Days 12-13: Florence

Two days in Florence was not enough.  I suspect that one could be there a lifetime and not fully discover all the art and culture that oozes from its every pore: as the mother of the Renaissance, this home of Michaelangelo, DaVinci, Dante,  Donatello, and the Medici dynasty (and on and on) boasts thousands of nooks and crannies that a hundred guidebooks couldn't cover.  

But we just had time for two days, and so we picked the standard (biggie) sites:  The Academia Gallery (built for Michaelangelo's David), the Duomo (or cathedral) and its red dome (perhaps the most recognizable icon of the city), the Uffizi Gallery (home of the best Italian Renaissance art), and Rick Steve's Renaissance Walking tour that took us from the Duomo to the Piazza Vecchio to one of the most famous foot-bridges in the world, the Ponte Vecchio.  Florence was particularly interesting to me, as I am in the middle of reading the new Dan Brown novel, Inferno, which is set in Florence and Venice.

We decided not to drive into Florence (a 45 minute drive from Lucca), an ultra pedestrian-friendly city, which is consequently not at all conducive to cars; if fact, in many places in the historic-center, the driving of a car into certain areas can cost you a 100 euro fine (enforced by video camera so there's no way to escape it), and if you happen to get lost, and drive in and out of such zones a few times, you could wind up with multiple 100 euro fines--one for each time you cross the into the no-car zone.  Thus, we chose to take the train into Florence from Lucca, a great way to travel to Florence, as most sights are within a 15  minute walk of the main train station.  The train also gave me a chance to settle into my book, giving me five hours (2 round trips of 2.5 hours a piece) of uninterrupted time to read my book.

I was a little rusty with train travel; it had been since my mission days in Holland that I've ridden the train, other than one trip to Colorado on the Amtrak a few years ago.  On our first day home from Florence, as we sat in the train at the station, waiting for it to depart, Samantha asked me if we needed to validate the tickets we had just bought.  "I don't think so," I said.

"Well, I saw a validation machine in the station.  I think we might have to," she replied.

I then agreed that perhaps we had to, but I was too tired to hop off and confirm that. And because I did indeed pay for the tickets, I wasn't too worried about it.  Plus, we didn't even see a conductor on the way into Florence.

Twenty minutes into our journey home from Florence, the conductor stood at my side asking me for my ticket.  I slipped my hand in my pocket and produced a ticket, having forgotten entirely about my conversation with Sam on validating a ticket.  As he reviewed the ticket, he shot a pointed question toward me in Italian.  I gave my typical "I'm-totally-lost-and-too-lazy-to-learn-even-the-most-simple-phrases-in-Italian" look, hoping that if I stared with a confused and dumbfounded look long enough that he would start speaking English.  He then spoke in broken English, "this ticket not validated." 

Uh-oh.  

I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I played stupid tourist, saying something like, "Yes, I did pay for that ticket."  He then pulled a laminated document from his coat pocket, which contained an English, French, Spanish, and German version of the same statement:  something about how one must validate a ticket before they leave the station, and if they forget they must quickly go and find the conductor; otherwise, the fine can be as heavy as 40 euros per ticket.  He then said, "Very important in Italy.  Very important."

I tried to look even more stupid, as I panicked inside:  crap, this could cost be 40 euros per ticket (240 for my group of 6 tickets--tickets that originally only cost about 8 euros).  I then gave my best imitation of a puppy dog face, trying to express as much humility and ignorance as I could.  "I'm sorry; I didn't know"--a white lie, as my daughter had told me this very thing before we left the station.  I guess I could have said, "I didn't know until about 10 minutes before departure, but I was just too tired to get out of my chair and do this," but somehow I don't think that would have gone over as well as the puppy dog face.  

At that point, the conductor whipped out his citation booklet and started writing.  Oh goodness, here it comes.  I began devising ways in which I might quickly push him aside and momentarily paralyze him, while I grab the other six members of my family and leap from the train.

He finished scribbling on his citation pad, tore a sheet from it, and plopped it down on the seat-back table in front of me.  Then, announcing the verdict, he proclaimed:  "5 euros please."

Fhew!  Sigh of relief.  I might have given him the Italian multiple-kiss-to-the-cheek thing but that seemed a little inappropriate.  

While trying to not to appear too excited, I maintained the confused, dumb tourist look on my face, as I reached into my money pouch and handed over my 5 euro fine, acting like that was my last euro. 

No sooner had he put the money in his pocket (where it probably stayed, soon to be spent on Big Mac at the next station) did he give me another "are-you-trying-pull-one-over-on-me" look.  He gently shoved the ticket in my face, "What is this?  It says Lucca TO Florence" (remember, we were travelling  FROM Florence to Lucca."  I looked at it, confused.  I had given him that morning's ticket by mistake.  I quickly rummaged through my money pouch, back pack, and then finally my pocket to find the right ticket: Florence to Lucca.

At this point, I had single-handedly confirmed to this guy that Americans are indeed stupid.  A little annoyed, he punched my ticket, and as he left, he reminded me, "Remember validate ticket. Very important in Italy!"

Other than that train snafu, Florence went over without a hitch.  The David did not disappoint; I thought it might like the Mona Lisa did the first time I saw it in the Louvre (it actually got better on my second visit).   It is beyond me how Michaelangelo did this (and everything else he did).  Unlike most sculptors of his day, who would first make a model with clay or something maleable (from which they could take measurements and perfect their dimensions) before they started chipping into a hunk of marble, Michaelangelo just went for it.  Unfathomable!  How did he not screw this up?  It's not like he had an unlimited amount of  14-foot single pieces of marble laying around for a redo.  You are familiar with his famous line (which I hope is really his):  I saw the angle in the marble and carved until I set him free.

Pure genius.  Pure talent. Pure gift from God.  

Florence, which laid the foundation for a rebirth of classical ideals of art, government, democracy, humanism, and reformation, was also a gift from God to the world. I hope to someday to spend more time to enjoy that gift. Good night.

Daphne and Sam in front of the Duomo.

This kids (with Abby asleep) on the Ponte Vecchio bridge.

Sam, on top of the Duomo's dome, with Florence in the background.

View of Florence, with the Duomo's "Giatto's Tower" in view.

One of the many brilliant statues on the Piazza Vecchio.  This was carved from one piece of marble.

Sam and Jeffrey, on our "Renaissance walk," in front of the Duomo's Baptistry doors.

Palazzo Vecchio, Florence's famed town hall.

Jeffrey at the Uffizi Gallery.