Small steps in Tuscany

Rain followed us like the wretched mutt you gave food to outside the bazaar, bitterly, with the distinct possibility of ruiining your day. Luckily trains can outrun dogs, and it seems clouds as well. And so we departed into Florence with no more than a phone number and a will to survive. This will may or may not have been encouraged by the beautiful italian women so scarce in Venice, although these were often offset by the permanent and transient american guests residing in the city of Florence, but no matter, as we took our first steps beyond the modern gates of the Florence train station, we walked into florid adventure tempered by an extreme sense of being lost.

This may surprise you, it certainly surprised me, guidebook maps are not always big enough, or accurate enough to tell you where you need to go, nor do they always have a key to let you know where you are. Lckily for us, we wouldn't have known where we were had the map told us, a serious problem for people who do not speak the native language. Perfectly content to rest in this blissful state of euphoria with the Tuscany sun beating down on our light 40lb backpacks of joy, we unfortunately stumbled upon an internet cafe, 2 blocks down the road in a direction I think was northwest, but it could have just as easily been southeast. This internet cafe, crouching in an alleyway darkened by the narrow buildings I swear were trying to touch each other above our heads, would have seemed scary were it not for the illuminating direct sunlight, clean street and students streaming out of the front door, most of whom seemed american.

I contacted my friend Catey while Thomas contacted his friend who subsequently ditched him for another guy, leaving him stranded in a beautiful city with neither friend nor spirit of adventure while I found women glory and extreme measures of depravity. Not that I'm gloating, he could have got a hold of me. And so, with my faithless friend at my side, we departed to some street starting with a G, next to some big building most people recognize from art books, but having none of these, we had to guess at from the many big buildings surrounding us. After a few wrong guesses, we started looking for the street we couldn't pronounce.

After walking aimlessly down sundrenched streets surrouned by vendors of stolen or fake expensive purses and leather, often with the official brandname stores providing them a place to lean and free advertisements, we finally approached a street looking vaguely like the one we were looking for, as long as we didn't try to sound it out, and it lucily had a number that fit with the one we wanted. However, this number was attached to a gargatuan door far beyond my own means, and certainly beyond Catey's, and so while hitting the buzzer, I prepared an excuse for an angry Italian butler who would see nothing more than two bedraggled American backpackers with automatic weapons brandished in their angry arrogant stances. So I hid my gun and prepared to leave graciously. Slowly the door creaked open, and a wonderful, beautiful smile broke out on an american face I had never seen before in my entire life. Apparently we were expected. Catey was not around, but her friends were more than willing to keep us company for the short timeshe kept us waiting. Their humble abode left me dazzeled and straining to turn a rather jealous grimace into smile of admiration. Towering ceilings closeted enormous rooms and the beautiful cracked white walls you expect to find along the mediterreanean, yet rarely found outside of five-star hotels. Luckily, in the middle of this gaping, swearing spectacle, Catey walked in and threw me into a gigantic hug. I must say, I have beautiful friends, and the Italian weather, food and cultre only enhanced Catey's already abundant good looks. And unfortunately taken... again.

Then she showed me the terrace, oh the terrace. I didn't realize how lucky I was in Catey's friendship until I walked out on to this balcony from heaven. Florence's beauty manifests itself in many ways, culturally, artistic and architecturally, as a diamond nestled in the hills of Tuscany. Yet, noone told me of the beauty Florence possessed from above. Catey's terrace was the second highes privately owned terrace, in the center of Florence, 2 blocks from the famous Duomo (catherdral) made of tiled marble, with a sea of sunburnt red tiled roofs spreading out in gentle waves from our central location. The afternoon sun shone down on us as it wept goodbye upon the hills clad with classic italian villas stretching into the distance. Ah... the beautiful country.