After a fabulous weekend getaway to the French Riviera, I hopped on the train for Florence, Italy. I spent Saturday morning wandering through the galleries of the Uffizi and admiring the works of great Italian masters— from Botticelli’s Primavera to Michaelangelo’s Doni Tondo. I also stopped by the Accademia—which is smaller and less impressive, but houses Michaelangelo’s towering sculpture of David.
Touring Italy intimidated me because my knowledge of the language is limited to two phrases— “ciao bella” and “mi scusi.” My friends and I clung to our Rick Steve’s guidebook, and followed his excellent recommendations for delicious Italian food and gelato! Florence is the gelato capital of Italy; we enjoyed organic, homemade cones of Italian ice cream near the river, overlooking the famous Pont Vecchio Bridge.
In Florence, I also climbed the 463 steps to the top of the Duomo. I found myself directly behind an obese American ex-football player, who told me about his history of heart attacks. All the way up, I was scared that he would come toppling down and crush me in the dark, narrow staircase. Luckily, we both made it up and enjoyed magnificent views of the city.
My next and final destination in Italy was Rome. I had a ‘touristy’ agenda in the capital city. My friends and I meandered through ancient ruins, gazed up at the Coliseum, viewed Raphael and Michaelangelo’s beautiful fresco paintings in the Vatican museum, and threw coins in the Trevi Fountain to ensure our return to Rome!
Two memories from the trip stand out to me. A proud Ricknick (as member’s of the “cult of Rick Steves” call themselves), my friends and I followed our guidebook’s advice and discovered the charming Miscellanea restaurant near the Pantheon. The cheery, singing waiters kept pouring us delicious glasses of “sexy wine” (made from fermented strawberries) because we had the guidebook on the table.
I also participated in my first-ever party bus. I enjoyed an open bar, entrance to two clubs (which were, by far, the wildest I have ever visited; the night included many rounds of body shots), and the company of an interesting crowd of characters. One of the boys I met— who was wearing a shiny, silver trench coat and sported dreadlocks— is training to be a parakeet impersonator. Another, Alex, lost his job in the States and spontaneously booked a flight to Rome the next day. He is spending his lifesaving on a whirlwind tour of Europe.