Florence

On our first day in Florence, we were so entranced with the view from our campground that we didn't even leave the porch of the common area. I wrote and thought and in general enjoyed life and the cool air blowing off of the end of the Appenines in the distance.

On the second night in Florence, we walked over from our hostel to the Piazza Michelangelo to watch the sunset. There's a big copy of Michelangelo's David up there and so, along with what must have been half the tourist population of Florence, we watched the lovely sun sink into the bank of clouds just above the river. It was kinda crazy beautiful.

The next day, we spent time in the city, walking across that big famous bridge and finding our way to that one square, where we decided to meet up again. I headed over to the Duomo, climbed the dome unintentionally (the signs aren't particularly clear),

This: Unintentional.

This: The perk of unintentional excursions.

 got lost on my way back, found Santa Croce,

It's got a big tower, like the place I was looking for.

which was on my list to visit, and then proceeded to sit around for an hour listening to a man playing movies themes on guitar (The Godfather is popular over here) before another woman waiting on a friend informed me it was after 8. I was supposed to meet Christine at a quarter to six.

I hiked back up these stairs

They haunt my dreams.

 and found Christine at the campground (no, really, cellphones are wonderful things) and enjoyed talking to the people around the place. Campgrounds are a little different from any other place we've stayed. There's a lot more families in motor homes, a lot of people spending a long time enjoying the view rather than running on to see the next big thing. Florence is a city of the Renaissance. Painters, thinkers, scientists all came from or to here, beginning or continuing changes we still feel today. The science museum here is named after Galileo, who (I think) did some of his initial experiments with telescopes from here. And yet it is not a city that forces its history on you or demands that you fill up your itinerary or your evenings. I loved it.

On Sunday, I went to St. James Episcopal Church, the American church in Florence, because it was Pentecost and I desperately wanted someone who spoke in my own language. It was the beginning of week three and, if you hadn't heard, there's this rule of the threes- apparently, at three weeks and three months and three years, you get this crazy sadness or homesickness or something, Silly superstitions aside, I really needed to hear a Protestant church service in English. The only thing that could have done my heart more good would have been a Methodist hymn sing, but those are as hard to come by over here as Sundrop.

Sunday afternoon, Christine and I went exploring again, to attempt to find the museum that the real David's housed in to make a reservation. I gave Christine the map and we found our way to where we were supposed to be, stopping in this eerily deserted square first. After resting for a few moments, watching the pigeons attack the man on the horse, we decided to look around. It was a warmer day, so shorts and a tank top were called for. There was a children's hospital or maybe a museum that was confusing off to one side, and then a basilica on another. The basilica was having an all-day Pentecost prayer vigil, but I'm quiet and respectful and I figured sticking my head in wouldn't hurt anything. This little old lady stopped us just inside the door, though, pointing at our legs and our shoulders and lecturing us in Italian. We whispered that we were going and she kept on talking. I caught a glance of a ceiling like the one in Venice before we left.

I've never been thrown out of a church before. It's a new experience. God must really hate my knees. (PS, I definitely understand that I was inappropraitely dressed per cultural norms and that I should be more respectful when I enter another person's sanctuary and that my last comment is slightly uncalled for. Then again, I was just thrown out of a church. Go ahead and blame me.)

Still, wandering around and finding the museum closed (and closed on the second and fourth Mondays of the month. Sensical? No.) and wandering back was a good way to clear the air and remind myself of the beauty of this city. Maybe I loved resting here too much. There's definitely more to see than I saw, but I don't know that I'd trade one morning for another site to see and memorize for later description.

Our time in Florence ended with a surprise trip to Pisa, which was quite nice. It's wonderful to meet people and travel with them on their pre-planned adventures, and this was such an adventure as to merit its own post. On Tuesday, we took an afternoon train to Rome, piling once again onto a bus that careened along streets full of Italian drivers and motorcyclists, who like to think that they can drive anywhere they wish. This is partially true and totally frightening on a bus. On our way to our hostel, I was distracted by an old man whistling to himself and then a cheerful English speaking group singing together on the bus. Now, with the air full of people busy with their lives, it's easy to see how people got stuff done in the 16th century.

Can't get too comfortable with magic, afterall.