Broam K's Italian Saga: Day V

I awoke at 7am freezing my ass off.

I had slept through my cell phone alarm and scrambled to get around for the day.  Hurrying downstairs I saw that most everyone was already down for breakfast, which consisted of pastries, coffee-flavored yogurt (seriously), rolls, deli meats and cheeses, juices, and a full cappuccino/espresso/coffee bar (which I took full advantage of, as, for whatever reason, I was still fairly exhausted.)

Our 'decent weather' forecast for our free day in Florence had been shot to shit.  The conditions were the same as Venice, only without the wind.  While the St. Louis legion of high schoolers took off for the optional excursion into Sienna (meh), the Orlando Nine prepared to hit up the train station in downtown Montecatini Terme.

Using my trusty Rick Steeve's Italian Phrasebook, I was able to secure us all tickets back to Florence for about five euros (about $8) apiece.  We were all able to ride the hour-long line back into the exact same station we had walked through (not so inconspicuously) the day before. 

Checking out the route map. . .

. . .probably the weirdest vending machine I've ever seen.

The walls and buildings along the railway were heavily-graffitied, but, unlike their American counterparts, Italian artists seem to care more about what the hell they're throwing up on other folks' walls. The street art was incredible. . .

Coming into Florence. . .

The rain wasn't letting up, though.  The rest of the group went check out the leaning tower of Pisa - an excursion I didn't want to take part in, as it was almost an hour and a half each way from Florence to Pisa.  So, bidding my company adieu, I walked alone into the rainy squares of Florence.

More than a few pigeons in this city. . . gross.

My first stop was to hit up the Orsan-michele, where we had gone the day before, in order to pick up some tickets to the Museo Uffizi (where many works by the Renaissance masters are housed).  After standing in the rain for awhile, waiting to buy a ticket, a very bored Italian gentleman informed that the museum was sold out for the day.

On to Plan B.

With the morning art museum plans shot to shit, I decided o check out the Mercata Nuova, which I affectionately nicknamed the 'Pig Market,' due to the large, bronze boar that stands guard beside it.  I heard there were some pretty good prices there, so I began prowling the stalls.  Unfortunately, as the case bas been all week long, nothing jumped out at me.

Except a leather decanter set with four, engraved shot glasses , that is.

 A truly awesome find - and an excellent addition to the bar in my Study to boot - but I asked the merchant how much it was and he showed me the sticker price:  32 euros (about $50 - $55).  Definitely too high a price, though it was really cool.  I passed on the decanter for the time being and, pissing off the merchant, strode out of the Pig Market.

With yet another stop in Florence a bust, I moved to the San Lorenzo Leather Market.  I was on a quest now, so I began stalking the stalls, trying not to make eye contact with the market vendors. 

And then I found it.  

I'd see this same view later on in the afternoon. . .

Nestled in the back of one of the stalls, there sat the leather decanter set I wanted.  This one even had a better embossed picture of Florence on the front, too.  To top it off, it was only 22 euros (about $30 - $33).  I pounced on it, and a young woman - who spoke perfect English with an American accent (oddly enough) carefully wrapped up my hard-won prize.

I wish we had these in the States.

I attempted to celebrate at my new, favorite Florentine cafe, the Caffe San Lorenzo, but their beer was still warm, so I decided to cut across town instead.  Rebecca had recommended the Piazza de Michaelangelo, a grueling 30-minute hike up a mountainside overlooking the Arno River, which was deemed to 'intense' for an EF tour but provided the best view of the city. 

On the way to the Arno, I ducked inside a small snack bar and paid the 'table' price for a large beer (five euros opposed to three or four) in order to plan out my navigating and itinerary through Florence.

Not as good as a Peroni, but drinkable.

After the birra was vanquished, I crossed the wide, churning Arno River and began making my ascent up the hill, passing through the old city gate and walls first constructed by the Romans.  The climb was very steep, up slick cobblestone steps made more imposing by the steady rain, but I huffed (houghed?) my way up, regardless of lack hand-railing.

At first I thought the statue to the left was of Don Quixote.  Then I realized, of course, that a statue of Don Quixote in Florence wouldn't make any sense at all.

Mr. Belvedere, unbeknownst to many, was also a famous Italian war hero.

Remnants of the old Roman wall, en route to the Piazza del Michelangelo.

Guess how much fun this was to walk up?

Once at the summit, I began a photo-taking frenzy, starting with a giant, bronze version of Michelangelo's David and working my way down the cliff's promenade.  From here, one can see nearly all of Florence. . . a view that more than made up for the shitty ascent:

Why wouldn't there be shitty souvenir kiosks way out in the middle of nowhere?

View from the platform. . .

Bridges spanning the Arno River

The Museo Vecchio and the Duomo

Michelangelo's Dave

Dave's ass

Some random palace I stumbled upon. . .

After checking out another palace up in the hills, I made my way back down the slick stairs (easier to do, much more terrifying).  I double-backed to the Piazza del Duomo, where I was supposed to meet up with the part of my group at 2pm. 

Back through the gate

Italians sure do love their hatchbacks. . .

Once again in the leather market of San Lorenzo

After waiting around for awhile, I decided that it was high time for another celebratory birra, so I crossed back over to the Caffe San Lorenzo, had a seat, and planned out my afternoon over a Peroni.

 As it was raining heavier out on the streets, after I left the caffe I spent lots of time ducking in and out of souvenir stores, checking out wares (but, more often than not, pretending to do so in order to get out of the bracing cold).  I worked my way up and down nearly every, single street in Florence's historic district, and consequently stumbled upon several historical buildings, museums and galleries in the process.

After a few hours of hitting up bookstores, religious stores (my contact lens came out in one, and I strung together my best Italian sentence to date trying to ask for a mirror in order to adjust it), and the usual touristy and leather shops, it was almost time for me to meet up with Rebecca, the Orlando Nine, and the legion of high schoolers from St. Louis. 

This pretty much sums up Florence -  a high-end, fashion-savvy touristy store built into a Medieval structure.

We were to meet in the Piazza del Croce at 5:45pm, for we were having dinner in Florence at 6pm.  I figured I'd find the cathedral no problem, seeing how I had killed about an hour there the day before.

I was wrong.

Despite having a frigid' MAP of the city in my possession, I somehow became turn around and ended up in unfamiliar territory.  It took nearly a half an hour in order to get back on the right track, and that's about the time when I accidentally stumbled into the Museo Vecchio.

Behold - more of Dave's ass.

Without paying.

Looking back, I'm still not sure exactly how this happened.  One minute I was taking pictures on the street, the next I was caught up in a crowd (a tour group of some kind) being ushered through an arch.  Thanks to the crowd, I got to take tons of pictures of Florence's town hall, public art collections, priceless maps and frescoes, and countless other treasures housed in the former Medici residence.

Thanks, Japanese tourists. . .

Fountain in the entrance to the Medici palace. . .

. . .which opens up to the sky above

Frescoes along the entrance into the palace

A Medici 'office.'  Slightly more impressive than mine back home.

Medici for 'speckle.'

Dante's death mask.

Some statue called  'Damn, that chick's pissed.'

Once again, the Duomo.

I'm guessing a globe. . .?

The Medici Map Room

Not surprisingly, I got somewhat lost inside the palace, and began walking down random halls. . .

Some random town hall meeting. . . which I was unknowingly granted access to, walking past the guards like I knew what I was doing.  Didn't catch much of the meeting - all the suits spoke Italian - as I hung around the sides, taking pictures of more artsy crap.  How the hell did they not recognize me as a tourist?!

Cough.

More rooms, more art - by this point in time, I was weaving my way through various wings of the palace, trying to find the way out.  After awhile, all this Renaissance art begins to look the same.  My camera was exhausted.

Back stairwell on the way out. . .

Gross.

I had spent so much time in the Museo Vecchio that I only had five minutes to spare before meeting my group on the steps of the Basilica del Croce.  I lit up a cigar and began quickly making my way towards the Piazza.  When I reached the Basilica, I found my whole group gathered on its steps, vending off packs of art-dealers.  I was the last one to arrive.

The Basilica del Croce

As I reunited with our group, we walked a block away from the square and sat down in a lovely, little stone Italian restaurant.  Fortunately we were spared the standard pasta appetizer, and instead received a salad that consisted of sliced tomato in oil with blocks of whole mozzarella and herbs.  Dind't look very good, but was surprisingly edible.  Following this came roast chicken, scalloped potatoes, and stir-fried vegetables.  Also awesome.  To top it all off, hot brownies and orange wedges with powdered sugar.

My solo adventure had been amazing, no doubt about it, but it had taken its toll on my body.  My calves were destroyed, ad what with walking all day in the rain and all, my sock and shoes were soaked through, as were my jeans to the knees.  I was definitely ready to go back to the hotel.

Once again, we hiked back along the Arno River, though this time at dusk (which provided some awesome picture-taking opportunities).  More annoying art vendors harassed us along the way, trying to sell their prints to us at their marked-up prices (tempting though some of them were, I can buy the exact same print from Amazon or allposters.com for half the price. . . and its shipped safely in a tube for me so I don't have to worry about bending it to shit while traveling).

The bus was warm, and most of us fell soundly asleep on the way back to the hotel.  Upon arrival, I hauled my stuff up to my room, repacked my suitcase for our ridiculously-early wake-up time and check-out, and placed my shoes under a radiator heater.  I then slipped into some dry clothes and headed downstairs in order to send out a quick email.  

There was a big soccer game on TV between Italy and Malaysia, and the streets were whipped up into a frenzy (particularly the Italians and some French tourists).  I stumbled back up to my fifth-story room, sans traditional night cap, and fell asleep to the sounds of drunken, roaring Europeans in the town below.

- Brian