sometimes get chronic sinus infections...you feel horrible, tired, and well, sinusy.
I shouted with laughter with your description of your early morning in Termini - as I was reading, I almost thought you actually shouted 'Bring It On!' to the woman. As a solo traveler, you must have been worried about that for a while, and I can only imagine how great you felt for having stared down a possible pickpocketing!
Your descriptions for the San Lorenzo food market are lovely - I'm a bit jealous since we arrived to late for the food, only for the clothing/leather market.
Can't wait for more!
Thanks for the update to the trip report - I always get a bit worried when trip reports aren't finished
Hope all of you are feeling better after having sinus infections - I sometimes get chronic sinus infections...you feel horrible, tired, and well, sinusy.
I shouted with laughter with your description of your early morning in Termini - as I was reading, I almost thought you actually shouted 'Bring It On!' to the woman. As a solo traveler, you must have been worried about that for a while, and I can only imagine how great you felt for having stared down a possible pickpocketing!
Your descriptions for the San Lorenzo food market are lovely - I'm a bit jealous since we arrived to late for the food, only for the clothing/leather market.
Can't wait for more!
Aug 29th, 2008, 10:44 PM
#113
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Ah mebe, as usual I am so enjoying your trip report, I am travelling right along with you. I think the price for the wallet was good, Italian leather is so wonderful! I love, absolutely love your ability to describe what you saw, how you felt, you are a talented writer! And leaving the train station, been there, done that, beautiful memories! Where am I? Is this the right way? LOL. Sending you a hug and hope you are feeling better. It has been so hot here in the Sacramento Valley but it sounds like the weather will get much cooler starting tomorrow. That is great except the extreme change always causes a lot of us to feel miserable too. Can't win for losing, sigh.
Wishing you and your family a lovely Labor Day weekend!
Wishing you and your family a lovely Labor Day weekend!
Aug 30th, 2008, 08:04 AM
#116
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Yes -- I'll keep going until the end. No Olympics or political conventions (for a day or two) or Netflix or sinus infection to distract me this weekend.
Loveitaly -- hasn't it been hot? We have fog this morning -- what a blessing.
Anna - lol. I wish I was type to say that stuff out loud.
Loveitaly -- hasn't it been hot? We have fog this morning -- what a blessing.
Anna - lol. I wish I was type to say that stuff out loud.
Sep 2nd, 2008, 10:17 AM
#117
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I'm trying photobucket out -- so before I put the effort into a trip album here is one of the boys...
http://i387.photobucket.com/albums/o...oys-on-bed.jpg
http://i387.photobucket.com/albums/o...oys-on-bed.jpg
Sep 2nd, 2008, 11:29 AM
#120
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Hotel Casci consumes one floor of the building, I assume, since each room is attached to a long, hallway with twists and turns, a few steps up and a few more down. My room was next to the laundry room and was a little underwhelming, like I stated before. I ate my lunch at the little desk; with the door (and only window) open and discovered the dank inner courtyard and wafting sewer smells. But it was raining and church bells were ringing and I decided that sound overruled smell, for now.
I had a reservation for the Uffizi at 3 pm, which gave me time to shower (and dry off with the equivalent of a dish towel), change clothes and do a little sightseeing along my way. The hotel was two blocks north of the Duomo and all its tourist mayhem. The line into the Duomo wrapped around its massive side, but there wasn’t a line into the Baptistery.
The Baptistry was a delight. I love mosaics and the mini golden squares created an exquisite picture. I was baffled that people would rather see the inside of a cathedral than a circular room with a golden ceiling. (I was even more baffled after I visited the Duomo interior myself, but I’m jumping ahead…)
The walk from the Duomo down via Calzaiuoli to the Piazza della Signoria was jam packed of people. Driving in the historical center is limited, because the roads aren’t for cars – they exist to fit the constant parade of people. It’s like us foreigners took over. Screw the sidewalks – we want the road! I would recommend the city to anyone taking their first trip to Europe who was worried about culture shock. Want a hot dog? No problem! Follow the neon bright signs -- they sell them along with burgers and fries and sodas with ice! Don’t speak Italian? No problem – neither do we! Alright – that last part probably isn’t accurate. Okay, I’m done ranting.
Almost done… my negative reaction to the crowds in Florence was comparable to my first visit to a National Park. Growing up my family spent a week or two camping in the Sierra Nevada: hiking four miles with heavy pack, beds were sleeping bags on the ground (tarps for rain), we ate off a campfire, played in a roaring creek, watched for rattlesnakes and the bathroom was a quiet place behind a tree.
When I was twenty and experienced my first National Park (Death Valley), I was horrified by not only the people in skirts and strappy sandals, but by the grocery stores, restaurants, hotels and flush toilets. It wasn’t the wilderness experience I was used to; it was an outdoor tourist trap. There was no struggle to survive, no suffering. Florence wasn’t the Italy I was used to: signs were in English, the people spoke English. I know - Rome isn’t off the beaten track, but perhaps because it is bigger it feels easier to avoid the crush. Alright, I’m done. Swear this time. Moving on…
At the Uffizi there are several lines: tour group line, reservation line and a non reservation line. But before you enter the reservation line (window 1), you must cross the courtyard and wait in another line (window 3) where they turn your emailed confirmation code into a legitimate ticket. At window 3, they only let you in 10 minutes prior to your scheduled reservation – arriving early just guarantees a longer wait. A group of us pretended to nonchalantly wait, until the guard gave us the okay -- then casual turned rabid mania and we all made a mad dash into the room to line up at the two windows. I took the window on the left and another couple took the window on the right.
The two ladies working the windows were in the middle of a chat which took precedence over us. Oh, this is classic-- this lives up to that Italian stereotype! I could chuckle and enjoy the “cultural experience” because I was lucky. My lady processed my ticket while listening and laughing at her friend, who continued with her dramatic tale, with her back to the couple patiently waiting at her window. The tourists gave up and left to stand in the line forming behind me. Gossip lady lazily spun her chair to face her window, now empty, and seeing no one there, spun it back to her friend to continue her story. Hilarious.
I had my ticket! And I sprinted across the courtyard to window 1. I’m not sure who I was racing or why my spontaneous competitive spirit. Running from window to window wouldn’t guarantee a better museum experience. I was one person on the museum highway – people would always be in front and behind, no matter the speed I ran. But there is something satisfying about being first in line; and oh so crushing when reality hits and a colossal tour group empties into the museum before you. Yet the lone traveler always has the advantage against the group – no waiting for the slow pokes! While the group attached their head gear, I ran up two flights of stairs to beat them. Again, not sure why all the dashing; yes, I was in front of one massive group but right behind another.
The Uffizi is known for its crowds. But the museum was populated mostly by tour groups, which was a bonus – it condensed a lot of people into one room, leaving other rooms almost empty. Some rooms I rushed through (I missed Michelangelo) but in others I lingered in a near empty room, and drank in Titan, Lippi, Caravaggio and Botticelli. I thought of my Mom, the artist of our family, and wished I shared the experience with her.
After 1.5 hours, I was done. I’m a brick girl and not an art girl; I can absorb only so much before colors and images blur into each other; and the halls were muggy and stuffy with the rain outside and body heat inside. I was drained; I needed a rest and something to eat. But before I left, I hit the gift shop and emptied my wallet on prints and books.
And yes, I ate pizza for lunch. (I wasn’t aware how much pizza I ate, until I started writing this report…) I didn’t write down what type but I do remember the woman was very friendly, only spoke Italian (which I loved!) and along with my pizza I ordered a warm Coke (for caffeine) and an orange pastry for dessert.
I wandered my way back to the hotel, sticking to the smaller side streets and avoiding the tourist runway. I was still trying to get a feel for the real Florence. I expected the streets to be dark and narrow and feel more mischievous and a little more ominous. I had read “The Birth of Venus” and I was trying to find her Florence and a taste of the Renaissance. And though I tried not to, because it isn’t fair, I found myself again comparing it to Rome.
I discovered Osanmichele and gazed at the lovely frescos and ornate white altar while I rested my feet. Outside, I watched an Italian almost back their car into an American woman, making her spill her drink all over her white shirt. She was not pleased. I tried hard to not giggle. And I also saw real Florentines living normal lives on Italian streets filled with cars. I know that in the off-season this would be a marvelous city, and I won’t give up on it yet.
Back in my olive toned room I took Tylenol for my florescent-light induced migraine and called Aaron. Anarchy in the back ground: hubby scrambling to keep kids content (a fruitless act), the boys’ ride-on cars screeching out Winny the Pooh songs (that I’ve heard a million times). I talked to Ada and she said “Hi Mama – you’re a poo-poo head,” which to her, is a term of endearment. I was touched. I spent the rest of the evening with legs too tired to walk and forced to flip between CNN and MTV. Tomorrow I climb the Campile and visit Santa Croce.
I had a reservation for the Uffizi at 3 pm, which gave me time to shower (and dry off with the equivalent of a dish towel), change clothes and do a little sightseeing along my way. The hotel was two blocks north of the Duomo and all its tourist mayhem. The line into the Duomo wrapped around its massive side, but there wasn’t a line into the Baptistery.
The Baptistry was a delight. I love mosaics and the mini golden squares created an exquisite picture. I was baffled that people would rather see the inside of a cathedral than a circular room with a golden ceiling. (I was even more baffled after I visited the Duomo interior myself, but I’m jumping ahead…)
The walk from the Duomo down via Calzaiuoli to the Piazza della Signoria was jam packed of people. Driving in the historical center is limited, because the roads aren’t for cars – they exist to fit the constant parade of people. It’s like us foreigners took over. Screw the sidewalks – we want the road! I would recommend the city to anyone taking their first trip to Europe who was worried about culture shock. Want a hot dog? No problem! Follow the neon bright signs -- they sell them along with burgers and fries and sodas with ice! Don’t speak Italian? No problem – neither do we! Alright – that last part probably isn’t accurate. Okay, I’m done ranting.
Almost done… my negative reaction to the crowds in Florence was comparable to my first visit to a National Park. Growing up my family spent a week or two camping in the Sierra Nevada: hiking four miles with heavy pack, beds were sleeping bags on the ground (tarps for rain), we ate off a campfire, played in a roaring creek, watched for rattlesnakes and the bathroom was a quiet place behind a tree.
When I was twenty and experienced my first National Park (Death Valley), I was horrified by not only the people in skirts and strappy sandals, but by the grocery stores, restaurants, hotels and flush toilets. It wasn’t the wilderness experience I was used to; it was an outdoor tourist trap. There was no struggle to survive, no suffering. Florence wasn’t the Italy I was used to: signs were in English, the people spoke English. I know - Rome isn’t off the beaten track, but perhaps because it is bigger it feels easier to avoid the crush. Alright, I’m done. Swear this time. Moving on…
At the Uffizi there are several lines: tour group line, reservation line and a non reservation line. But before you enter the reservation line (window 1), you must cross the courtyard and wait in another line (window 3) where they turn your emailed confirmation code into a legitimate ticket. At window 3, they only let you in 10 minutes prior to your scheduled reservation – arriving early just guarantees a longer wait. A group of us pretended to nonchalantly wait, until the guard gave us the okay -- then casual turned rabid mania and we all made a mad dash into the room to line up at the two windows. I took the window on the left and another couple took the window on the right.
The two ladies working the windows were in the middle of a chat which took precedence over us. Oh, this is classic-- this lives up to that Italian stereotype! I could chuckle and enjoy the “cultural experience” because I was lucky. My lady processed my ticket while listening and laughing at her friend, who continued with her dramatic tale, with her back to the couple patiently waiting at her window. The tourists gave up and left to stand in the line forming behind me. Gossip lady lazily spun her chair to face her window, now empty, and seeing no one there, spun it back to her friend to continue her story. Hilarious.
I had my ticket! And I sprinted across the courtyard to window 1. I’m not sure who I was racing or why my spontaneous competitive spirit. Running from window to window wouldn’t guarantee a better museum experience. I was one person on the museum highway – people would always be in front and behind, no matter the speed I ran. But there is something satisfying about being first in line; and oh so crushing when reality hits and a colossal tour group empties into the museum before you. Yet the lone traveler always has the advantage against the group – no waiting for the slow pokes! While the group attached their head gear, I ran up two flights of stairs to beat them. Again, not sure why all the dashing; yes, I was in front of one massive group but right behind another.
The Uffizi is known for its crowds. But the museum was populated mostly by tour groups, which was a bonus – it condensed a lot of people into one room, leaving other rooms almost empty. Some rooms I rushed through (I missed Michelangelo) but in others I lingered in a near empty room, and drank in Titan, Lippi, Caravaggio and Botticelli. I thought of my Mom, the artist of our family, and wished I shared the experience with her.
After 1.5 hours, I was done. I’m a brick girl and not an art girl; I can absorb only so much before colors and images blur into each other; and the halls were muggy and stuffy with the rain outside and body heat inside. I was drained; I needed a rest and something to eat. But before I left, I hit the gift shop and emptied my wallet on prints and books.
And yes, I ate pizza for lunch. (I wasn’t aware how much pizza I ate, until I started writing this report…) I didn’t write down what type but I do remember the woman was very friendly, only spoke Italian (which I loved!) and along with my pizza I ordered a warm Coke (for caffeine) and an orange pastry for dessert.
I wandered my way back to the hotel, sticking to the smaller side streets and avoiding the tourist runway. I was still trying to get a feel for the real Florence. I expected the streets to be dark and narrow and feel more mischievous and a little more ominous. I had read “The Birth of Venus” and I was trying to find her Florence and a taste of the Renaissance. And though I tried not to, because it isn’t fair, I found myself again comparing it to Rome.
I discovered Osanmichele and gazed at the lovely frescos and ornate white altar while I rested my feet. Outside, I watched an Italian almost back their car into an American woman, making her spill her drink all over her white shirt. She was not pleased. I tried hard to not giggle. And I also saw real Florentines living normal lives on Italian streets filled with cars. I know that in the off-season this would be a marvelous city, and I won’t give up on it yet.
Back in my olive toned room I took Tylenol for my florescent-light induced migraine and called Aaron. Anarchy in the back ground: hubby scrambling to keep kids content (a fruitless act), the boys’ ride-on cars screeching out Winny the Pooh songs (that I’ve heard a million times). I talked to Ada and she said “Hi Mama – you’re a poo-poo head,” which to her, is a term of endearment. I was touched. I spent the rest of the evening with legs too tired to walk and forced to flip between CNN and MTV. Tomorrow I climb the Campile and visit Santa Croce.
