Even after a few years and despite my ability to forget everything (except bad things and beautiful people), I still remember my first time in Florence. And to my surprise, it wasn’t a cultural, intellectual experience. To Florence defense, I was partying the night before (probably for the whole week, long live Erasmus bender!) and my head felt like an ass being fucked by a huge dick without the lube. It was an Erasmus weekend trip and the bus ride from Turin made my nausea worse.
When we finally got to the city I wanted to marvel at the rich Medici art collections and masterpieces by Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and Machiavelli, but fun fact – when you’re young you’re stupid and partying and acting like a retard is what you usually do. So, after way too much walking and listening to our guide I couldn’t bare the thought of entering yet another church and I sat on the stairs looking at some teenagers making out.
My friends wanted to kiss some Fiorentino badly (like I know why it was such a long conversation) so we went out, but the Saturday night in Florence wasn’t special either. We wandered in the city center in search of a club or a pub with actual people inside, but everything was deserted. When we finally found some place it was crawling with creeps and we decided to just go to sleep. No kisses and sweet talks in the birthplace of the Renaissance for those chicks!
At least the next day was better. We sat on the wall above the river drinking cheap beer and eating melting chocolate in the 30 degrees heat. And just when I was admiring the Florence beauty we had to go back to our Erasmus student colorful reality.
I have lived in Italy for a while and had a chance to travel and discover many amazing places, but that visit in Florence always made me think that there was something missing in my image of Italian essence. When a friend of mine moved there I knew I had to go back and see Firenze with my grown-up (snort) eyes.
I was relieved that this time was different, I guess I did achieve some level of maturity. Besides, after months of stress, sickness and rehabilitation I needed a gateway in my idealized Italy.
A lot of girls from my Italian studies couldn’t resist the Italian “romantic” tactics so they moved to Italy hoping for a better life. But they found themselves working in the hotels, restaurants and as babysitters or they got married and had kids. It’s not what they wanted after graduation, but they are just Polish girls, after all. Pretty, easy and not fit for better jobs.
I’m sexually attracted to beautiful people, what can I say, I’m that shallow (and don’t pretend like you are better). Maybe there will come a day when someone will move that complicated mind of mine because my heart has lost its way to love a long time ago.
One night stands are no secret concept to me, but it rarely happens that I want to spread my legs for a guy I just saw. I ‘m not a fan of Italians either as their sloppy, mammone and ciao bella behavior only piss me off. But because of my weakness for beauty, I often end up with them anyway. And the dark, handsome Ryanair flight attendant on a plane to Bologna made me so horny I considered dragging him to this tiny, stinky bathroom and fuck him mercilessly. Unfortunately, the flight was too short for a much-needed fun (I bet when I’m flying to the US for 8 hours there will be only “meh” guys, too ugly for me to kill the boredom), and when I had this enlightening idea of giving him my number when we land, he went to a different exit, saying goodbye to old hags and families. Just my luck! But no worries, as I knew there would be plenty of hot fish in the Italian sea to catch.
At the bus station, I was welcomed by a traveler who got robbed and was trying to collect money for the train to Consulate in Milan. Poor guy, everyone was looking away as if he was a hobo, pretending they didn’t know English. I was skeptical in the beginning, but he seemed really freaked out, he even gave me his passport to prove his ID, so I showed him my human side and gave him a few euro’s (and they say I’m cold and cruel, scoff). If it was only an act he should get a part in a drama movie.
The second greeting was “get your ass to the car, princess, I can’t park in here!” from my friend who had to pick me up and then manage to bring us home alive. If you’ve ever been on the Italian street, you know what I mean.
The mix of Italian and Polish hospitality made my belly full of lasagne, Chianti and chocolate cream (forget poisonous Nutella, unless you’re very poor and hungry. The huge jar goes now for only a few euros). There was also something for my hungry mind as well.
As I was standing on the Piazzale Michelangelo I looked down at Florence covered in the lights of the night and I realized I’m only a small piece of the universe. If I disappear nothing will change. No one will know. And yet if every star refuses to shine the sky will become a dark hole above us.
My second time in Florence, a whole week, wandering around, Tinder’ing (but not waking up to “Jesus, where the hell am I?!”), getting fat: the best gelato il Procopio, Spritz in a literary restaurant Giubbe Rosse, pizza, wine, schiacciata Dell’Antico Vinaio eaten on the curb (the best street food in town, there are 2 lines, don’t waste your time standing in the longer one as those are the same places), typical Tuscan pasta I pici toscani and some more wine.
Most of the must see checked: Ponte Vecchio, Piazza della Signoria, della Repubblica, Santa Croce, Santa Maria Novella, churches, Galleria Uffizi, Fiesole (the small town near Florence, just take the bus nr 7 and in 20 minutes or so you can admire the city from the hill).
All this goodness and I still couldn’t get the ticket to Cupola del Brunelleschi! I went to the tourism office on the first day and it was already sold out for the whole week because of the Easter and bazillions of tourists attacking tiny Florence. Seriously, they were on every corner with their cameras, short pants, flip flops and goofy faces (we get it, the monuments, history, art, it’s all breathtaking, now can you let me pass on my old ugly as hell bike to get home from work?!). On Easter Monday I had a small panic attack when I went to centro storico and Uffizi. I was born and always lived in big cities so I’m used to the crowd, but “oh my, tourists invasion, help!”
I didn’t try bistecca alla fiorentina either.
So I have some bad news, my friends from Florence, this petite rebel of an innocent baby face gotta visit you again! I promise I’ll bring by Polish kiełbasa, bread, and vodka! Until next time.