Second Stop: Firenze

After a hellish day at the Roma Termini filled with hour-long queues and overpriced sandwiches, I boarded a 1 PM train from Roma to Firenze. It was my first true train ride in Europe and the background couldn't have been more beautiful. The train was slow and deliberate, making stops at a variety of towns between the initial and final destinations. However, this pace provided a perfect opportunity to take in the rustic scenery of Umbria and Tuscany. The train's massive windows allow a full view of medieval towns built upon hilltops and farmers tending to their crop in the same way they did hundreds of years before. The man I was sitting with, a student studying guitar composition in Siena, remarked, "That city saw the Bubonic Plague," which is an strange truth.

The train arrived in Firenze in the late afternoon. The train station was bustling with weekend travelers both coming and going. I boarded a bus to Camping Michangelo, my temporary home for the next two nights. The campground is located atop a hill across the river from the heart of the city. People in RVs and camping tents were spread all about the wooded area; it was obvious that people from all throughout Europe flocked to this spot for its serene beauty. From the terrace near the top of the grouds, there is a full view of Firenze that stretches as far as the eye can see. Landmarks like the Duomo and the Ponte Vecchio can be easil spotted. Seeing the sun setting over the city was a magical moment.

Back at the camp I met an Indian who was working in Germany for the year. He told me that he pretty much hitched here for the weekend. This crazy fellow offered up his place in Bavaria if I decided to make it to the area. I may have to taken him up on that one. With a few drinks in me, I struck up a conversation with a girl named Karol at the bar. For the sake of time I am not going to go through her whole backstory, but one thing that is relevant is that she sailed to Sardinia from the Carribean. Yeah, sailed on a boat. Anyway, we got along well so I declared her my tourist buddy for the next day and my temporary best friend.

Karol and I met the next morning and began the downhill walk to the historic center of town. Sticking with some reoccuring themes in my time in Italy, we got lost. Luckily we found ourselves a delicious bakery and stuffed our faces with creme-filled, buttery pasteries. I wish all of the confusing points in my life ended in sweets.

Eventually we followed some crowds and found ourselves in the shadows of the Duomo di Firenze. Wow. For reasons unbeknowst to me, I had never really heard of this structure prior to my trip. I am certainly happier now that I have seen the light. Because it was Sunday, there was tons of people in the cathedral chanting and praying and singing or something. The people call it "Sunday mass". The guard informed us that there was no climbing to the top of the dome that day, but we could make the 412-step climb to the top of the equally stunning Giotto's Belltower adaject to the cathedral. The view from the top were fantastic, especially because the dome itself is right next door.

So everything in Firenze costs money, and usually a lot of it. In Rome you could see many sights on the house, but Firenze wants you to cough up some cash for what they are selling. And you do. Atleast I did. In retrospect, £10 is a small price to pay to see Michangelo's David. Karol and I stared at the figure and tried hard to say profound things. After a while, I felt we were doing pretty well - art historian well, starving artist well, Tara Shannon well. In truth, the sculpture really is a work of art that transcends its iconic image. The high praise is completely deserved.

It began to rain a bit at this time so we grabbed a light lunch around the Galleria dell'Accademia. I always try to find a place filled with Italians, so we piled into the first place there was a lot of people I couldn't understand. The food was a tad more expensive than I would have liked, but the penne with meat sauce I had was worth it.

Outside of the restaurant was a huge open market. You couldn't walk for a minute without smelling leather. Due to the rain earlier, it was almost entirely empty. To my surprise, the vendors didn't heckle or impose upon you; they let their products speak for themselves. This is a stark constract from Rome, where many of the vendors get in your face. I haggled my way to a few good bargins but I can't say what I picked up just yet.

That night Karol and I picked up a third named Shane, a guy we met at the camp. Shane was, by all accounts, a tool. Nevertheless, we remained civil and welcomed him to dinner. We went to a perfect mom and pop Italian restaurant. The small room was packed to the brim with boisterous Italians obviously enjoying their time there. This was the kind of home-town Italian dinner I had been searching for. I had a spaghetti with tomato sauce, then a pork chop with a salad. The whole dinner came by recommendation from our waitress and was perfect.

The night ended back at the campground with some alcohol-fueled fun. I won't go into the hazy details, but it was pretty typical of a hostel night. I met people from all over the world and made big plans and we are going to be friends forever. I do want to stay in touch with Karol, though. Yes, she was a temp best friend, but I was sad when I said goodbye to her. In just a short time, we formed a real bond. I guess that probably means we would be friend in real life, but this isn't real life. Oh yeah, I trusted her. Shane? Not so much.