Farewell to Florence

Tonight we are reluctantly getting ready to leave Florence in the morning. Collin and I have agreed that Florence may very well sit as number 2 on our list of favorite places we've seen while in Europe--second to Amsterdam, which still seems like the most surprisingly impressive city and interesting culture we've seen so far.

Today, we wanted to see the Boboli Gardens, which were one the private gardens to the Pitti family, but has become public. Unfortunately, again, we tourists weren't given quite enough information, and when we trekked as far as we have since we arrived in Florence to go see what promised to be a beautiful, natural break from even a mellow city life, we found that (according to our luck) the gardens are closed the last Monday of every month... So we turned right around, and strolled back through the city, where I had a date with a leather salesman.

After going through the leather market yesterday, I realized how badly I would like to have a nice Italian leather bag, but most of the things I liked were way out of what I considered reasonable on a backpacker's budget. But after talking it over with a few concerned parties (i.e. those who are acutally paying for everything) it was decided that having a very nice souvenier that would always represent one of my favorite destinations on a trip that I would remember forever was not such a frivilous purchase.

I spent a long time looking at as many leather booths in the market as I could--trying to find just the right bag at a price that made me feel as though I was getting a relatively good deal. After nearly an hour of searching and scrutinizing numerous handbags, having to set a back back in a kiosk that a man wouldn't take back from me--convinced that it would force me to buy it, I decided on the smaller of two bags of the same style. While I was looking, I found that I was most attracted to two-toned leather bags, so I chose a black leather bag with light brown straps and details. It is fashionable, which if you know me very intimately, you know that I carry quite the utilitarian purse while at home, and having something fashionable for once made me feel special. Ah the power of the handbag. For the rest of the walk home, and actually for the rest of the evening, I've been giddy with the thought of my new Italian leather bag. To whom it may concern: thank you so much, and I hope you know how much I will always cherish it!

The day was not even close to finished because after skipping the last two tours, Collin and I had a walking tour with a leather factory tour and a four course meal paid-in-full, and this was the last night to do it.

But as we have found througout the trip, it doesn't take much to tucker a traveler out, so we planned for a little siesta between outings. We headed back to the hostel and did a little laundry, a little reading, and a little napping before getting dressed and ready to go learn a few things about our beloved Florence.

We went down and found one of our familiar tour guides from Busabout, whom we've had on a few of the legs of our journey. She was going on the walking tour too; the tour was quick and easy and taught us a few facts about the beautiful buildings and sights we've been taking in for the last four days.

Then we went to the leather shop and saw a faux demonstration of how Italian leather goods are made. It was a mock presentation because for every one layer of leather used on an item, the leathersmith needs one week to prepare it. The demonstrator had a New York accent, so when we got a chance we prodded him into telling us that his mother is from Buffalo but married an Italian--thus our demonstrator was born and raised in Florence, but his English is plainly 'New York.'

After a few minutes of poking around the leather shop, we headed to "The House of Sizzle," which worried us because all we heard when we were told the name was "Applebees." But! EUR 20 had covered our walking tour, the leather factory tour, and a four course meal, and we were not going to complain about such a good deal.

We walked the block to the "Sizzler" and were enormously surprised to find our good friend Kendel, whom we had traveled from Paris to Amsterdam to Berlin to Prague with. She had gone off to the Greek islands, and we weren't expecting to see her again, but there she was, in the Italian version of an Applebees. Because she had already finishedd her meal, we quickly hugged and planned to meet back at the hostel for an evening of catching up on the terrace.

Collin and I sat down and were immediately served our appetizer, which was a nice slice of bread with fresh tomatoes and basil on top. Then came out a serving of rottini pasta--half with pesto (which was better) and the other half with marinara. As we waited for the "secondi," we chatted with the girls at our table and compared our experiences with the Busabout destinations. The main course was also good. The fries were seasoned with garlic, and Collin had a beef goulash, and I had a chicken leg and thigh. The only let down of the whole experience is when they served what we supposed was Dryer's chocolate ice cream....hello? We know better than that now...that's almost unacceptable in a place that is the Mecca for all ice cream connaisseurs.

Anyway, we quickly picked up and went back to the hostel. We took a few streets that we hadn't walked down before and enjoyed another fresh look at Florence at dusk.

When we got to the hostel, we changed and met Kendel and her friends on the terrace and caught up on all of the shenanigans we'd all had since we'd seen each other last.

Finally, the sun had set, the lights had come up to illuminate the Duomo, the mosquitos had started to bite like crazy, and we had to pack before our 8 a.m. bus. We said our goodbyes, promising to see Kendel again in Barcelona. And headed into our glorious hostel room with more air conditioning than one summer traveler could want.

I could have spent two weeks here, relaxing and enjoying this very important, yet surprisingly mellow Tuscan city. We've loved it, and we hate to go. On the other hand, perhaps a more relaxing destination rests on the horizon. Tomorrow, we head for Nice.