Off for the weekend

It’s Saturday morning in Firenze where we have gone for the weekend, our first trip out of Roma. Our room overlooks the Ponte Vecchio and the Arno It’s very peaceful except for the roar of motorbikes and cars that zoom along at frightening speed in the narrow street below. (In Italy, it’s clear, pedestrians do NOT have the right of way.)

We arrived yesterday to bright sun and 60 degree temperature after an easy train ride from Roma. The train was packed with chic looking passengers all jabbering away on their cell phones. I noticed one woman working dueling cellulari for the entire hour and a half of the trip.

Firenze is like a jewel box, full of rich and precious things. It’s much smaller and more compact than Roma and the scourge of graffiti hasn’t arrived here yet. The streets are crowded with tourists and lots of students, both Italian and foreign, and, for some reason, lots of Japanese, clutching cameras and shopping bags, of course. After checking in, we hit the streets, first stopping for a celebratory prosecco and then finding our way quite by accident to the PItti Palace, once the headquarters of the Medicis and now a huge museum. Crowds of young people are lying on the pavement outside basking in the sun but when we get inside, the galleries are almost empty. What an unexpected pleasure to be able to wonder through this overwhelming profusion of incredible artworks without having to jostle for position. Even Steve is impressed.

We spend the rest of the afternoon slowly meandering around the narrow streets, avoiding getting run over, peeking into doorways and gazing into shop windows.

And then, of course, we go out to dinner. The restaurant is just a short walk across the Ponte Vecchio—gorgeous with the full moon over the Arno. We’re seated next to a large table of good looking, well dressed Italians who are scarfing down huge bifstecks fiorentina and various yummy looking side dishes. Steve looks longingly at the slabs of meat. It’s all I can do to restrain him from grabbing a bone.

Not to worry, he gets a steak for dinner while I opt for gambieri con fagiole after first sharing some antipasti and a pasta—some kind of wrapped thing in a creamy sauce. Whew! And, let’s not forget the bottle of red wine, a delicious Ornellaia, my absolute favorite.

By this time our neighboring Italians, talking and laughing non stop, have moved on to dessert—huge cream topped cakes—and tiny glasses of limoncello and coffee, followed by yet another glass of something. Inspired by their example, Steve and I decide to split a dish of gelato ciccolato and Steve tops it all off with a shot of grappa. Basta!