Beating the Heat in Florence

Our trip from Venice to Florence marked the halfway point of the guided portion of our Europe tour. It seemed ages ago that I had ridden the Tube through London and admired the murky Thames from the top of St. Paul’s. The weather in Italy was unforgivingly hot, and our bus strained to keep the air conditioner blasting hard enough to keep everyone happy.

In fact, the bus eventually gave up and we clanked our way to a roadside rest area with a flat tire. It being a weekend, the service station was closed, even though we could see the hydraulic lifts and repair machinery through the glass doors. With only a mild groan, we held our impromptu lunch picnic one hour early and in the parking lot.

When it became clear that no form of assistance was hurrying to us anytime soon, some tour members heeded the call and struggled along with Ricardo to fix his coach’s tire.

Jerry, Walt and Matt provided manpower. Sandy wandered off from the group and showed up later with a local truck driver ready to help. Ragen “manned the phone” inside the air-conditioned bus, which we all of course teased him about for the rest of the day. To be fair, I didn’t do much of anything except snap photos and help guard the spare tire.

With everyone pitching in, the tire was fixed and we were soon on our way again. Upon reaching Florence, we checked in to our hotel and headed straight to the Uffizi gallery for a firsthand look at Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.

Cross-cultural Education

All us kids—Kyle, Kelle, Natalie, Zach, Tyler, Ragen, Angie and myself—took a late-night excursion to Space Electronic, a Florentine nightclub with a busy dance floor and a heavy crowd of foreigners. I was enjoying the atmosphere but had to hightail it back to the hotel “early” (1:00 am) to make curfew before the front desk closed up for the night.

Michelangelo’s David was mighty fine, but I was even more impressed with his unfinished Prisoners statues, each figure trying to free itself from its own block of marble.

Climbing to the top of Giotto’s beautiful, cake-like bell tower was worth it for the view of the city and of the nearby Duomo cathedral. Back down below, we didn’t feel like paying the six euros each to see Ghiberti’s original baptistery door panels, so we instead contented ourselves with quietly studying the panels through the museum’s glass exit doors.

After yet another yummy gelateria stop, this time at Vivoli’s, we thought to ourselves: “We’re in Florence! Art capital of the world. Priceless architectural treasures. What shall we go do now?” And so we did laundry in our hotel room sink. It was 100 degrees outside after all, and gelati can sustain one for only so long.

Night on the Town

After drumming up a dinner party—Walt, Cathy, Mariellen and ourselves—we discovered a pleasantly cheap but hearty cafeteria one block from downtown. Our chef had a sense of humor.

Chef: “You want-a cheese on you-a pasta?”
Me: “Yes, please.”
Chef (sad): “Why-y-y? Why you want-a the cheese?”

Chef (to Angie): “You want-a cheese on you-a pasta?”
Angie (wisely): “No, thank you.”
Chef (sad): “Why-y-y? Why you no want-a the cheese?”

On an after-dinner walk back to the town square, I was grossed out by the statue of Perseus holding Medusa’s severed head, full of wriggly snakes. A little girl posing for a photo had her hand swatted off the statue by a carabinieri guard, but he smiled at her just the same. We continued walking, all the way down to the Arno River and the Ponte Vecchia bridge for one last look at the rapidly falling Florentine sun.