It has been a lovely day in Firenze. Scorching hot with the locals calling it cool and letting us know that tomorrow it gets hot. The question is; how much more water can this Welsh man possibly drink? We stumbled across the outdoor pool as we walked along the other side of the river. The well honed Italian men with their small Speedo costumes were matched by the quality of the women. The pool was divided neatly into lanes, and there were smart sitting and lounging areas either end. I am often referred to as ‘Americano’ in Italy. It is due to my girth and the bright colours of my t-shirts. Especially the surfing ones, little do they know that the only surfing that I do is on the World Wide Web.
Anyway, we were at the pool and Pauline was laughing at the imagery of me jumping in. She said that I couldn’t dive, and I agreed. Although there were diving boards positioned for all of the lanes at one end of the smart pool. Nah, I retorted “I shalla belly flopper” in my best Italian accent.
“Gosh” Pauline replied, “I can imagine what they will think when they see you in your Speedo’s”. “Yes, I shall impress the women” because I knew that “they shall think, ah ha, rich fat Americano. He won’t fit on the scooter so it will be mine every day, and he shan’t speak Italiano, so he won’t know what I’m a saying”. Pauline laughed as I continued, “then the lady will meet her friends a few months later for coffee, and say, oh my gosh, he has losta weighter, he rides the scooter all the time, he’s at it all of the timer and he now speaks perfect Italiano. What am I a doer, it’s now a babino’s a coooking every day?”
Unfortunately it was not to be, the pool was not the Public one that I was looking for. No, this was the private swimming club for the rich Italian’s who pay annual fees like in a golf club. I pay an annual fee for using the swimming pool back in Wales, but it is indoors and does not have beautiful Italian women and diving boards either end.
We stumbled on to the Old Bridge with its buildings across the span, and moved off into the shopping area. We spotted the quality shop, but the quality was too good for our purse. We stalled a few shops away, and it was then that I decided to compare prices and went back to the first shop. Like many upmarket shops there were no prices on display. So we cautiously stepped into the air conditioned interior. The girl was lovely; she explained the quality of the product, the exclusivity of their range. We were hooked and left with two items, one each for our younger two daughters. We carried the items with pride in the lovely shopping bags that had been provided to hold the goods.
We stopped for coffee, well coffee a pastry for me, and an ice cream for Pauline. For once the price was the price. Was our change in fortune due to us moving away from the tourist quarter? We enjoyed the break and then wandered over to look at the magnificent building. The sun beat down upon us, and we sought shade wherever we could. There was only one thing that we could do; we would have to have an ice cream. The other night it was 8 Euro each, so the one at 1 Euro 50 cents looked promising. Mine was two flavours of sorbet, whereas Pauline had two ice-cream flavours. Again we stopped in the shade and lent against a wall.
We eventually moved off to visit Chiesa di Santo Spirito. Yet another magnificent church hosting 15C and 16C art. I have learnt more about the history of art in this extended stay in Florence than I did thirty plus years ago when studying art at ‘A’ level and again in College while I was a fireman. To me, one piece painted around 1600 was simply astonishing. The vibrant colours and the folds of the clothing stood out compared to all other works in a glorious church. I was also impressed by the way that those women who had bare shoulders, had to pay to wear a red smock while they toured the church. All too often tourists forget that they are treading on holy ground. These are not tourist attractions, but places of worship. Pauline and I enjoy the artwork but we are mindful of the surroundings and take time to sit and to reflect on that which matters.
We moved on out of the protective shade and cool of the Santo Spirito and headed into the city. We passed shops that we could not afford to go into, the kind where if you have to ask the price, then you should not be stood inside. Our luck changed today and a traffic jam stopped our bus from leaving before we arrived at out bus stop. A prompt journey on a crowded bus delivered into the arms of Hotel Residence Grifone.
Some water and a light bite set us up for the afternoon. For the first time this holiday I had a siesta. It was well received and was followed by two paragraphs of my book before we ventured out for dinner.
I am sure that it is lost in translation, but we eat at ‘La Forca’. A lovely restaurant at Piazza Alberti in Firenze. We sat outside for the second time, and this time I went with the recommended pasta and fish followed by a selection of cheeses and washed down with 0.5 litre of red wine. Glorious food cooked and served by lovely people. We knew that we had arrived, as we were greeted with bread and smiles and concluded with a glass of local lemon fire water.
The lovely Italian lad who spoke prefect English explained that this was a friendship thing. Yes, we knew that we were amongst friends, as we were no longer ‘trapped in Firenze’, these people were practically our family.
