Solo in Florence
Nothing makes you feel more alive than stepping off a train in a place you've have never been before, and wondering what is in store around the next dimly lit corner.
The river Arno gathers silt on its journey from the Apennines to the Ligurian Sea, and is the exact color of caffe latte as it pours itself through the Ponte Vecchio this bright early morning.
I stand alone on the steps of San Miniato, a small Romanesque basilica perched high above the iconic skyline of Florence. I am inspired to sing out a joyful song to Giotto’s bell tower, to the frescos of San Croce, to the nearby hills of Fiesole.
From this high vantage point, I could be looking down onto the 16th century of the Medici, of DaVinci and Botticelli. From below, however, with a closer view, I am faced with the bizarre juxtaposition of the ancient and proud with the contemporary and profane:
• Two young boys ride skateboards on the ancient cobblestones of the Lungarno Torrigiani — imagine how their teeth must rattle! Not to mention their brains.
• An elderly nun, dressed in black, dodges a speeding motor scooter as she crosses a narrow street. She carries a bright yellow shopping bag emblazoned in large red letters “Just Do It”.
• A garish movie poster, affixed to an ancient stone wall, announces a titillating X-rated film, “Bagno di Lingua” to be featured tonight. Tongue Bath? What time does it start?
• A man sits on a park bench eating a salami sandwich. He is wearing a superman suit. Who knows why?
I am a tourist, so of course I am visiting all the marvels described in the guidebooks – the churches and museums, the palazzos and gardens, wandering and wondering through miles of super-congested streets and hallways. And yes, I admit it, I stand as amazed and as heart-racing as any other open-mouthed traveller in Florence. As it turns out, centuries and crowds and five hundred souvenir stands cannot diminish the splendor of the treasure guarded here in this small city made of stone.
Who would not willingly stand in line for the opportunity to experience face to face the voluptuous women of the Renaissance: Ammanati’s brashly erotic sculpture of Leda and her swan lover, Raffael’s ethereal, yet earthy, Madonna of the Chair, or Titian’s innocent sexuality of Mary Magdalene.
I feel so fortunate to experience this solo journey through Italy. It makes me wonder if this could be my reward for something noble that I did in a previous life. Or, could it be I am paying in advance for some terrible labor yet to come in this one? Whatever the reason, I am grateful.
Thomas Hardy wrote, “The measurement of a life should be proportioned to the intensity of the experience rather than to its actual length.” I, myself, have had a good long life and I can testify that my solo travels have definitely endowed it with weight and breadth. Intense experiences happen by the minute, on the road, engendering delight, wonder, curiosity, even fear sometimes.
Nothing makes me feel more alive than stepping off a train or a ferry in a place I have never been before, and wondering what is in store around the next dimly lit corner. For those of you who plan to take to the road alone, have no fear! You are young and invincible! I remember the feeling well. I promise you it is life changing, and I wish you Buon Viaggio!
I’m so there with you on solo travel, except for that time I got an appendectomy in Haiti, and those nasty boils in South Sudan, and the not just Montezuma’s revenge, but the revenge of his entire extended family. Also, the midnight kidney stone in that former Stalin Youth “resort” near Prague. Other than that and a few other little inconveniences, I’m all about solo travel.
I also have a thing about arriving at a country cold. The more one travels, the harder it is to remain completely ignorant, but I really enjoy letting a country teach me about itself. I’ll eat anything that doesn’t have a face or a mother. Hotels? It’s only for one night and I can put up with anything for one night. I learned long ago not to sleep next to walls, because rats run next to walls. Bedding not up to my standards? Newspapers are an excellent emergency hack, and you can also read yourself to sleep.
Always treat people who point guns at you with respect and acknowledge the spark of Divinity that resides in each one of them.
I find I’m less likely to commit murder if I let someone else drive.
It’s always more fun to get lost unless your plane leaves in hour, but don’t panic. There is always another flight in a week of two.
Learn local prices early on, because it can save you a lot of money in unexpected ways. In England, I once rented a tiny car with a tiny diesel engine. Diesel fuel was almost $8 per gallon, but vegetable cooking oil was less than $5 per gallon. The little car’s cholesterol levels dropped like a rock and the exhaust smelled yummy.
Remember to look the correct direction before you cross a street. Most countries with free national healthcare subsidized the cost from insurance reimbursements from Americans who forget what side of the road people drive on This advice doesn’t apply in places like Italy, where there is no correct side to drive on.
That’s all for now.
"Nothing makes me feel more alive than stepping off a train or a ferry in a place I have never been before, and wondering what is in store around the next dimly lit corner." Love these travel pieces Sharron. You inspire me to get out and finally see the world.