Today we hopped a train to Rome, bidding ‘ciao’ to Florence after several slow-paced days of espressos, gelato, a little live music, markets and fine weather.  It was a lovely time, but I’m glad to be moving along.

This morning as we walked over the bridge and down quiet streets toward the train station, we discussed the merits of staying put for multiple days and nights – in the case of Florence, like Paris, it was five.  Long enough to form a groove: a running route, a favorite cafe – but not so long that it all began to grow stale (a thing Florence, admittedly, came close to).

Last night we sat on the bridge nearest our apartment, pecking at cones of gelato with teeny tiny plastic spoons, and compiled a ‘top ten’ list for Florence.  It went like this (and, in case it’s of interest, mine are the odds and David’s the evens):
1. The River
2. The ‘skyline’ from the hills
3. Gelato
4. The consistency in architecture
5. The light
6. Ancient Statues. Everywhere.
7. Cypress trees
8. The statue of David
9. House wine
10. Three-course meals as the norm
11. The music

I couldn’t resist adding that last one – and, really, it should have been number 1.  We managed to encounter live music every night – the first instance of which occurred after dinner on our first night.  As we walked ‘home’ to our apartment, we heard a familiar Johnny Cash song wafting up the street and impulsively ducked into the bar from where the music came.  Soon we were tapping our feet to some impressively good renditions of comforting favorites.  The singer ended with a boisterous rendition of John Denver’s ‘Country Road,’ altering the chorus to ‘Chianti road,’ which, I later observed (from the window of our apartment), was also the name of the bar. ‘West Virginia,’ has never sounded as charming as it does in an Italian accent.

When we paid the tab that night, David asked the bartender how we could leave a tip for the singer.  The bartender shook his head and smiled ‘no.’  The singer was also the owner of the bar – he didn’t want any tips.

On another night in a nearby piazza we happened upon a benefit concert titled ‘Ferma il Bastardo,” which, directly translated, means ’Stop the Bastard’ – combating violence against women.  On that night, and the following two, we enjoyed impressive (to my unschooled ears) jazz performances, drawing a large crowd (and lots of cigarette smoke).

But, for me, the high point of Florence was the evening I finally got out for a much needed run, escaping into the hills on the outer edge of the city – the very ones from which Galileo once observed the stars.  As I ran along a street called Michelangelo (naturally), the sun was setting and from my vantage point the city practically glowed.  Funny how much the change of light can do for a place.

I would; however, be lying if I said that Florence stole my heart.

While the charm of the old buildings with windows flanked by hunter green shutters was not lost on me, I couldn’t help but notice that Florence seems to exist solely for the purpose of catering to tourists.  Which, yes, I realize is what I am (even in my state of denial).  Most places we ate at offered English translations of the dishes, and when I walked into a cafe, I found I didn’t even fein an attempt at my poor pronunciation of ‘Buongiorno.’  More commonly, I was greeted with ‘hi.’

This isn’t to say Florence was devoid of all cultural distinctiveness.  There was that afternoon at the market when I met up with David as he bit uncertainly into a greasy sandwich he’d just purchased from a street vendor.

“Remind me to Google ‘lambornetti’,” he said.  “I have a feeling I’m eating stomach lining.” (Indeed he was).

But there was also something slightly ‘Disneyland’ about the whole experience.  It’s a thing I wasn’t able to put my finger on until this evening at dinner beneath a large umbrella in rain-soaked Rome.  Florence has the bones of a genuine ancient city.  It’s gorgeous and it’s charming and it’s magical.  But there was hardly a moment when I wasn’t sidestepping walking tour groups on the extremely narrow sidewalks.  And somehow that, for me, stole away from the show.

We have agreed that we’re less ‘city’ people and more ‘middle of nowhere’ people.  This was made abundantly clear one night at dinner – a carafe of wine in front of us, stomachs full of some of the best potato gnocchi I’ve ever eaten – when David asked me:

“Where would you be right now if you could just snap your fingers?”
“On a motorbike on a country road in Vietnam,” I said easily. “You?”
“Hiking in the Himalayas.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “that, too.”

I reflected on that conversation this morning as I watched the Tuscan countryside fly by me at 240 km an hour.  Italy truly is a site to behold.  I feel torn between the desire to spend another five weeks exploring it…and also an eagerness to get out.  To experience something else.  Something more…different.

I suppose this is another part of the process: learning the kinds of traveler that we are.

So with that, we’re making some ‘alterations’ to our future travel plans (fuzzy as they were to begin with).  To be continued in a future post, stay tuned…