Firenze: Old Souls in New Forms

     Disembarking from the train in Florence was like stepping into a whole new world after Milan. We'd both fallen asleep after leaving the city, despite Abbie's determination to stay awake and write. I woke up in the dark of the Bologna train station, our approximate half way point. After that, the train, which was a high speed train (we had not realized this when we bought the tickets, otherwise we would have understood why they were so expensive and probably gone to look for other options) dashed in and out of tunnels, giving me glimpses of the Tuscan countryside. Outside Milan had looked just like Iowa. The fleeting teasers of Tuscany looked nothing like Iowa. So it was with a light heart, if heavy eyes, that I stepped out into Florence.
Now, Florence has done a lot of things right. It's a beautiful city, with a wonderful heritage that stretches back centuries and houses the works of some of the greatest artists who have ever lived. The city seems to be proud of this, and rightly so. They have put great effort into preserving the atmosphere of what was once the city of the Medici's. Except for the train station. The train station is a remnant of the 1950's with it's cement blocks, rounded corners, and windowless facades. We were ever so slightly dismayed, but our dismay quickly turned to awe as we rounded the corner of a church courtyard and found ourselves in the Piazza Santa Maria Novella. The square has everything a square should have: a fountain, a church, green space, and benches. The church is clearly the centerpiece, but the surrounding buildings hold their own as well. It was beautiful.

     The sun was shining, and all of the sudden we were undeniably in Italy. We could see the top of the Duomo as we wandered around the various streets trying to find our hostel, before stumbling upon it far closer to the square than we had thought possible. We climbed the three flights of stairs, checked in, and dumped our bags onto the twin beds they'd assigned to us. We looked askance at the shower standing casually in the corner of the room, the only barrier being the semi-opaque glass of the shower itself. Abbie went to the bathroom and came back with a sigh of relief. "There are normal showers in there. With doors.", she said. And with that, we left the hostel, diving back into the Tuscan sun.

     Our plan was, as it tends to be, fairly vague. We knew we wanted to see the Duomo, and the Medici Chapel, etc., but we didn't have a set route we were going to follow, or certain streets to walk down. If we had, we would have lost out on some beautiful moments. We had managed to get a hold of a free map on one of the brochures advertising Tuscan day-trips, and with little more than: "Let's go there!", we began our Florentine adventures. 

     Since our appetite for the cathedral with the famous dome had been whetted by the brief glimpses we'd had of it on our search for the hostel, and because we knew roughly in which direction it lay, we decided to start there. As we scrambled around construction scaffolding and around tour groups, watching the Dome gradually become larger, I became more and more giddy. 

     It didn't take long, and before we realized just how close we were, we rounded a corner, and my jaw dropped. The corner we had just rounded opened up onto the piazza in front of the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore. The Duomo, as it is more commonly known, was gigantic. From where we stood it looked like it could never possibly end. But not only was it huge, it was decorated in the most elaborately detailed geometric designs I've ever seen on a building. The entire thing. Many of the churches in Florence had rough exteriors with an elaborately decorated fronting. Not this one. It's the real deal, from the tip of the dome to the lowliest cornerstone. Not that the other churches aren't spectacular as well, but this cathedral is in a category of it's own. We stood there for several long minutes, both of us tipping our heads to the sky, searching vainly for some limit to this spectacular building. It's overpowering, yet welcoming, a symbol of strength, but as delicate as a piece of lace. 

And then we went inside. As intricate and overwhelming as the exterior was, the interior was atmospheric and wholly awe-inspiring. It was almost simple. Unlike the Gothic arches of Notre Dame, the lines were clean, uninterrupted. The floor tiling was detailed, creating an illusion of swirling lines underneath the soaring ceiling. There was a massive 24 hour clock right underneath the stained glass window, and paintings over all the walls. As I moved deeper into the thick air of the cathedral, the underside of the dome slowly came into view, and my breath caught with anticipation. Finally, I tilted my head all the way back, and almost fell over backwards. From the center of the circle underneath the dome, it looks like a flat painting. All the sudden, I realized why the rest of the interior was so clean. If there was any more carving or sculptures, this spectacular dome would be lost in the chaos. As we made our way back out into the sunshine, the calm, damp air of the cathedral carried me out back into the hustle and bustle of Florence, and I knew this was a building I would never forget.

     For the rest of the day we wandered around the city, circling around mysterious green domes, inadvertently wandering into workaday Florence. We passed through the neglected Piazza Del'Annunziata, rested on a bench in Piazza San Marco, and met up with David. Finally, we walked through the Uffizi gallery and landed near Ponte Vecchio on the banks of the Arno, with late afternoon light slanting over the colorful shops sticking out from over the sides of the bridge. Abbie's smiles shone and our laughter echoed as we leaned over the river, straining to hear the water over the traffic immediately behind us. Even after a day in the sun, it was still hard to believe we were really here, really in Italy. We made our way back along the banks of the river and back to our piazza for gelato which we ate as the sun sank behind the ring of buildings. We turned in early, tired from our first day of vacation, but beyond ready for the next one.

     Day 2 began with the hostel breakfast, a smorgasbord of cereal, bread, cheese, croissants, and brightly colored juices. It was cheap and surprisingly delicious. That day we were planning to visit the Medici chapel with the Michelangelo sculptures and wander the other side of the Arno, beginning with climbing the hill to Piazelle Michelangelo and see the city we'd been exploring from above. So that's what we did. The chapel, which was one of the only things we paid for on this trip, was gorgeous. There's the main chapel with marble walls soaring to the ceiling (another dome) which is painted with an odd assortment of Bible stories. There was construction going on, which was a little disappointing, but I'd rather restore it now than not have it later. Plus, it was still one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Then, Abbie giddy with excitement, we moved into the smaller chapel where several of the Medici's are buried surrounded by Michelangelo sculptures. I'd never been so close to one before, and it really did seem like they could come to life. It was astounding. We then briefly detoured back to the Duomo for a Charlie attempt which fell apart as stubborn tourists felt the need to stand directly in front of all the trash cans I wanted to use. We vowed to return and continued on.
     We wandered into the Piazza Santa Croce almost by accident, and were pleasantly surprised by what we found there. The church looks remarkably similar to Santa Maria Novella, with a giant statue of Dante outside. The buildings around the square were painted with faded frescoes, and the colors exploded into the bright sunlight. We both took off our jackets, reveling in the warmth we'd been missing in Paris and Bratislava. The best thing about the piazza though, was how genuine it felt. It's a famous church with frescoes by Giotto inside, but the throngs around the Duomo were almost entirely absent. But it was more than the absence of tourists that made it feel real. There were people living in those frescoed buildings, and it was easy to see how. There was so much life, you couldn't help wanting to join in and be a part of it.
     After crossing the river, we began the climb up to the Piazelle. The path zig-zagged up the hill, giving us teasing glances of the views we'd see when we did finally get to the top. And then we did, and it was beyond words. The entire city was laid out before us, with the Duomo and tower of the Palazzo Vecchio soaring into the air. The hills around the city created a cradle which has nourished so much genius it was hard to comprehend. A bright blue sky arched above the whole city, with hardly a cloud. It was easy to imagine how the Medici's could have thought they ruled the world, standing up here, looking down at the maze-like city streets. We stood there in silence for several minutes, each lost in thought, not needing to share any of this quite yet.
     When we did finally break out of our trance, we giggled through several pictures, then moved further into what was essentially a parking lot. The view is what brings people here, not the setting. Moving further up the hill we spotted a church and decided to head in that direction. Another set of stairs later, we once again stared down in awe at Florence before turning our attention to the church of San Miniato del Monte. It was (and maybe still is) a monastery, so the grounds around the church are full of extravagant tombstones. Once again, the facade was eerily similar to the others we'd seen that day, but there was nothing to compare to the inside. It's a small church, but the reverence I'd felt in the Duomo quickly shrunk to admiration. This was a real church. The air was so thick it almost felt smoky, and the sun shining through the windows created paths down to the tiled floor. The altar glowed with a quiet light. Frescoes lined the walls, with one unfinished painting at the far end. Behind the altar, and down a short, steep set of stairs was a crypt. Our footsteps broke into the thick silence, and I felt almost intrusive. We lingered there, slowly making our way through the church. When we did finally leave, I was startled by seeing Florence laid out before me. I had completely forgotten where we were.
     Our next destination was the Boboli Gardens, tucked away behind Pitti Palace. Well, we found the palace, but couldn't figure out where the gardens were. We found the buildings where Elizabeth Barret Browning and Fyodor Dostoevsky had lived, but still no gardens. Finally we rounded a corner going the correct direction, and ended up facing a closed gate. The Italian guys who had turned the same corner right before us volubly informed us that the gardens were closed. We then proceeded to spend quite a lot of time attempting to find our way into the garden, most of which consisted of wandering up and down narrow streets on a significant incline. Finally, our legs already tired from having climbed the giant hill earlier that day, and all the walking since then, we gave up and began searching for a place to have dinner instead. We later found out that the gardens are not only closed on the fourth Monday of each month, which this was, but also that they cost 7 euro to get into, which is absurd. The Uffizi costs less than that. So it was probably a good thing we hadn't ever found it, because we probably would have felt obligated to pay considering how much effort we would have expended getting there.

     The restaurant we ate at that night ended up being back on our own little square. We each ordered a pizza, hers with mozzarella and basil, mine with eggplant and zucchini, a pleasant surprise. It was the most delicious pizza I have ever eaten in my life. After dinner, we walked back to the river and perched on the edge of one of the bridges to watch the sunset. As we talked, Florence buzzed around us and the sun slowly turned the buildings golden, then purple, and finally they were nothing but silhouettes against the Easter egg sky. Despite the chilliness of the post-dusk air, we stopped and got gelato before turning in for the night.
     Florence was astounding. It was beautiful, yes, but it was compelling as well. It invited you to come in and stay a little. It was colorful and warm, even in February. It was a city that was Florence but also Florence. It seemed very livable, as long as you could escape the tourists during the summer. The charm of the city was not only it's beauty or it's history, but also it's present. It pulls you in, makes you feel at home. The frescoes on the walls, the innumerable churches, the winding streets and the hints of Tuscan countryside through a row of buildings, and yes, the crowds of people all speak to what Florence is. But unlike other popular tourist cities, Florence would survive, even thrive, if no one came to see it. Lives would continue on, amidst the shadows of the past, and the city's glorious history remembered, if only by itself.