The Office -- Scuzi, I mean the Uffizi

We got up early to head to the Uffizi. I've downloaded Rick Steves walking tour of a the museum onto my iPad, so we will see how well that works out. Mom and I both brought our iPods, but they won't charge here for some reason. We have reservations at 8:15 AM, which I called Italy on Skype to make. What it translates into is paying extra to avoid standing in line. Money spent wisely, right? 

We still stand in line.

After picking up the tickets, we head into Palazzo Vecchio for a quick bite to eat. A croissant and coffee, sanding up at the bar. This is very Italian. I've been marveling this whole trip about how they pop into little patisseries to grab a cup of coffee on the go -- but they don't get it to go like we do at Starbucks. They saddle up to the counter and lean, downing tiny cups of pure caffeine in 2.5 seconds. Then they're off, as my best friend would say -- like a herd of turtles. Nobody moves fas around here. It's quite a contradiction. 

Back at the museum, we plug Rick in and climb to the top level of the museum. Poor mom... she has really grown to loathe stairs and I think this is the fourth floor. The art is amazing. The tour walks you from pre through post Renaissance, demonstrating with the works the difference in dimension that was achieved in that timespan. Michelangelo, da Vinci, Durer, Botticelli, Raphael, Titian... room upon room of stunning brush stroke and evolving realism by all the masters. I am so crushed to find the Tribuna, the octagonal room at the Uffizi that is like a work of art itself, being restored. That means we miss seeing the Venus 'de Medici. Not that I need a reason to come back... though this is as good as any.

Afterward, we pop into a few shops. Let me be more concise. Mom points to something in a window. I try and be patient. Following her in while bluntly explaining that I am done shopping and she has five minutes. It typically ends with me helping her pick a color. And getting cranky. I am in Florence. Florence. Cultural mecca of the world. Fine, maybe it is the shopping mecca, too, but the David is naked, right? Who needs clothes to look good?

My next stop is Santa Croce Church. The Piazza of the same name is teeming with stalls of vendors hawking their wares, but I am somehow able to get mom inside. This place is my undoing. Interned here are Michelangelo, Dante, Machiavelli and Galileo (though not all of him... the Science Museum has his finger, apparently)... so many great minds. I can't explain why, but being under the same roof as these men is very awe inspiring and a bit overwhelming. You a lifetime learning about these men, how they influenced and shaped the world, and here they are. I remember visiting Mahatma Gandhi's tomb in India, Paul Revere's in Boston, Benjamin Franklin's in Philly, Lincoln's memorial in DC -- all great men whose impact on history is tangible -- but the reaction was just different. Maybe it was easier to process one at a time. The awesomeness of all these men under one roof was really something. I wish I could do the experience justice. I think mom believes I've lost it. 

We take up our hostess Gaia's suggestion about a place for lunch between Piazza San Lorenzo and Piazza Mercato Centrale, called Tratorria Mario. We are again seated at a table for four with what appears to be a man and his daughter, or a man and his inappropriately aged girlfriend. He's Florentine, and very nice to help us navigate the menu. We order Ribollita, a traditional soup made of leftover vegetables and stale bread. It is remarkable.  Next, it's Farouz  uostrele or nostrele lardelleta al forgo, which is SOME BIRD with slices of crispy lard and olives. It is like crack, only slightly outdone by the Filetto Di Nizuto or Uzuto... The beef filet we also order. It's like filet mignon on yum steroids. My mouth is making promises my legs can't keep and my ass will pay for in size. I need to work out.

Sure, walking 10 hours a day is a decent workout. And carrying 500 pounds of freaking luggage also helps. I miss my routine a little. That's all I'm saying.

So let's have gelato, shall we? Mom is dying to go to Piazza San Marco, which is near a place she's earmarked as a must visit for gelato. I won't go into detail, but it is by far the worst gelato we've had. The piazza is also a bit of a disappointment... reminds me of Campo de Fiore in Rome. Not a lot there. Maybe wrong time of day, or as Mom admits, it could be the wrong city. We will try again in Venice. 

On the way back home, Mom spots a large leather duffel bag in a shop window. We end up going in and having a lovely conversation with the lady who owns the shop and stitches a lot of the wares there herself. It's nice to have a break from the guys on the street telling you how they have the best, most high quality leather. Special price for you, Madame. She explains how leather "works" in Florence, that anybody can stamp anything. They have stopped using the traditional "I Medici" stamp because so many fakes have this on it. When the price is low in the market for something stamped with that, but made in China, it becomes hard to compete. Her shop has its own stamp now. She also shows us how a bag changes over time. The ones on the shelf are stiff. I would never have bought one, but the one she shows us that she's been using for two months is more broken in, and the one that is six years old is gorgeous she debs her nail across the leather, which makes me gasp, then rubs it out with water. She says some use milk, or just oil from your hands, it was really cool. And the answer is yes. Neither of us leave without something. Or things.

We drop stuff off at the apartment and head back out toward Boboli Gardens, only to find the closed. Boo. A little further is Piazza Michelangelo. Mom is tired, and walking slowly as we follow the path of the Arno River. It's a complete role reversal as she asks me repeatedly, "Are we there yet?" 

No... and don't you make me pull this car over.

A car is what she wishes we had as we cross through the medieval city walls towed the hill where the bronze replica of the David lives with what is supposed to be the most amazing view of Florence. We get to the base of stairs that literally lead up s far as you can see. I take my comments about the Cinque Terre back... THIS is the stairway to heaven. I look back and mom is standing there, hands on her hips, looking like she wants to be sick. I walks back and tell her it's getting dark. I want to get a panoramic shot before it gets too dark. She's not happy. Not about me, mind you, about the stairs. I suggest a cab. She says she will just take her time as I start my ascent. 

When I get to the second set of stairs... the ones you can't even see from where we began, I figure mom is going to kill me either way -- whether she has to climb, or wait -- so I keep going. The view from the top is so spectacular. When I arrive, the sun has just set casting pink and purple hues I to the sky, staining the clouds in their glorious pastels. You can literally see everything from here: the outline of the ancient walls we've just passed through, the Ponte Vecchio and the Arno winding under and then through the city, the Duomo, rising spectacularly in the middle of it all. It is amazing. I snap a few pictures as quickly as I can, then run back to collect mom from the bottom of the hill. To my surprise, she's made it to the top. Tough girl. She can't breathe and she's hurt her knee, but where she is, she can't see what I've seen. I coax her over, and though still mad, tired and in a bit of pain, she softens. 

That amazing.

After a glass of wine bought from a street vendor and some lovely music, we hail a cab and head back to Piazza Santo Spirito. We have dinner at the same place we did last night. Mom orders the Riboletta, which is just as good as this afternoon and with lots of spinach, and I got the X-rated mac 'n cheese. Decidedly unoriginal. I don't care -- it was that damn good. 

 Gnocchi Part 2 is not disappointing. 

I eat, therefore I am...

It's 9:00 PM, and we're waiting for a table at Osteria Santo Spirito, located in the piazza of the same name. The apartment where we are staying is nearby, and I have a feeling after all the walking we did today, we won't be awake long when we return there. 

There are a few things I am curious about in Florence. 

First... the concentration of decent looking men has increased exponentially. I might attribute this to the fact that everyone here is much better dressed than elsewhere in Italy. The perception may also be skewed by a gaggle of what we assumed were male models, all dressed in black outside the new Gucci museum in Piazza della Signoria (consequently, the square where the bonfire of the vanities too place in 1497), which opens to the public Wednesday. They were rolling out black carpets in preparation for a fashion show. This was odd... a small Asian man with thick grey hair in shoes with no socks and the cuffs of his trousers all rolled up was standing out front. Not chic. At all. But the sole photographer on the scene was taking pictures of him. 

Second... how on God's green earth is it possible to ride a bicycle in a skin tight skirt and stiletto heels? I am absolutely perplexed by this, but these Italian women totally rock it. I may have to try and start a trend back home in Washington D.C., though I am unconvinced it will look as cool on one of the city's red share bikes. The old school ones here with the big basket are pretty sweet.

Third... how can you walk into a leather store here, see a price tag on a jacket that makes you a little queasy... say 1100 euros. Without any haggling necessary, they offer you a special price -- just for you -- of 750 euros. But señora, the price is still falling. The jacket is now 450 euros. Why can't the price just be the price?

Fourth... and this doesn't pertain JUST to Florence. No matter where we are, no matter the time of day, the weather or the cost... there are a few items mom will buy. The list includes: tissues, toilet paper, umbrellas (we now have three), and flashlights. She wants me to mention that we don't have a flashlight yet, but HAVE used all the tissues she bought in Sorrento. Regardless, she can not, nor will not -- under any circumstances --stop talking about these things. I swear. Repeatedly.

Five... also applies to the lot of Italy, but whatever. People here cannot help but do two things. One is not watch where they are walking. I am 5'11", and if I had a euro for every person that has walked directly into me since I've been here, I could have bought that damn coat mentioned two graphs ago at full price. And the other is the smoking. Im sorry to bring this up again, but they smoke while eating. While riding bikes. I think these people even smoke in their sleep. And they like to share their addiction with you, blowing it in your face while YOU are eating. I really hate smoke... it's disgusting. That said, for the first time tonight, the couple seated at the table next to us got up and moved to smoke while we finished our dinner. They get the patron saint of today award.

We walked around for about ten hours today. Lots of little shops, market stalls, wandering the back streets of Florence. No map, no destination -- it was really nice and leisurely. I admit, though, that I am getting tired of shopping. I threaten to go to a museum and leave mom to it. She says she's been saving her euros to spend here. Look, I wanted to support the economy of the entire country -- not just Firenze! The strap on her brand new purse broke, which was a bit of a nightmare. We went back to the store and they asked us to leave the purse and come back later. I made it pretty clear they needed to replace it and that she needed a loaner while we were out for the day. They did alright, getting her a different, but equally nice replacement later in the day when we stopped back. The guy lost no time in trying to sell me a coat, too. I told him I was looking forward to having kids AND sending them to college, thus couldn't afford it.

We asked the guy in a store where mom picked up the third umbrella for a lunch recommendation -- somewhere he would actually eat lunch, without tourists. He suggested Trattoria Le Mossacce. This is my favorite place we've eaten in Italy so far. The place is tiny... like a walk in closet. We are sitting directly next to the kitchen area, which is about as big as a postage stamp. It's like having ring side seats at the food circus. The gas stove is piled high with silver pots, simmering their various scents into the air. We are seated at the same table as two other people, one seems to be a carabinieri. He is eating tortellini. Mom says it's because they look like little doughnuts. She also mentions never having eaten with a man with a gun. Hardy har har. 

We order Fettuna, which is on the antipasti menu. No idea what this is, but I'm feeling adventurous. When it arrives, it's crack masquerading as grilled bread. I think they rub it in garlic and douse it in olive oil. Now this will kill you. I think this bread and oil is the best thing I've eaten in Italy. Go figure. We also order the tortellini, roast chicken (Pollo Arrosto), and white beans in olive oil (Fagioli All'Uccelletto). All were decadent. I would ear here again... like tomorrow.

We started a ruckus later in the day when we went in to another leather store to price check the coat mom got. The guy where we bought it said he would give it to her free if she found it cheaper anywhere else in Florence. That's my kind of mission. He tells us 750 euros and then proceeds to show us a few other things, with very special discounts JUST for us, until I mention that we got a better deal elsewhere. When we tell him how much, his colleague comes over and starts yelling about how they copied the coat, it isn't good quality, they won't stand behind their product. It was really offensive. The guy trying to sell us stuff says something about how the color may be painted on. Mom is looking a little down at that point, which pisses me off. I told him that was enough, that making her feel bad about her purchase was inappropriate. We left. Without buying anything, I might add.

Maybe we should just eat. This shopping, museums, blah, blah, blah... FOOD is something we've become exceptionally good at.

At dinner, we've ordered Sformatino Di Zucca Gialla Con Besciamella Al Formaggio, or pumpkin flan with béchamel sauce. The texture is like a ricotta mousse, a little textured, but creamy and savory. It's sharp, but smooth, and totally yummy. Next up is Involtini Di Bresaola Con Caprino Al Basilico, or paupiettes de fresh goat cheese with basil rolled in cured beef. You know those little ham and cream cheese rolls with green onions that make such damn fine party appetizers? Thats the YMCA, and this is the country club. Then -- as if we could resist -- Gnocchi Gratinati Ai Formaggi Morbidi Al Profumo Di Tartufo, which loosely translates into a mouthgasm. Ok, fine. It's gnocchi with a soft cheese   gratinee and truffle oil, which I would liken to the rated R version of macaroni and cheese. Or maybe triple X.

Do you think the airline will charge more for ME if I weigh more on the way home?