Firenze

The week or two before I headed out to Florence were fairly rough on me. I was taking far more time getting the same amount of work done and I felt more or less exhausted most of the time. I practically promised myself that, despite all of the beautiful art and incredible architecture, I would spend this vacation sitting back and relaxing. Maybe I would head to the Duomo; perhaps I would look in to the Uffizi, but only if the line wasn't extended to ridiculous proportions. Other than that, I would plant myself in a coffee shop somewhere to read and write and generally try to recover some energy. Needless to say, this plan failed.

I arrived in Florence in the late afternoon. One of the first things I noticed waiting at the bus stop for the shuttle into the city was that no one was speaking Italian. In fact all but three were speaking English. I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me too much; after all, most native Italians would have risked death and drove to the airport. But you would be hard pressed to find an occasion in the other cities I've been to where all of the people traveling by public transport were tourists. This in fact marked one of the twin mainstays of my trip.

Florence is more of a tourist trap than any other city I've been to in Europe. Madrid relies on its tourist income, sure. And London and Paris are flocking with tourists. But in London and Paris, where if you walk through more than one district everything is so heterogeneous anyway, the tourists are just as different as anything else. They don't particularly stand out. Most of the tourists in Madrid spoke Spanish, and even the Americans trying desperately to remember their year of middle school Spanish were trying to adapt to the local culture. In Florence, throughout my entire trip, I heard more English than Italian. In the first three hours I was there, while walking to my hostel and later to stretch my legs after hours of traveling, I encountered more tour groups than I would have expected to find in London, and in a much smaller area. Now, I have an irrational and somewhat hypocritical dislike of tourists, so dealing with this tourist culture while trying to see beautiful things and back at my hostel was the hardest part of the vacation. Once I tuned them out, I was blown away.

Anyone traveling in most European cities will notice that the designers were smart. The streets are small and unplanned, but there is usually a center where some streets intersect. You put the biggest, most grandiose buildings there because everyone looking down those streets will see them. Florence was no exception. I had the experience of having the Duomo grow on me as I walked to my hostel from the coach station. It looked big at the station; it grew to be massive. Apparently St. Paul's is larger, but the Duomo is packed into a smaller area so it looks gigantic. I'm pretty sure it was at that moment, seeing the building which is given as the prototypical example of Renaissance genius and egotism that I decided I wouldn't be able to just stay inside and write. I walked slowly around the Duomo, then turned into a side street, and lo and behold there was my hostel. I was staying about forty five seconds away from it. That also might have been a sign.

The next morning I decided to get up early and head to the Uffizi. I didn't get up early enough. The line was still massive and even though I got there before it opened I had to wait half an hour to get in. It was completely worth it, of course. The Uffizi shows a history of Renaissance art from Giotto's first dabbling into what we would call realism to the Spanish renaissance I had seen plenty of while I was in Madrid. I felt a little off rhythm as I walked past and then was passed by hundreds of people listening to the audio tour or following one of the six guides I saw speaking Chinese, Japanese, or English. About half way through, I walked into a large room which was packed nearly to the brim. This was where the Uffizi's two most famous residents were to be found: Botticelli's "Birth of Venus" and "Primavera". I'll give the guy credit, he knows how to paint gorgeous women. The room had nearly a dozen of his works, and seeing that I wasn't getting near those two for a while, I perused the others. I was coming back around to the "Birth of Venus" when I was struck. Botticelli started life painting pagan derived works but then was influenced by Savonarola and started painting more Catholic scenes. One of these later ones was an "Adoration of the Magi". But Botticelli completed the genre for me. It was the most beautiful of its type I've ever seen, and by far the most beautiful thing I saw in the Uffizi. The emotion on the Virgin's face was complex and palpable. She makes Venus look as bland as the Medieval Madonnas. I could look at that painting for hours. After a few minutes, I remembered that I was standing in a crowded room; one of the tours had moved on and distracted me. But as I glanced around I noticed that no one was looking at this painting. Many of them came into Botticelli's room, spent two minutes on the "Primavera" and two on the "Venus" and moved on. I still don't understand this practice. What's the point of going to the museum at all; particularly one where the wait outside, at that pace, is longer than your visit?

Though I went to two other museums, the majority of my trip was spent in churches. Like in Spain, and to a smaller extent London, many of the churches were decorated by some of the best artists in their day. I planned poorly by traveling mostly on Saturday, when many of the churches were closed, and Sunday, when they were obviously celebrating mass. But the ones I saw were incredible. Many of the artists, especially up to the early Renaissance, weren't thinking about doing Art; they were thinking about making the most beautiful altarpiece or chapel dedication they could, ad majorem Dei gloriam. So despite the wealth in the Uffizi and other museums around Florence, probably half of the city's art is in various churches - not to speak of their architecture. A couple I visited were designed and worked on by Brunelleschi. But I didn't get to take a leisurely stroll around Brunelleschi's best work. On the other hand, having mass in the Duomo is something of a good memory to have, right?

That night I had a fantastic surprise. I was wandering down side streets for no reason when I ran into a church. I wondered if it was anything interesting, but it just seemed to be a local neighborhood church. One of the signs caught my eye though; a free concert, that night, in about twenty minutes. The program was an odd mix of a flautist, an organist, and a counter-tenor; hearing a counter-tenor is very odd for someone used to hearing the same songs sung by a woman. It was very impressive, if nothing else. But the organist, who played accompaniment for most of the program, got to stretch his solo muscles once. And that was for Bach's Toccata and Fugue in d minor, a song that I have loved ever since first hearing it on Fantasia as a kid. It wasn't the best version, but this was the way it was meant to be played. Some of the huge chords rattled the church; people were pressed into the seats by its power before recovering with a beautiful melody. I was in heaven.

I did also see Michelangelo's David, which was overrated since they have a free copy standing in the main plaza which was just as good. While I was there a little girl behind me said, "you look like him." I turned around; she must have been about seven years old, and sure enough she was looking at me while pointing up at the statue. I was obviously flattered. "Really?" I said, kneeling down, "You really think so?" After taking another glance at this angle, she replied: "Well... your hair looks like his. But your arms don't. Really, you only kinda look like him." Ah, but the hair does. I suppose I'll take what I can get.

I think the most pleasant surprise (for me - I can't imagine too many people wildly interested in this) was the way the major players of the Renaissance managed to still be a presence if you managed to find them. Sure, there were lots of people heading to the Medici tombs. But I was twice surprised by recognition. At one church, I was in one of the transepts when I noticed a circle painted on the floor of one of the chapels. I looked at it and tried to decipher the Latin. It turned out to be Botticelli's tomb. At another church I was the only visitor. It was well out of the way, and not too exciting. I was lured by a promise of Giotto paintings, but I found myself looking at a painting called "Madonna and Sponsors: Vespucci". It took me a moment to realize the significance. But in front of me was a portrait of Amerigo Vespucci, one that I had just stumbled upon by accident. That kind of serendipity is reason enough to travel.

I did miss out on something this trip. It was something that only occurred to me while waiting through the three and a half hour delay at the airport, and is something I'm not sure I could have changed given the amount of time I spent there. Every European city is divided into two. The first is the international zone, where everyone speaks English and the lifestyle, if not the decorations, is fairly ubiquitous. Don't get me wrong; it's a good lifestyle, one I sometimes miss not having when I'm in the States. This 'tourist zone' is not particularly marked by wealth, either; look at me. The presence of hostels and hotels is not quite it either, since you'll usually be able to find accommodation in the boonies. It's more a willingness and ability to cater; I mean, think about how unusual is it to go to Spain, Italy, wherever and just expect people to know English? Yet many people do expect just that. As long as they stay in the tourist zone, they're fine, but once they head outside, they might find themselves in a little trouble. But it is the outside which I usually find makes for the best travel, since nothing is the same; Umbria wildly differs from Tuscany just as Suffolk differs wildly from Kent or even Oxfordshire. I think I managed to get a little bit outside everywhere I went except Florence. There might have been one or two times while I was visiting the more obscure churches where I had to buy food in Italian, but I'm undecided whether or not they were just letting me butcher Italian and they actually spoke English.

Perhaps it was something about the fact that I was exhausted and slept like a rock every night, but I have to say that, despite the miles of walking over the course of three museums, thirteen churches and one hike up the nearby hills to get a gorgeous panorama, I think I did a better job in getting rest than had I sat in cafes the whole time.