Piazzo Centrale in Firenze
Late. This air conditioned room in the heart of Florence hermetically sealed from the outside world has caused us to sleep in grossly. Our friends Meredith and John are on their way out to the airport to return to the states just as we make our way to checkout. A quick swap of travel books and some last minute tour advice, and we part ways. The morning is a wandering around to various false tourist attractions. The map says, Leonardo Da Vinci Musee, but apparently that means university or something, as tourists are not allowed. The market centrale is a nice change of pace from the usual assortment of historical landmarks, boasting a plethora of leather goods, and a diverse meat and produce market. The meat is particularly interesting; we find meticulously cleaned cow heads, and whole rabbits sans fur for sale.
Piazzo Centrale in Firenze
We wander down alleyways in a meandering fashion, back towards the south of Florence. We pop into the Medici palace flying the American colors the day before, and wander it’s cavernous interior filled with large marble statues of epic figures. A pair of wrestlers is particularly noticeable in that one of the wrestlers has a firm grasp on the other’s penis to extract whatever advantage he can. The next time a wrestler tries to talk his way out of the fact that wrestling is fruit filled fun, I’m going to show them this photograph.
Renaissance Statues
When we’re done we exit into a back alley, and run into a local snack shop offering; self serve wine and a small deli. The venue is packed with locals, and we stop in to see what the locals are eating. Quite a bit better then the tourists is my final verdict after eating a spicy eggplant with proscuitto on a panini, by far the most flavor I’ve enjoyed in this country so far.
By noon we’ve progressed back to the back alleys of the Pitti Palace. The complex is a sprawling mess of art galleries and gardens. The gardens prove to be a hot, unkept, and largely unimpressive collection whose only redeeming factor is some of the better views of the city. We pass the Belevedere fort, which is closed, apparently because two people died in the same spot due to mysterious causes. Supposedly, dogs and cats have died or had various maladies when around this specific location over the years as well, and so protesters have forced the government’s hand and had this location closed, perhaps permanently.
Back in the city proper, we wander around seeking gelato, and by chance stumble into a popsicle vendor instead who boasts popsicles made from the very highest quality organic fruit puree we are assured. Which is fine by me, as they prove to be some of the best popsicles I’ve ever encountered.
A block away from the Duomo, we run into a bona fide geek shop, packed with Magic: The Gathering cards, Warhammer 40K figurines, and Dungeon and Dragon books. Magic cards go for a pretty euro, and I find myself wondering if I could get a better price on my ancient collection in Europe then in the States. In the back, I come across a guy and girl playing some western game I vaguely recall. In front the display is packed with Harry Potter wands. Harry and Ron’s are the most expensive, until I spot Dolores Umbridge’s wand, a disgusting affair that looks more like a dildo then a wand, it rests on a disgustingly pink and gold display unit, and I suddenly recall how revolting the character was in the movies. What is just as disgusting however, is the amount of funk coming off these geeky Italian men. Euros often display a pride in BO that is unheard of in the States, and here, you combine geeky funk with Euro BO, and the stench is overwhelming. Bee Jin made a cursory once through the shop before the smell assaulted her senses and she’s waiting outside. When I finally am without, she asks incredulously.
“Do you not smell that?”
“Oh I smell it all right,” I reply, wiping a tear from my eye. “But I’m white, so I can tolerate it a bit longer then you. Still, disgusting.” I agree.
Dante’s church and quiet parts of eastern Florence wrap up our tour, and we return to the train station for our journey to Venice. The train is a modern EuroStar affair, the fastest of the TrainItalia trains, and I am somewhat disgruntled by the fact that it’s so late and I cannot witness our speed. Instead all I get is the popping of ears and pressure as we roar through the Italian countryside.
Dante's Church
We get off in Venice, but apparently one stop too early, so the cab ride to our hotel is a bit more ridiculous then it need be. The Hilton we’ve checked into is very nice, with Aeron chairs and real double beds of excellent comfort. Up until this point, every bed we’ve been in has been two twin beds that are pushed together to create a double for couples, or pulled apart for singles such as ourselves. For each of us to have a full sized double bed is an unlooked for luxury. Outside we wait for the bus that will take us into Venice proper. It is here I spot my first prostitute, waiting at the gas station across the street. Her pimp drives up, and then drives off, and suddenly I have a revelation why I’ve seen so few prostitutes in all my travels. I stay at hotels which are neither nasty enough for prostitutes, nor fancy enough for them. Here, at the Hilton, suddenly is a venue where work is probably easy enough to find, with accommodations to match.
Venice is a maze of stepped bridges and stone streets. I watch people maneuver luggage up and down the stepped bridges, some of recent construct, and can only wonder why nobody uses smooth, sloping bridges. Dinner is a pizza, at some chain looking establishment. I get some pizza that promises to be death on a plate, as evidenced by the skull and crossbones accompanying the hotness rating of the pizza. It’s delightfully flavorful, and of robust body compared to the other Italian pizzas I’ve had so far. The heat is a long way from death on a plate, but it is hot enough that I know that the next day is going to be rather uncomfortable in the restroom. We do a quick run through of Venice in the dark, but arrive at our bus stop just as the last bus is pulling away from the evening, and are forced to take another expensive cab back to our hotel at the mainland. There, as we pass each gas station, I see a pair of working girls, waiting for a John, and take amusement in witnessing a glimpse of the seedy underbelly of Venice.
