Last night, I dreamt of Florence. Again. I do this often, but last night's dreamworld wanderings felt so real and vivid that I woke up and wondered where I was for a moment. Then, I remembered that it's been nearly 5 years since that summer and I'm waking up for work in my room back in California.
It was like most dreams I've had, just wandering the streets after dark. I suppose I dream of this because I did it often while I lived there. I swear I could still walk the city with my eyes closed. My apartment was on Via Il Prato, across from the Grand Hotel Villa Medici, on the outskirts of the city center, so most of the time it didn't make sense for anyone to walk me home just for them to turn around and walk clear across the city again. I liked those nights, walking home after an evening of drinking, dancing, laughing and memory making. The city that summer was something magical. Of course, in my waking hours, I tend to let my mind wander again, but focusing on things I want it to. I had an internship in the more suburban part of town, so I would go and catch a bus at the Santa Maria Novella transport center, where a myriad of taxis and buses rushed through and tourists and locals alike hurried to catch the train on the inside of the center. There was a McDonald's right across the street and I would literally scoff at it daily, thinking "what kind of blasphemy is this?!" There was a perfectly good pasticceria across the street that you could pick up a cappuccino and pastry for breakfast.
The one time I had a cappuccino (I have never enjoyed coffee, but, hey, I was in Italy) was a misty weekday morning during my second week. I had been up late the night before with some new friends from my language class and thought I could use a pick me up. My god, I was not prepared for the reaction. All I had was a small cappuccino, not a large coffee like they serve it here. In Italy, you order your drink standing at the bar and the barista (a true one) gives you a little plastic cup of water to drink to cleanse your palette. Then you get served your shot of cappuccino and you take it like a shot. No sipping, no swirling, just take the shot. Then more water and maybe a bite of pastry. It was strong, as is all European coffee, and you could smell the shop from down the street. I had added a little sugar to take the edge off of the bitterness, so it was a nice mix of sweet and how I imagined coffee would taste after the smell alone could wake me. All was well and good until an hour later, back in class, when my entire body was shaking so much that I thought I was having heart palpitations. I had NOT anticipated the caffeine to have such an affect on me, but in retrospect, I hadn't had caffeine since I stopped drinking soda when I was 14.
I was jittery the rest of the day, even after eating a full meal and walking around after class let out. Never again, I swore. And I haven't. But any whiff of coffee sends me back to that moment. A lot of smells do that. That summer, and I'm sure most summers, they were doing construction and restoration on parts of the city. Florence is a walking city, with a bustling city center. During the summer, there are traffic pylons blocking off access on the main roads so that cars can't travel beyond a certain point. It's for the throngs of tourists that clog the city center but luckily, it's not so bad if you know where to go at what times.
Anyways, there was a route that went from my friend Ali's apartment near the Mercato San Lorenzo that took us down a quiet back street that was also being worked on. The Mercato itself was a big building with food stands inside and all around it outside was tent city, jam packed with pop up shops selling their wares, but hot because of the crush of all of the bodies. Once you got away from it, the buildings were tall, so it was mostly shaded. They had broken up the sidewalks and were pouring fresh concrete. I'm not sure why, but the smell of fresh concrete, mixed with the dust, is something of a comfort smell to me. And it was cool down there, so we had some relief. I'm not sure if you've ever been to Italy during the summer, but it's hot as hell. Tuscany is in a valley and it gets upwards of 100 F and practically 100% humidity. My outfit usually consisted of sandals, a cotton skirt and a tank top, with my hair up somehow. It was too hot otherwise.
I liked it best at night, when the sun went down and the heat just sat there, except along the river, where the stone grew cool enough that you could trail your hand on it as you walked for a little relief. The Arno was gorgeous at night, shimmering with the lights from the buildings on either side. My walk home on Tuesday nights was along the river, as the lounge that my friends played at each Tuesday was right on the river. We would spill out of the lounge in the wee hours and yell and hug our goodbyes and good-nights, and I would take off opposite of everyone else. I was careful, never in danger, staying where there were lights. I also had pepper spray in my small purse that I gripped with white knuckles, just in case. Walking home allowed me to clear my head from the day and night. Mornings were good too. I had a Israeli roommate who would roll his own cigarettes each morning while brewing the strongest smelling coffee I have ever smelled. He was a total sweetheart and has this rough voice, thickly accented but spoke perfect English and Italian, but it smoothed out when he sang, and he was teaching himself to play that guitar that summer. He would sing anytime he was home and I could hear him singing Journey songs through the walls. I normally hate the smell of cigarette, but there was something about freshly rolled ones that didn't seem so bad.
I could ramble on for ages about the nooks and crannies of Florence...maybe I will. My most favorite thing about how small of a city center Florence is is that you could peek down any side street and look up and most likely catch a glimpse of the Duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore. I don't remember specific street names, but I know the way from the Duomo to Il Gato e La Volpe, one of my favorite restaurants, just as if I had walked it yesterday. You sit at a big wooden table on a bench, and eat Florentine bread, which can't be eaten without their amaaaazing balsamic dip. I can practically taste it now. (Note to self: next time I'm in Florence, buy a case of it and ship back home). I can also tell you how to get to a restaurant that serves the most delicious pear and pecorino ravioli you'll ever come across. If you are standing looking at the front of the Duomo, look to your right, where the wide street leads down the La Piazza della Repubblica, but only go past 3 sides streets and turn to your left. It has a green awning and a tree in a bucket and only seats about 20 people, but my GOD the food is amazing. I can also tell you to go behind the Duomo and past the Bargello (a towering building that was once Florence's prison but is now a museum) and a little bar that gets crowded too fast but the proprietor is so happy to see you. My god, how we wandered those streets.
Do you know the feeling of missing someone so much that it physically hurts? That's how I feel about Florence. It's like my bones ache to be back there. But I know that once I go back, I'll be faced with the reality that it will never feel like it did that summer. But I can go back with fresh eyes and a knowledge of the city that I didn't have before. I'll climb the Duomo again, but make sure to keep my camera extra safe (it was pickpocketed shortly after returning to street level and with it all of my gorgeous photos of the red roofs spread as far as the eye could see). I would actually go INTO L'Accademi and gawk at the real David, not the imitation they have out in La Piazza Signoria.
I would take a whole two days to wander the Uffizi and somehow swing a tour of the upper compartments of Il Ponte Vecchio. If that doesn't work, I'll just wander in and out of the gold shops on the bridge. Fun fact: the shops on Il Ponte Vecchio used to be butcher shops, because it was easier to tip the waste into the river instead of hauling it from a shop more inland. Gross, I know, but now it's shining bright with gold shops and alive with live music sung by musicians asking for a few Euro coins. I would also go back to the Palazzo Pitti and spend a whole day IN the palace and then go back the next day to walk around the Biboli gardens. Now, don't let the name confuse you - the Biboli Gardens is actually an 11 acre park, built for the pleasure of the wife of Cosimo I de Medici, the Grand Duke of Tuscany. She wanted something to remind her of her home in Spain, so she got 11 acres worth.
Ahh, I would do so many things. I miss it so much. For now, I'll just dream.
