Florence - February 2002

Florence - inspiration to Harry Lime, cradle of the renaissance and
the Italian language and pleasant background to the cannibalistic
antics of Hannibal Lector in Thomas Harris's latest opus. And also a
damn fine weekend destination.

The only problem to going to Florence is that nobody actually flies
there - at least not for under ?600 one-way so the standard route is to
fly to Pisa and take the train to Florence's Santa Maria Novella
station. Handy during the day when the trains deign to leave from Pisa
Aeroporto but not so useful if you arrive at 9pm when the trains go
from Pisa Centrale (a short hop away but taxi required) and not then
for another ninety minutes. Still, it gave us time to locate our first
McDonald's and get in some fine hot chocolates at the counter opposite.
That, and a wait for the dawning of a new civilisation at Empoli as the
train wound its way to Florence and a scurry to find the Hotel Rivoli
at midnight was Friday.

Saturday was a day of many things. First among these was 'height' as we
scaled the Cupola which - my Italian being very shaky when the words go
beyond 'uno' or 'due' - is the bit of Brunellesci's dome that you can
walk about and survey the city around you. Apparently there are 463
steps. The number of heart attacks is unrecorded but there are handy
resting places - such as a balcony where you can look at the frescos
painted on the inside of the Duomo (they arrived over 150 years later
and show much damnation and hellfire). And the view is worth it. And
then some.

From the Cupola we ploughed on - walking down towards the river, past
the copy of Michelangelo's David in the Piazza Vecchio and the
welcoming statues outside the Uffizi gallery. We made it as far as the
wonderfully named Museo del Costume on the opposite bank before turning
tail and collapsing in a nice eaterie by the Ponte Vecchio - the first
of many places where our halting Italian (essentially Lizzie with a
phrase book pointing and me nodding) was met with efficient
English.

Sated on coffee and pizza we set sail for the Palazzo Vecchio which is
in all the guide books. Presumably they know where the entrance is. I
still don't. We settled instead for an exhibition of the photography of
Margaret Bourke-White in a side room. Her stuff is excellent - largely
reportage for Time magazine from the 20s-40s. But, no time for
reflection, onwards we charged.

This time to San Lorenzo and its market showing more things bound in
cowskin than there are cows in Italy. You want old-style books to make
you feel like a proper writer - yours for thirty euros! You want a
leather jacket to make you look almost as cool as a genuine Italian -
yours for a hundred euros but for you half price, sir. The only
drawback - the stench of raw meat and fish from the covered market
which the leather sellers encircled.

We also stopped at the Museo Casa del Dante which I don't recommend,
although it is fun to read the guidebook and attempt to understand
thirteenth century Fiorentine politics. Basically the old bugger wrote
the Inferno in exile and all the roads named after him and plaques
quoting the various cantos are some elaborate attempt at begging
forgiveness.

So, essentially dead after having covered a thousand miles we headed
back to the hotel. However, on the way we wound up at the 'Continuita'
exhibition at the Palazzo Strozzi. A survey of Tuscan art from
1945-1967 it could not be bettered for showing a wide range of pieces
from virtually every modern art movement. There was also a fun one that
you could make beep with lights that went on and off as well.

In the evening, after a suitable recovery time, we headed out to a
trattoria for edibles. If you die before you've eaten a t-bone steak in
Florence then I can assure you that your stomach will be a pissed off
ghost. And the other recommendation: when in Florence looking for cheap
drink head for the Birreria on the Via del Sole (it was on the way back
to the hotel). The food looked terrible but the locals (no tourists)
all looked happy drinking away on Guinness and Bombardier Export - they
could have been playing spot the tourists as I was the only one with
Italian beer and Lizzie drank gamely through the world's largest gin
and tonic.

So that was Saturday. Not much more to go as Sunday was largely taken
up with retracing steps, checking out the San Marco area (don't unless
you want to go into the numerous museums), watching two dogs getting it
on on the Piazza Santa Croce (amusing) and spending quality time in the
Uffizi gallery. Typically Italian the place has three entrances, a
restriction on numbers, a large crowd in every room, very little
signage and masterpieces wherever you turn. It was so good we bought
the catalogue. And some postcards.

Sunday afternoon we yielded to temptation and ate of the Italian
ice-cream. Lizzie swears her tiramisu concoction was hand-moulded by
Jesus himself whereas I merely believe that the thick cherry mess that
I had was divine. Either way we returned to the hotel on Sunday
afternoon very satisfied and tired bunnies.

There remain only a few brief notables to mention: the Sunday meal was
devoured at a very touristy spot but wasn't that bad and the wine was
an excellent chianti (I think they ship the bad stuff en masse to
England with a chuckle and keep the good stuff back), Sunday evening
was passed in a stupour of aching limbs and Portuguese football
(Benfica losing 3-2 at Porto) and then on Monday after having done a
little last-minute shopping we made our way back to Pisa on a train
that was kind enough to take us the extra half a mile to the
airport.

All in all, a fantastic coupla days. Sorry for going on a bit but even
a report this long does not do justice to just how much we managed to
do nor how much there remains to be seen. Now, if they could just get
around to moving Pisa Aeroporto a little closer to old Firenze
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