Magical Florence

We rose early, not because we wanted to but I had reserved “skip the line” tickets to the Accademie for 9 Am … I remember this hot box of circa 1500 sculpted marble with his joyous curls and his anatomically perfect junk would draw crowds and I wanted in before the super spreader event was in session.

The 4 of us were the only people on the road at 8:15. An occasional cyclist or dog walker and us. We had Firenze to ourselves. There were no people in front of the Doumo….we had its majesty all to ourselves.

The smell of espresso wafted passed us and we saw men nuzzled up to the bars shooting a quick jolt of liquid caffeine before starting their day. Street sweepers whirred and cracked as they bumped over the cobble stone piazzas.

we were among the first 20 people in the Museum.

What a treasure. It was still quiet. That first hour the few of us roaming the halls treated this sacred place with the silence of a Library and the reverence of a church.

​Maybe each of us were stunned by the colors, the articulate paintings, the story telling or the ancient nature of the talent.

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I for one, saw 1328 and thought…we Americans are the cocky young step children.

True artists would marvel at the primitive tools, the paints and the oils that were used to create these masterpieces which are still vibrant centuries later.

I just kept looking at the dates and thinking… did they paint by candlelight? How did these survive the wars, the fires, the plaques? What do you mean they are painted on wood and there could be 3 other paintings under this one?

I wanted to know about all the lions. I understood about the saints… I saw St. John carrying the sick and dying, I knew St Francis and all his wild creatures, I recognized St Mathew and his sword, I saw St Gabriel with his Spear. All the angels and Saints are represented …

​if you were to do a movie where these paintings came alive after dark…wow!

​Mayhem, Martyrdom and Orgys would rock these halls.

So this is what I was thinking when I roamed among greatness. I know you thought I wasn’t this shallow… but there you have it. I’ve not slept in two days and I was absolutely wishing the art work would come alive and join me in a street party…

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We left when the shoulder to shoulder swarm of humanity was growing deeper and louder. We needed coffee and to free up space for the lines of people circling the museum waiting for the privilege to see 12 foot Marble David with his lifelike features detailed and displayed by a 26 year old sculptor from 1500.

​David has his sling laying across his shoulder as if he’s saying…

”you want some of this ass whopping? Have you seen Goliath? Right? That was me….”

Our first meal did not disappoint. We are traveling with my best friend from high school Nancy Gusha Garner and her husband Brian. We agreed the menu was toooooooo good so we’d all 4 share each dish…

Between the ricotta balls and fois gras… we thought we may need to stop but then we had the cuttlefish ink gnocchi with crab and the young duck with whiskey! That was not to be out done by the crispy bacon fat back and the tortellini filled with slow roasted beef…… all
paired with wines of the region.

I just can’t tell you all of it so I stuck the menu in the gallery. This 5 star roof top restaurant is in our hotel…our room is only 97 steps away!

tomorrow we are taking a cooking class and visiting “David”
​. Stay tuned!

And praying for luggage

We bumped our way into Florence. The plane sputtered and popped. Unapologetically you heard the gasps and controlled screams as we landed. That ought to have been our first clue as to how the rest of our day would go!

it’s a surreal experience to watch the newly arrived grab their bags from the baggage claim turn table and hurry passed en route to their vacations and to be one of a handful staring at an empty turnstile…peering through the plastic slats to the outside certain this is a mistake! Now we wait in line for the one person in baggage claim to take our details and promise us “it will all work out”.

Mark and I are punch drunk. We’ve been up for 24 hours and fortunately for us and the woman behind the counter at lost and found, we are silly. We chat with the others. We try to help dial down the frustration. We see 3, 4, 5, 6, plane loads of people collect their luggage and leave baggage claim to start their Italian adventure. We are two hours waiting for the one woman sorting out the mess in lost and found to pantomime to us the procedure because her English and our Italian is non existent. Oy vey, I’m too tired for charades.

We thank her for her efforts and her kindness and go in search of a taxi. There are 40 taxis lined up. We jump into Marcos. Marco is a dark and dreamy 26 years old born and raised in Florence man. His English is better than the gal in lost and found but he’s developed a flash card system for dealing with the foreigners he carts around.

from the front seat he holds up a card with his name Marco, with a C. He doesn’t seem to know where our hotel is which makes me anxious until he repeats “don’t worry, don’t worry”. He has kind eyes.

We role up on one hip with each curve he takes too fast and hear our nap sacks rolling in the back. He’s a bit shy but I press. He tells us of the walled city of Florence. He says we are inside the walls. “Very Good, Very good”… we nearly take out a couple of vespas on our right. He doesn’t know Cape Cod but would like to come to Boston some day..

blame it on lack of sleep but I reach between the seats and give Marco a Cape Cod bicycle key chain from Christmas Tree shops with my business card and say “if you ever make it son, you can stay a few nights with us!”

Mark confirms and Marco with a c looks as if he will cry. He is overwhelmed . He drops us at our hotel and is so gracious. “I love my gift” he says as Mark over tips him, shakes his hand and says you’re always welcome.

we’ve known this man 15 minutes. We watch him drive away on what seemed like two wheels, looked at each other and said “we’ve got to stop picking up strays”.

evelyn behind the desk at the hotel tells us she’s very sorry but our room is still being cleaned. “Go have some wine and everything will be well”.

Mark points out that on our bodies it’s only 8 am. “Implying to Evelyn it’s just to early.

Evelyn says in a boisterous redheaded way “Nonsense, Mr Cool you are in Italy now you need to adjust to the time zone, go have some wine, no?”

Exhausted and in our 24 hour clothes we do as we are told and sit at an outdoor cafe across from the Pitti Palace. We sip wine and eat rabbit tortellini. Yum

then he appears, young, handsome, animated and talking with the Somalier … in what sounds like newly learned Italian. Aiden sits with his glass of red wine next to us. I try to leave him alone but, shit, I need to know.

I open with “I like your command of the Italian language.”. He smiles and says thank you -I’m just learning. Mark watches me with trepidation. Aiden tells us he’s in 11th grade at an all Italian school and he’s essentially ran away from Sudbury where the only adult in his life is his mothers x husband. Who flew to Italy for school vacation last week and took him to Barcelona Spain. He is 17. He refers to his mother as complicated and then apologizes to us for drinking wine in front of Americans at his young age.

A plate of food is placed in front of him. He seems surprised. It’s like he’s a stray puppy who the proprietor feels obliged to feed. I ask him what he’s eating… it looks yummy, and he says “I have no idea.”

Aiden is handsome and out going. He says he helps the English teacher at school when she gets stuck. He’s 17 and on his own immersed in this loving culture.

You know how this ends.

We buy his wine for him, the somalier brings out a round of whatever he was eating for us for being so kind to him and Aiden accepts my business card to which he says “ Sotheby’s? You must know my Noni she works for Gibson Sotheby’s in Cambridge…”. Sadly, ber name escapes me but if anyone knows a grandmother wondering about their grandson in Florence…worry no longer, he’s a fine young man.

​I expect he’ll be visiting us on Cape Cod in September. I will have to buy the wine.






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I had heard from my friend Moira that Amsterdam airport was a nightmare due to lack of staff. She was right.

it was a sea of flailing Travelors running on travel fumes with very few shepherds to guide us. But we persevered. We adopted Sheila from Brimfield. She was off to Florence to visit her college Junior who had been studying abroad.

We coincidentally ended up in seats next to each other so we had a good long visit. My husbands weary eyes rolled back in his head when it was reaffirmed that I do talk to everybody. Sheila is spending 10 days traveling with her daughter and then “taking her back to Brimfield where she belongs!”

We take the bus to the baggage claim in Florence and find we are one of 10 paaengers whose luggage was not on the plane…it is a 2 hour delay in plans with an ultimate promise of luggage to our hotel room by tomorrow at noon.

Meanwhile we meet Clarissa and Sarah from Florida State who are doing a 6 week cooking semester in Florence. Clarissas bag is also missing and Sarah stayed with her for moral support!

this is where we met Massimo! He’s a local Florence man in his late 50’s.. He’s a frequent flyer and says twice a month his luggage is lost or broken into. Massimo says it’s how KLM runs their business. For as pessimistic as he is he is also happy to share some insider “must do’

​i like him.
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So excited to be taking a cooking class in Florence! Stand by for details!

It’s good to be back at it. I sit at the airport and take in the people. Truly, the airport is the best sociological cross section of humans wrapped up in anticipation and anxiety. I love bearing witness.

people on the move. People who are sleepless. People who are entitled. People who are full of expectation and then there are those full of Dread doing the rosary in the far corner.

I marvel equally at the women in Luis Vuitton 6 inch heals (respect) and the women in their flannel pajama bottoms from wall mart. Gone are the days of “dressing to fly”. Well, I guess the 6 inch heals I has still got that going on… but I don’t see those shoes as practice. Every airport today is several football fields long with escalators and transfers, the moving floors and bus rides to board…leave the Luis at home… a good pair of flats will do.

we get called to board and the sea of anxious flyers pard to let our section 4 board before them. There’s a few foul tempered people but all of us are learning to fly again. It’s a new normal.

as we board a man in a militant uniform takes our photo. When his device “bings” we can board. Facial recognition software confirms we are who we say we are.

im old so I smile as I walk toward the bus that’s taking us to the plane and think “get Smart” would love this!

I get to my tray table and lay out all my stuff. Many of you know I’m on the tale end of strep so I worry I’ll have a coughing fit and be lynched by the over cautious masses on the plan. I’m taking ever precaution to be a good neighbor .

​I’ve missed air travel. It’s good to be back!

Let’s face it, travel is work. There’s the packing. What to bring? What’s the weather in Italy? How many outfits? How many days? Do you need converters? Covid tests? Did you leave enough Dog food? What about emergency numbers?

Man, it’s a lot to think about. And there’s always something that distracts from the goal: “getting out of dodge”!

Today as I sat on my luggage to zip it up, I thought, if I forgot it I don’t need it! Don’t even ask what’s in the bag. Just don’t. Because I packed and unpacked so many times that I truly don’t have no idea what made the final cut. I know some of my readers understand, I see you nodding your heads.

My travel partner, Mark Joe Cool, is an anxious traveler. This is just a known. Nearly 30 years together and I totally prepare my self for his silent, focused, short temperament. He is terrific once we get on the flight but until then I duck and cover. Today he was Lazer focused on the suitcase locks and new passwords. I left him alone. Important to choose your battles.

My partner Steve is driving us to Logan Airport.
​He calls himself our “St-Uber”.

Welcome to 2022 Italy trip!