My initial plan was to go on a shopping spree to Florence on a Friday or Saturday, weather permitting, visit Santa Croce Basilica, and eat at Mamma Gina’s restaurant where I would put the moves on Flirty, the waiter. I wasn’t exactly clear on how I was going to accomplish the Grand Seduction, but folks; I knew it was going to happen. I was going to do what every woman dreams of…I was going to have an Italian lover, at least for an afternoon. In short, I was going to GET ME SOME! That was the plan anyway.
Here’s the reality…the fog was so heavy on the weekend that I scrapped plans to go to Florence, thinking I would not really see much in the fog, and might even get lost. I wanted some nice, sunny, picture-taking weather. Monday is not a good day to visit Firenze as many of the shops are closed, so I carefully checked the weather forecast for Tuesday (Mother, you would have been proud!), and when the forecast was for partly sunny with a high of 66 degrees, and no rain, I decided to go for it. One hitch was that the restaurant was not open for lunch on Tuesday, so I decided to scrap the seduction plans, figuring the Universe was in charge and whatever was meant to happen, would happen.
I set my alarm and arose “early”, walked through the fog to the bus stop and then caught the 9:31 train to Firenze. There was quite a crowd on platform three where the train north always stops, but strangely, after an announcement in Italian, the entire Italian crowd moved across to track one. A minute later the announcement was repeated in English, informing us that the train would be arriving and departing from track one, rather than three, whereby the few remaining passengers trotted down the stairs, through the tunnel, and back up the stairs to join our comrades at track one. That was my first hint that the marionettes had made a sinister reappearance.
Upon arrival at the main station in Florence, I walked around the corner to the Sita bus station and purchased a ticket for the shuttle bus to the airport for my departure November 30th, then continued over the visit the nearby church after which the train station was named, Santa Maria Nouvella. It was a lovely, large church and I wanted to take some pictures, but was shocked to see that everyone visiting was following the “no picture” rule. This is unheard of in Italy, where no one follows the rules. I had to settle for a few illicit, no flash, photos as a keepsake of this lovely church.
Next, I visited the San Lorenzo market looking for some gifts and, as it began to rain, set off in search of Santa Croce. Of course, I failed to bring my umbrella as the weather forecast did not call for rain, and my thin cotton jacket failed to provide much protection. I had consulted my map before leaving home and it appeared that by staying on the Duomo side of the Arno River and turning left at the Ponte Vecchio, I would run smack dab into the basilica. I set off in this direction as the rain changed from a sprinkling of cold drops to a steady shower, bracing in its coolness, which quickly drenched my light jacket leaving me sodden and dripping. I walked on and on, block after block, and could not understand why I failed to see something as large as a basilica. The roads signs to Santa Croce ceased as suddenly as they began leaving me unsure of where to go. I ultimately circled the carabinieri headquarters, a fortress like building taking up an entire city block, whose gutters poured a Niagara-like torrent of water over the sidewalks I was forced to traverse. I could almost see those ghastly marionettes on the roof, cackling as they poured bottomless tubs of water on me like castle defenders attempting to turn back a tide of marauders with cauldrons of molten tar. My poor hands were so cold and wet they took on a pink and white mottling much like marble and I had to keep wiping my dripping nose on a square of damp and tattered toilet paper I’d stuck in my pocket for just such emergencies.
I finally turned around, returned to the Ponte Vecchio, and then continued up the street to a jewelry store where looking at the window display is like opening a chest of buried treasure and discovering a trove of glittering surprises. Unfortunately, the marionettes arrived before me, turned off the lights, and locked the door barring my entry. Hideous creatures!
Wandering back down the street I came upon a small café called Pino’s and, after a moment’s debate, I walked into the covered courtyard and asked for a table. I needed a warm coffee, if nothing else. They kindly seated me next to a large heating lamp and I spread my saturated jacket over the chair next to me to dry. I order my standard tagliatelle al ragu’, then finished with tiramisu and a large caffe latte. The tiramisu was huge, centered on a square china plate, surrounded by mounds of homemade whipped cream and sprinkled with cocoa. To die for! I popped into the bathroom and tried to make something of my hair which had shaped itself to my skull in dark, wet tendrils. I plucked and poked at the mass, sticky from hairspray, and when I was finished it appeared as though a tarantula has taken up residence atop my head, fuzzy legs sticking up here and there.
After my delicious lunch and a quick map consultation, I walked out of the café and then it happened. As I was crossing the street, who should be coming toward me but the WAITER, and did he ever look good in jeans and a denim jacket with a green, hooded sweatshirt underneath. Tall, maybe 6’2”, and very distinguished. I couldn’t believe it! Although the restaurant was closed, fate had intervened bringing this vision of manhood into my path! I’d love to tell you that he took one look at me, was overcome by lust, and had his way with me standing against the side of the nearest building, protected from the elements by an awning, but what actually happened was that he took one look at that hairy squid perched on my head, politely looked the other way, and continued up the street. Foiled again! Those darned marionettes must have gotten to him first!
After that disappointment, I was even more determined to find Santa Croce, which I finally did. It is a magnificent church, but I was disappointed to discover that the frescoes behind the altar were being restored and thus were hidden behind layers of scaffolding. This church contains the remains of Galileo Galilei, Machiavelli, Dante Alighieri, and Michelangelo (Buonarotti) among others. Although posted signs prohibited us from taking photographs, most people were doing so anyway, and so too did I. Two of my pictures of frescoes turned out very well and I will post them for all to enjoy.
As the sun set, I trudged back to the train station where I left a bag containing a gift for my son in the bathroom. Words cannot describe how quickly that bag disappeared. I just hope the person who found it needed it more than I did!
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1 comment:
Awe you have 2 more weeks to meet an Italian lover! chris
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