Sixth and seventh day of travel: Florence

On Thursday, the twenty-ninth, we got up early, packed, and had breakfast, then went off around the corner to the railroad station. Our first-class car was packed with tourists with a surfeit of oversized bags, and there was something of a madhouse getting everybody to their reserved seats. Departure and arrival were on time, and we had no difficulty getting a cab to our hotel, the Classic, just outside the Porta Romana and hard by the Boboli Gardens.

The Porta Romana, looking in towards the center of the city. (Big image, small)

We got there in the early afternoon, and the weather was dark and threatening. So when we went out, we took rain-gear with us for our walk instead of cameras.

Mark had arranged for another in-town walking tour, in the early evening. Our guide was Erika Bianchi, who took us around and pointed out a number of interesting architectural sights, with loads of historical details that we were totally unaware of, and gave us a good idea of where we should go in the succeeding days. She confirmed, for instance, that it was an excellent idea to make a reservation to get into the Accademia (where David stands), since the wait on line would be very long.

To our question of where might be a good place to get a meal, Erika responded that the Santo Spirito district on the other side of the Arno (same side as our hotel, but closer to the Ponte Vecchio) was always a good bet. After she and we parted, Mark and I made our way over there and found a pleasant restaurant that was already crowded enough that there was no place outdoors for us. The interior dining room was almost empty, but soon filled up. At a table near us was a group of three or four women, one of them with a well-mannered dog lying at her feet.

“Pleasant” I said the restaurant was, but as soon as the Elvis-disciple started singing up front, no longer so pleasant. His singing was not merely too loud, but execrable in every way. In particular, his enunciation was so poor that it was hard to believe that he had any idea of the words’ meaning. And he cut each song off at the end of the first line or two. It could only have been worse in the outdoor portion of the restaurant up front, and I think all of us in the back were glad to be where we were. And the dog agreed. When the singing got too loud, he would howl most piteously, and we all cheered. I wish I could say that the singer essayed “Hound Dog”, but such divine justice was not to be.

Friday, May 30, our first task was to get to a Wash and Dry to get some laundry done. Expensive: a gettone (token) cost €3.50, thus $5.00. One each for washer and dryer, and an additional euro for soap. But at least our clothes got clean.

It was a different story at the internet outlet in the same neighborhood. Much cheaper than Venice, and we wound up spending a significant amount of time there over the next couple of days.