I left Paris at 12.35 PM Friday afternoon and arrived in Florence at 10.30 PM later that evening. You might be asking yourself, "why did it take him that long to get there?" and comme d'hab, there's a story behind it. So I made it to Rome in one piece, only to be greeted by a two hour layover. Not a problem, I'd come prepared with food and book. I boarded the plane to Florence, and besides it being a half hour late, everything went smoothly. That was until about 2 minutes before we were supposed to land. Wheels were out and 30 seconds later we would have been on the tarmac, when all of a sudden we shoot back up! All the passengers are nervously looking around at one another, asking questions in Italian, French, English, Japanese, because it wasn't until five minutes later that the captain gave us any news. "The airport is closed to us because of high winds. We are now en route to Bologna." Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!
Eavesdropping on my neighbors' conversations, one Italian woman said that Bologna is about an hour and a half bus ride away, without traffic, and that it's a difficult route because it goes through the mountains. Awesome. She then proceeds to say that "Well, I'd rather be alive in Bologna than burning in Florence. Let me tell you, the runway there is very short." Nice.
Once we landed in Bologna, I immediately headed up to the Alitalia office to see if and how Alitalia was going to make this right and if I'd be getting to Florence anytime in the near future. The woman at the Alitalia counter was very nice, but unfortunately her news wasn't. She called 40 minutes before we'd landed to try and get a bus to take us to Florence, and at the time no one had returned her call. Perfect. Next question: "Is there a train station nearby, and if so, how do I get there?"
Fortunately there is a train station in Bologna, conveniently linked to an airport shuttle (only problem being I had no idea what stop it would be). I got on the bus and heard nothing but Italian as I made my way to the back. When I sat down the girls behind me were speaking in French so I asked them if this was, in fact, the bus to the station and what stop I'd have to get off at. Yes, and the same one as us. Boom. Problem solved.
Merci Dieu that there's an English option on the ticket machines, because I had six minutes to buy a ticket and find my platform. Doing that awkward "gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now" speed walk, I made it with a minute to spare, only to be surrounded by a mass of Greek kids. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant of train rides, mostly because I couldn't move and I had no idea where and when I'd be getting off, but finally almost three hours later I made it into Santa Maria Novella Stazione in Florence. Now the next trick was finding my cousin Allison's apartment. In the dark.
Usually I have no problems with Google Maps getting me where I have to go, but under these circumstances I needed some extra help. After successfully making my way out of the station and through the first three steps of my directions, I figured it'd be best if I stopped somewhere to ask. Nighttime in an unfamiliar country where I don't know the language and I've got a massive backpack...not exactly the best time to be wandering around. The receptionist at the hotel was very friendly and gave me a map, but unfortunately her "it's that way" hand gesture didn't cut it. After I walked down one street for 10 minutes with no luck, I backtracked to the hotel and took a different route. The right one.
Relieved, I made my way up to Allison's apartment and only after pressing most of the buttons next to the door did I realize that there was a note on the knocker. They'd gone for dinner and would be back afterwards. Merde. I had no choice but to wait, because if I went for food and they came back, I wouldn't know and then I might not get in, I'd get kidnapped by gypsys, be accosted by homeless people, etc.
Once they came back, Katie carried my bag up and I went and got a pizza and inhaled it. The next morning Katie and I got up early to see the sights before the rest of the Americans got to it. I feel like it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call Florence "Little America" because honestly I heard more Americans speaking than I did Italians. The Italians probably just try to avoid us at all costs. We walked along the Arno, across the Ponte Vecchio, and around Palazzo della Signoria before taking a tour of the Duomo. This tour was probably the best 15 € I ever spent, our guide was excellent and really made it an excellent visit. In addition to being able to visit the roped off areas of the cathedral, we were able to walk up and around the dome, as well as on the terraces. The views were spectacular; I said to Katie when we were on top of the dome, "is this real life?" Honestly, it was just so perfect that it felt like it couldn't possibly be real.
After trekking up all the steps we were pretty hungry so we sat down to an amazing lunch. Simple, but again, absolutely perfect. Seafood salad and pesto pasta.
Later that afternoon Katie and I walked up to the Piazza Michelangelo where we got a panoramic view of the city. Before we went back to Allison's we stopped off at a gelateria. Whoever said money can't buy happiness clearly never had gelato. Wow.
The next day, I went to Siena with one of Allison's friends from school, Masood. After some issues with an overbooked bus, we finally made it. I really enjoyed Siena, not only because I'd never been there before, but also because it felt so much more authentic than Florence. I feel like the strong American presence in Florence detracts from the Tuscan charm. We only had a couple hours to spend there, but we saw quite a bit.
When I was leaving, of course there were no problems, except that I had the weirdest take-off experience ever: the captain held the parking brake, and while the engines were going at full speed (like they'd be when you are shooting down the runway) we were just sitting there. Then all of a sudden he lets off the brake and we shot up! I guess the Italian lady from the beginning wasn't lying when she said that the runway is short, otherwise I can't think why else they would have done that.
There's still quite a bit left to tell until you're completely up to speed; picnics, kayaking, Roland Garros, etc., but I'm heading back down to Lyon to see what I couldn't last time I was there because of the strikes. Il faut qu'on profite!
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