An Apartment in Florence

Where I Fell in Love with A View and A Clothesline

My sunset view © A. Harrison

Phone in hand, my daughter led the way as we left Firenze Santa Maria Novella. I happily followed in her footsteps. Although I think I know Florence well, my sense of direction when tired and stumbling out of a train station with luggage in tow is appalling at best.

I find choosing where to stay half the fun of planning of any trip. I’ve stayed overlooking the Duomo, and in a hidden corner of the Oltrano; this time we’d picked an apartment in the middle of San Lorenzo Markets. Somehow we made our way through the crowds gathered around the stalls. The smell of leather was incredible, and people jostled past as the stall holders tried to grab anyone and everyone’s attention.

After the first corner we could cut behind the chaos and walked under an arcade. Our door stood hidden between two leather shops. (The owners greeted us each morning as we left the apartment, and were still there when we came home.) Inside, a gorgeous marble stairwell greeted us. It had steps. A lot of them. Welcome to Italy.

The markets late in the afternoon © A. Harrison

Our kitchen and the bedrooms overlooked the markets, and of a morning I sat at the window and watched them wake up. As I sipped my coffee and worked on my journal, the stalls would be wheeled in from where they slept at night, the owners then opened them up and set about displaying their wares, and another day began.

Across the way was restaurant where later we would have dinner. Every day, from lunch time until late at night, the place was packed. Yet no matter how crowded nor how long the queues, I never had the sense of being rushed through a meal anywhere in Italy. Meals here are to be savoured and enjoyed. Always time to sip on a glass of wine and take my time over the pappardelle with wild boar, or perhaps the linguine with a scampi sauce. Any wonder I keep coming back?

Darkness fell as we wandered the streets with a gelato in hand. After all, a day in Italy without a gelato is a day wasted. With tavernas everywhere, the streets were filled with people dining outside and enjoying the weather.

Another day we ventured into the Mercato Centrale, which was just round the corner, to buy the makings of dinner from the incredible range of fresh produce on offer. Some tomatoes bursting from their skin, a few sausages, a wedge or two of cheese, bread, a handful of greens, fresh peaches for desert: delicious. As we ate I watched the market stalls going to sleep just as I had watched them wake up. This time things were packed away, the stalls locked and wheeled away to sleep somewhere else, leaving behind a spacious piazza which is hidden by crowds during the day.

Being the height of summer I left my windows open for the breeze, and the faint sound of revellers drifted into the room as I fell asleep. When I woke in the morning, the sky was filled with swifts chasing small insects for their breakfast.

Time to make the coffee, eat a peach, and do some writing. Then hand my washing on the clothesline which hangs out the window (magical!) before heading out for another day in Florence.

The Duomo, Florence, with the hills behind.

Ah, Florence © A. Harrison

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The Literary Traveller

Vasari’s The Lives of the Artists is credited as the first work of art history. A contemporary of Michelangelo (whose talents include, according to Vasari, making the world's best snowmen), Vasari was himself a famed artist and architect.

Although biased towards the Florentine painters (in the first printing Titan did not rate a mention), Vasari’s work remains an amazing window into the Renaissance world. Indeed, Vasari was the first to use the word Renaissance in print.

Vasari also peppers his works with delightful bits of gossips and observations of the artistic life:     

(these) rough sketches, which are born in an instant in the heat of inspiration, express the idea of their author in a few strokes, while on the other hand too much effort and diligence sometimes sap the vitality and powers of those who never know when to leave off.

The book is perfect for reading after a day of exploring the unending museum and art gallery which is Italy.

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Memories - A Poem