The trio consisted of Sean, Corinne, and I, a devilishly laid back group of travelers. And it was a good thing. This trip would have its tribulations. On our way out of Garmisch, Corinne suggested a long series of jumping photos. of course. of course. Thinking we were smart and efficient we decided to stop by the US base in Vencenza in order to buy gas at American prices. However, the effing GPS lead us through narrow winding mountain roads, hoarded by intimidating trucks and speedy Italians. Through a series of small miracles, we finally made it to base. Tired of car tripping, we decided to stay the night at the hotel. In so many B words, the night went like this: Bar. Bowling. Bar. Billiards. Bar. Bed. Bathtub. Bed. It was Brilliant and totally worth the extra time and money it took to get there.
Breakfast the next morning was not so awesome. Cheapest continental breakfast ever. After recollecting the nights events and stuffing our pockets with juice boxes we piled into the car and drove to Florence, taking awful pictures of awesome castles and reacquainting ourselves with sunshine, something we hadn't seen in Germany for some time.
Driving into the city was awesome. Everyone was riding mopeds and the streets were compact and there was a man playing an accordion on the street corner and I thought, "How cliche, how perfectly cliche." I half hung out the window, photographing and incidentally offending the Italians, but whatever.
Getting into our hostel proved to be quite the feat. We parked the car, repeatedly rang the doorbell, called a couple of numbers a couple of times, all to no avail. So we decided to mosey into the jewelry shop next door and ask the owner if he knew what was up. One simple game of charades later, the jeweler pulled out the code to the hostel door, walked us next door, and let us in. No one was there. No front desk. No housekeepers. No signs of explanation. Just keys lined up on a table. So we improvised. We threw our stuff in a room, took the appropriate key, wrote a note, and went back into the street. Sean wanted to contact his cousin (a fashion student studying in Florence) and we were hungry so we went in search of internet and food.
Having posted a message on Libby's (the cousin) wall we wandered. Some man standing on the steps to a resturant told us somthing in Italian and from our dead confused faced he switched to english and told us about his fire baked pizza. Sold. We were seated inside and handed menus. Corinne was the connoisseur in the group so she picked the wine. My individual sardine pizza wasnt so individual, but I managed to chow down the whole thing. It was the best sardine pizza I have ever had.
Next on the agenda: sunset at the Michelangelo Plaza. The waiter gave us directions and told us to hurry, as the sun was setting. Fully satisfied we stepped into the street. As we walked out from the shadowy narrow street and onto the sunlit sidewalks running along the Arno, I was overwhelmed by a great sense of peace. It was perfect and absolutely impossible to describe. It was a half hour of absolutely no want. Our hearts were as full as our stomachs, and time moved at a perfect pace. Nobody had much to say, the walk was quiet and complete. We made it to the plaza on time and watched the sunset and took plenty of jumping photos. It got kind of cold so, pulling ourselves from perfection, we headed back to the hostel to change clothes and pre-game before we met Libby and her friend, Emily, at the Duomo for an insiders tour of Florence P.M.
Charged on Crown Royal and doned in a few more layers, we found our new friends sitting on the steps of the epic Duomo. They took us to a bar that took American money and we bought some cheap wine and sat outside, pulled out a map, and planned the night. First we went to a plaza, featuring a dozen or so sculptures. Persaus, holding the head of Medusa, was inspiring. On the way to Florence, in the car, I had read up on Edith Hamiltons version of the ancient myth, unbenownst to the fact that I would soon be obsereving the hereld sculpture. It was an epic coincidene. After observing all the statues we stopped in at another bar to pee and drink. Emily and I went outside to smoke and I talked and talked her ear off about Annias Mitchell's Hadestown and then bought a big ass lighter, not for the proposed 5 Euro, but 3. We ordered nachos and here, things start to get fuzzy. I remember going to another bar where some guys were playing jazz. I drew pictures in Corinnes travel journal. Next (I think) we went to a club were I danced on some Italian's shoes (bad idea) and got a short loud lecture because of it. And then home. Libby and Emily went their way and we went back to our beds.
The morning wasnt exactly happy. Hangovers...I slowly pulled myself out of bed and into cleaner clothes and after watching a distant parade from the window, we hunched out of the hostel. Espresso shots at a coffee shop and then we were off. That day, we were genuine tourists, toting our travel bags and taking too many pictures. We went to an art gallery, where we saw Damien Hursts "For the Love of God". Its a human skull adorned in thousands of diamonds. One of the sexiest, saddest things Ive ever seen. We roamed around the seemingly endless isles of art and history for a couple of hours. Later we got bombtastic gillato and obsereved the Duomo by day light. While eating pasta at a street side resturant I proposed that we never go back to Germany, but find jobs teaching English somewhere and live together in a cheap apartment. Brash, but brilliant, the idea wasnt shot down instantly, but we reluctunantly got our smarts together and decided to head home. Leaving the resturant we passed a woman sitting alone outside the resturant. She was in her mid fifties, enveloped in a massive fur coat and smoking a cigarette. Classy. Cultured. Confident. "I would make love to that woman in a heart beat" and Corinne nodded. For me, she was the personification of Florence. Older, wiser, and wealthier, but still very capible of sexy soul swelling encounters.
