Florence, Finally

Ever since my junior year in high school, where we spent almost an entire quarter on the Renaissance, I had wanted to visit its birthplace – Florence. Over the years, I grew to love all things Italian – the film A Room with a View, pasta, the language spoken with expressive hand gestures, olive oil, and a handsome Italian man I admired from the third row in English class. Visiting Florence became a dream that I had to fulfill.

So when the opportunity to see Florence presented itself, I had to follow through. One of my dearest friends was living in Geneva at the time, and proposed a visit to Tuscany. In a pre-Airbnb world, we somehow found a beautiful home in Impruneta, a town 30 minutes from Florence, which we later learned was the Communist capital of Italy. I recall visiting the local grocery store located on Via Ho Chi Minh, and the statue of a hammer and sickle that sat at the center of the town square.

I knew that I wanted to do and see certain things and immerse myself in the world of Renaissance Florence. I also knew that my partner at the time would not be interested in most of what I wanted to do. And travel for us as a couple was always fraught – ever since our first trip together to Costa Rica, where I nearly left him and checked into another hotel after three days of nonstop complaining about everything – the heat, the monkeys, the roads. But that’s a story for another day.

So I told my friend, why yes, I would love to join her, her husband, and their two kids (both under 5) for a Tuscan adventure! Yes, of course I’m game to spend my holiday with a couple of rambunctious tots! No, my partner would not be joining us!

Before meeting my friends at the house, I was going to spend a few nights on my own in Florence. I was excited, but also nervous to be traveling alone for the first time. I had traveled internationally alone before, but always for work, never for pleasure. Would it be awkward to eat meals in a restaurant by myself? It was something I had never done before, and it kind of freaked me out. But I was determined to have my Florentine adventure, and so I made the necessary travel plans.

Arriving in Florence, I couldn’t wait to get out and explore the city, and nothing – not jet lag, exhaustion, mosquitos, heat – could keep me from it. I wandered down the narrow streets, losing myself in history, catching glimpses of the Duomo in between buildings as I strolled. Taking it all in, I made my way towards the river, crossing over to the Oltrarno side. Moving away from the crowds, I found a small, inviting restaurant overlooking the Arno and settled in for my first solo dinner and a celebratory glass of prosecco.  

Over the course of the next few days, I toured the city, climbing to the top of the Duomo and stepping out onto its terrazas, doing my best not to give in to my recently realized fear of heights. I drifted through the streets, stopping in trattorias and cafes when hunger and thirst bade me to. I leisurely wandered through the Uffizi, marveling in the palace itself in addition to the artwork. I gradually got over the self-consciousness of traveling alone that I alone seemed to feel, and embraced the freedom of doing everything on my own schedule. Meals became an opportunity to pick up a few Italian phrases, sometimes flirting back with particularly handsome waiters. And there was one delightful afternoon spent in a hamaam followed by a much-needed massage. So when I finally joined my friends, I was truly relaxed and losing my very American need to pack in as much as possible. After all, there was always domani...