Florence the Classy Way

Venice treated us quite nicely, and saw us off with a sun shiny farewell. We spent the day continuing perusing the shops and backpacking the city. When we tired of that it was early in relation to the time which we were supposed to catch our train. We decided to head to the station anyway considering it was so close to the water.

Greetings from Venice!

We stripped ourselves of our exterior winter shells and soaked in the sun along a vacant Venetian dock with a few bottles of Bacardi Breezers. It was such a picturesque moment that we had strangers taking our pictures.

Don't be surprised if you see us on a brochure when you travel to Venice.

So after a little unprotected sun bathing, we grabbed our jackets and headed to the 4 hour train ride.

Considering this one took place during daylight hours, I was much more comfortable with taking a little nap; a night in Florence called for it.

We got to our hostel fast, and lucked out again when we realized there was a room fit for 9 that we were in. It was a perfect secure sleeping situation that was just begging us to go out and enjoy the night life.

We first had dinner though, after being completely famished due to a mere slice of pizza in Venice an approximate 8 hours earlier. I don't think we've skipped an offer for an Italian dinner since being in the country. The best part about the location in which we chose on this occasion: FREE BREAD.

To my American audience unfamiliar with the European Union, a little cultural note: when you're in a restaurant, water is not free regardless of how many perpetually flowing fountains you see on the streets, and the pre-meal bread is also not free. Lay a finger on it and you're paying 4 euro.

We roll deep. Taken by Patricia, missing Patricia.

Like I said.. except here!

I split a Caprese Salad (Dad, yours is still better) and indulged in tortellini bolognese.

As girls do, at the conclusion of the meal we took a group bathroom break. There were only two toilets available; one marked men and one marked women. My logic tells me, why leave the men's vacant when there are none in sight? So I used it. Karma got me good.

I knew I had an audience of three friends waiting outside the door, so I wasn't embarrassed to be talking. Until the fell silent.

One of them is notorious for taking very unexpected pictures and recording at inopportune moments. I immediately screamed "Are you f*#%ing recording this?"

Giggles ensued, and a "no."

Then I asked for something that, in this situation, was almost more embarrassing than asking for cocaine. I'll let you use your imagination. To this request I heard more giggles and a "I think you should stop talking now."

So I did. I retreated my little stall to find out that some guy was waiting for his appropriately labeled door the entire time.

Patricia Holliday original photo: fake David.

This is why Florence hates Americans. Just glad to know that I've still got it in me to be one!

So we payed our check and left, full from free bread and expensive pasta and ready to dance it off.


First stop, David.

We were all under the impression that Michelangelo's David was the great statue standing unprotected from elements and vandalism in an open square. Out of nine of us, only one was smart enough to let the rest of us know the real one was in a museum nearby.

It was still very beautiful to look at (above the waist...)

Jackie Herro photo: the Duomo.

We had connections to someone who is studying in Florence which made our night out run very smoothly; we didn't have to play guessing games, he took us to the bars that we would want to be in. The last of these bars was next to the massive and impressive Duomo whose entrance line during the day is overwhelmingly long. It is still very impressive, so much so that it is pretty much the face of Florence.

All is well that ends well.

The next day we all managed to get up and ready with all of our belongings and take to the leather of the city. Markets of leather galore! It felt and smelt like heaven. We would spend literally an hour at all the [reputable] stands, feeling and sniffing the wallets and belts and bags.

Somehow, I walked away from all the bags. But I did snag a belt. talked him down to 10 euro, seemed worth it.

mmm, carbohydrate and sugary goodness.

The real treasure of this trip was the breakfast that we had. The term breakfast itself is as American as it gets; they really don't do that here. But we found it: a utopia of pancakes, omelettes, and even burgers with what else but the St John's game playing on TV. Literally an absolutely to-die-for taste of home.

The walk back to the train had a much less beautiful departure scene. And by much less beautiful, I'm referring to the trees literally infested with shrieking bats. I am sure that this was a scene straight from the outer circles of Hell. It was creepy, but obviously still fascinating.

Nomelet with home fries. heaven.

When we got into the train station, it was also a lot less welcoming than Venice's and bordered on being as eccentric as New York's. For instance: I laughed for a good 2 hours about a man who rolled in on his roller blades, completely nonchalant, spinning and twirling on the information line.

Who am I kidding, I'm still laughing.

The train ride home was a breeze; no assigned seats so naturally all nine of us made home in a single car which no one else wanted to join in since we were so loud and gossipy. Perks of Being American.

All in all, the moral of the story is that all roads lead to Rome; still my favorite city... behind New York.<3