Florence, Italy

The walk from the station plunged us straight into glorious, buzzy, high-energy Florence, and I felt instantly welcomed, happy and at home. Narrow streets, tall yellow-hued walls enveloping me into the city and wrapping me in the warm glow of the street lights. Tiny wood-panelled enotecas, barrel tables, starched linen restaurants. Scooters and tiny cars and vans surely too big for the alleyways, and a sense that you’ve no chance of knowing what’s coming at you from which direction. Sudden openings into beautiful squares, churches so stunning they would be the main event anywhere else. Down to the river to cross a lamp-lit bridge. Ponte Vecchio with the back of its shops hanging precariously over the river to the left, lights high up on the Florence hills above. Follow a tiny diagonal road up to a tinier square, four bars and a trattoria somehow squeezed into a space smaller than a house. Past the back of a bakery to a huge wooden door on a pavement-less street.

There’s such a thrill in staying in the heart of an Italian city and having access to the world behind these doors. You never know what you’ll find, and it feels like being admitted to a hidden world. Today – a broad stone stairway winding up a wide inner hallway, open at the sides to views over a small inner courtyard to a scatter of terracotta rooftops beyond. On the top floor, another wooden door into an even tinier corridor and then into our apartment. Suddenly we have a light, modern, beautiful space to call our own for a few happy days.

We took a late night walk out, ate a stunning risotto, drank vin santo with dessert and went to pay our respects to the Duomo. No matter how many times I see this incredible building, it still blows my mind. How can one square be so overwhelming, stunningly perfect? I love it best set against a night sky, making it look unreal, a pencil drawing lit against the dark. The detail, the colour, the depth – it’s just perfect.

We booked early tickets to the Accademia to go and visit the star of the city, Michaelangelo’s David, something we’ve not managed before. Up and out early, into a city under a deluge of pouring rain. Our first real rain of the trip. We’ve had plenty of precipitation of course – but it’s all fallen in the form of snow.

Luckily, I quite like the rain (Tim – not so much). I like the way it pulls a city into a different space, people moving faster and with more sense of purpose, everyone wrapped tightly in their own world. More closed – and more intimate. I’ll always love the simple romance of sharing an umbrella, forced to walk just that bit closer than usual, two people huddled together to join forces against the weather.

Today: early-morning streetlights reflecting in the puddles and bouncing warm light off the wet flagstones. A quiet city, this early – the crowds will arrive, around the Duomo and the Uffizi, the Accademia and the Palazzo Vecchio … but not yet.

We took our first coffee of the morning in a tiny back street in Oltrano, just south of the river. Cappuccino at the counter – and immediately into Italian heaven. Perfect coffee, people in and out for a quick espresso on the way to work. Two coffees – half the price of one in Switzerland. That helps the travel budget a bit.

We’d booked an early slot at the Accademia and were among the first to arrive for the morning. The main attraction of the Accademia is, of course, the utterly magnificent David – but there’s so much more to it than that. We started off in the musical instrument exhibition, which was lovely and we only ever shared with one other person. Several Strads (I’ll still always wish that violins were free-range, not caged) and then a fascinating tour of early pianos (I didn’t know that the modern pianoforte was invented in Florence, so maybe you didn’t either). A display case of 17th century percussion – I was delighted to find my specialist instrument, some ancient sleigh bells and wondered if I should buy a set ready for next year’s Christmas concerts.

Back in the main hall, busier but by no means overrun at this time of day in January, we wandered around some stunning 16th century paintings before heading  over to the focal point. The end of the building with its beautiful domed roof was built specifically to house Michaelangelo’s stunning sculpture. I’m not saying anything original when I say that it really is a work of absolute genius. You can absolutely feel his readiness – from the set of his chin to the tensed muscles in his forearm. The detailing – the veins in his inner arm, the legs poised for action. Incredible, beautiful, wonderful to see. 

After the Accademia, we were ready to spend the rest of the day exploring and soaking in the city. I’d had a recommendation of a bookshop-cum-cinema which was too good to miss, so we headed there first. Wow. An absolute stunner: bookshop in the bottom of a central atrium, seating wrapped around it on the galleried levels above, tables and chairs along the sides for quiet writing or reading. Silent / old films playing while people sit and read, study, or just relax and soak it in. Free to enjoy during the day. Tim left me to it for a while, so I bought a book (obviously) and sat and read. (I’m back there now, writing this – the perfect space to reflect on the beauty and surprises of this amazing city.)

The morning of day two was pretty much characterised by the Duomo foiling us at every turn. Up and out early again for morning coffee, with a plan to head to the Duomo just before opening time and try to miss the crowds. Only – someone didn’t do her research properly and got the opening time wrong by (a mere) 2 hours. Whoops. Idiot.

We had a look around for what opened when, settled on the Palazzo Vecchio and headed there instead. Unbelievably quiet – we pretty much had a lot of it to ourselves. If yesterday morning was all about the sculpture, today was all about the ceilings. A succession of ever-more insanely decorated ceilings, stunning and overblow and super impressive. Rooms to glorify the Medici family, rooms to compare them to legendary Gods, rooms to reflect power and wealth and achievement. I can’t say I fell in love with the Palazzo but it was astonishing to see.

After the Palazzo we went back to the Duomo, and decided that we really didn’t need to queue 300m round the block in the rain, so would go to the Museum instead. The start of the Museum was unbelievably impressive. In the second room, a lifesize replica of a section of the front of the original cathedral, complete with statues, doors, alcoves. Stunning.

The main thing I wanted to see in here was the two original bronze doors from the Baptistry. Absolutely masterpieces, incredible detail that you simply shouldn’t be able to sculpt from any form of metal. One door, ten scenes, apparently took 27 years to create.

However. At this point a loud alarm started sounding and an announcement evacuated the building. We never did find out what happened, but there was a very haphazard and slow shuffle of people out, with no sense of hurry or organisation, and then the doors were firmly closed behind us with no sign that this would be quick. After a few minutes, we decided not to hang around in the heavy rain, and took this as a final sign from the Duomo to go and do other things today. I’m trying not to read anything into the fact that I was staring at the ‘Gates to Paradise’ when the alarm removed us from the building.

We walked up a hill south of the river, heading up a steep cobbled road. We passed a house where Galileo lived, a tiny chapel with its roots in the 12th century, and then wandered along a road lined with astonishing, huge houses set bending high gates. Big Tuscan villas, a taste of the countryside only moments from the city. Olive trees and oranges growing by the side of the road. Oranges! how did we get from snow and ice to oranges?

At the end of this road is an unassuming yellow house with a plaque, where Tchaikovsky spent several months in 1878 . My chosen soundtrack for the city was his Souvenir de Florence, so I was excited to find this.

From here the walk just got better and better. A tree-lined avenue gradually revealed stunning views over the city, terracotta roofs seen across olive trees. Round a corner and the tip of the Duomo came into sight, quickly followed by the rest of the view as we walked a little further. It will never not be thrilling to look across the city and see it rising magnificently from the rooftops.

At the top of the walk, the beautiful church of San Miniato al Monte. The facade was completely hidden by scaffolding, but the inside was still partially open and very beautiful, even if the peace was a little shattered by the banging and drilling from work above.

The terrace outside is a classic place to enjoy a sunset view over the city. It was quiet and the light was just fading so we decided to stay and enjoy it. We watched the sunlight on the horizon, bands of mist on the distant hills, and a bolt of warm light moving across the city, never quite hitting the Duomo but still beautiful. It was a quiet and peaceful place to stop still for a while and soak it all in.

We celebrated our final night in Florence with great steak and several glasses of good wine in a lovely tiny restaurant, and giggled our way on a slightly tipsy walk along the river before heading home.

Final mornings are designed to be packed with all the things you wish you’d fitted in earlier. Up and out not long after 6am, I finally managed to find a day when my knee wasn’t being grumpy and enjoyed a slow jog round the still-sleeping city. Duomo, Basilica di Santa Croce, riverside porticos, the Ponte Vecchio – almost to myself. Heaven.

I’m pretty sure that Italian women do not go for coffee in their running gear, but since I’m never likely to pass as Italian, I met Tim in our local cafe for a last excellent cappuccino. Back to the flat for a rapid pack and then a walk across the city to drop the rucksacks in luggage lockers.

Free to enjoy the last couple of hours, we squeezed in the Medici Chapel. Grand, overblown, unarguably impressive – but another giant show of ego to my mind, which left me with lots to think about but not in love with what I’d seen, with the exception of some incredible sculptures in the Sagrestia Nuova, a separate chapel designed by Michelangelo.

We’d been planning to finish with a trip to the church of Santa Maria Novella, but made a last-minute switch when we both decided we needed time to wander among some more lovely sculptures one last time. So instead, we headed back into the centre for a quick trip to the Bargello. By far my favourite museum in Florence to date, I could have spend hours here. I spent a very happy hour enjoyed the gorgeous sculptures of Donatello. I’ll never get over the astonishing beauty that can be created from marble. The softest of fabrics, most delicate of hands, proudest of poses, most poised of stature – all from stone. Unbelievable.  The Bargello is a wonderful building and a treasure trove of sculpture, and is also spacious and blissfully quiet and free of crowds, leaving you the space to enjoy these masterpieces in your own time.

And with that, our time was up. We both agreed that Florence is a city we could spend much, much more time in. Instead, we headed to the station, waving a final goodbye to the Duomo on the way. Maybe next time we’ll get inside.

Of course, it’s not perfect. Even as a visitor, the tour groups, the crush of visitors, the queues, the constant dodging of scooters and bikes and delivery lorries and silent electric taxis can feel overwhelming. As a resident, it must be so difficult in the summer. The pressure on the city is incredible (and I say this in full knowledge that people like us staying in Airbnbs are part of the problem. A tricky dilemma). And yet – despite all of this – what a perfect, perfect city.

And so that brings me full circle. Ah, Florence. You stunning, gorgeous city. Even in the pouring rain, overcast and cold, you were still more beautiful than is reasonable. A city of the grandest of piazzas, the most beautiful of art, the most iconic of views, but one which feels intimate, knowable and immediately enveloping. A city with secret passageways, hidden courtyards, art hidden in plain sight on every corner. Yet – not a museum but a city that is alive and creating right now, from the craft-makers and artists in the tiny studios across the river, to the abundance of fantastic food, wine, coffee.

If Florence is a feeling, for me, leaving Florence is that sense you get when you’ve had the most perfect meal and don’t want it to end. I feel happy and replete, full up on art and beautiful views and great coffee and general loveliness. Until next time, Florence.