A Day in Florence
I woke up early for a day in Florence.
A cup of coffee to start, then I headed toward the train station.
The weather wasn’t particularly bright, but that wasn’t reason enough to slow down.
The Airbnb I had booked had an elevator —
my first time using one in Italy.
It was surprisingly classic. Almost theatrical in its own quiet way.
Before coming, a friend warned me about street vendors —
especially the paintings laid out on the ground.
I didn’t encounter any of that.
As in Pisa, the view from the bridge was beautiful.
Light resting on water, old buildings standing without effort.
That alone felt sufficient.
There wasn’t a particular reason for coming here.
It was simply Florence.
Still, I went to the Uffizi Gallery.
From beginning to end, it wasn’t easy.
Overflowing crowds. Disorganized lines.
But I was here — it had to be experienced.
After about an hour of waiting, I finally entered.
The noise, the constant movement, children running —
it nearly drained me.
And yet, seeing those works with my own eyes was quietly overwhelming.
Some pieces I could approach closely.
Others I had to admire from a distance, pushed back by the crowd.
It didn’t matter.
I was there.
I ate at a small, pleasant place along the way from my lodging to the center.
The atmosphere was good.
The food — salty in parts, bland in others.
Still, I accepted it as it was.
As a chef, I don’t always enjoy food without analyzing it.
Lately, I’ve been trying to let that habit go.
Anyway.
For someone, Florence might represent the height of beauty.
For a wandering drifter like me, it may simply be a famous place I chose to see.
But one thing is certain.
I passed through it.
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