Culture Vultures

The last time Steve and I were in Firenze together was some 38 years ago on our honeymoon. Can we recapture the magic or even remember it?

First stop today is the Palazzo Vecchio and, yes, I vaguely remember being here long ago clutching my green Michelin guide like a bible. Today the square is crowded with student groups and tourists from all over the world but here I am again, guide book in hand, dutifully lecturing Steve on the history of the renaissance. Like before, he is a very compliant listener following me through the many rooms of the Palazzo Vecchio and gazing up at the frescoed ceilings with a stunned expression. After a break for lunch—even the most devoted cicerone has to eat--we head for some other must-see sights—the Duomo, the Campanile and the Baptistry. I am determined to do it all. And Steve is with me every step of the way except when I climb the 414 steps up to the top of the Campanile.

Stuffed with culture, we take off through the narrow streets for some serious window shopping. It takes incredible discipline but I resist the impulse to buy shoes. I’ll wait for spring in Rome. Instead, Steve buys two sweaters while we chat with the salesgirls, both of whom are intensely interested in the American political situation and want to know who we support—Obama or Clinton.

Steve heads back to the hotel for pre-dinner nap but I’m not quite ready to rest. Instead, I decide to get a manicure. The hotel sends me to a large salon near by where it’s packed and noisy with music blaring and hair dryers roaring. My manicurist is a beautiful young woman with a tattoo on her wrist and a stud in her chin. We smile at each other a lot since she speaks not a word of English and somehow I can’t muster the courage to say something in my pathetic Italian.

Soon it’s time for the main event—dinner—and tonight we experience one of the best meals we’ve had in Italy. The restaurant, Olio and Convivium, is set inside a gastronomic store that sells wine, oils and specialty foods from the region. This is a good sign. The menu is small and the wine list huge. Another good sign. These portents are borne out by the food. We share a platter of four different kinds of prosciutti, followed by pumpkin ravioli in a creamy, truffle flaked sauce. Then Steve goes for the grilled lamb with artichokes and I opt for monkfish in a saffron flavored broth. Both are stupendous. Somehow we make room for dessert—a poached pear with cinnamon and caramel ice cream.

Fortunately, it is just a short walk across the Arno back to our hotel.