Continued from page 1
With street names like Via delle Belle Donne (Beautiful Women Street), one has to wonder how even seemingly mundane details of this city are infused with loveliness.
The streets themselves are lovely. Designer boutiques like Gucci, Ferragamo and Prada line extravagant Via de' Tornabuoni, a higher end stretch of shops ideal for window shopping. You'll get lost in San Lorenzo's outdoor market, rich with colourful merchants who will get on their knees and beg you (I'm serious) to try on their goods. You'll marvel at glittery jewelry stores along historic Ponte Vecchio, one of many cobblestone bridges that cross Arno.
But since Italy and Italian cuisine are so inextricably linked, I have to say that Florentine cuisine is probably best and simplest cuisine that exists, using basic, fresh ingredients, most of which are grilled (alla Fiorentina) to perfection. If you decide to eat in some of more touristy areas (in any of major piazze, or town squares) you'll pay double, maybe triple, cost of what a Florentine citizen would pay. San Lorenzo has some great, reasonably-priced restaurants and of course there are hundreds of cafes, bars and pubs. The pizza - in almost every pizza place - is mouth-watering.
And gelato? Oh, gelato ... It is suffice to say that La Paloma and other gelaterie that are scattered around Toronto simply pale in comparison to what Florence has to offer. But since I am not a talented enough writer to do it justice with words, gelato mention here will be minimal.
Florence is ineffable, and with obvious bias aside, full of love. Yet, in midst of all of this tangible beauty (including 60 per cent of UNESCO World Heritage Sites) many North Americans are disappointed with their travels to Italy.
"Because [North] Americans go all over world," explains professor Costa, "and they expect world to be a copy of United States. They want to travel world and have everyone speak English and serve you hot dogs in street."
After completing our course in Florence, my friend Mariangela Tagliabue (a third-year Italian major) and I spent next three weeks of our trip travelling along Northern part of Italy, but first spent four days in Rome, la città eterna, ("the Eternal City"). Rome is much bigger than Florence, so most of our getting to-and-fro was spent squished into backseat of tiny little cars, careening dangerously around a city where streets have no lanes and traffic lights are purely decorative.
While in Rome, Mariangela and I had opportunity to meet Pope John Paul II. We sat through an outdoor mass in St. Peter's square, just four rows away from now-ailing Pope, and when mass was over we were ushered into a lineup of people for a brief encounter with him. We weren't prepared to meet him and quickly turned to person behind us and asked what we should say to him. What, after all, do you say to Pope?
The man, stifling laughter, gave us a formal phrase to repeat: "Sua Santita, prega per noi" ("His holiness, pray for us"). As we were approaching, Pope was wearing red velvet slip-on shoes. When it was our turn, one of Pope's aides that stood alongside him signalled us to approach quickly and kneel before him. Mariangela promptly stepped forward, but I stood just a few feet before him, transfixed by majesty of this man, clothed in ornate robes and much larger than I had expected him to be.
Kneeling before him, a small cluster of papparazzi stood alongside us, snapping photos. In between all of camera flashes and noise and Pope's aides surrounding us, we were face to face with one of most famous men in world.
We were frozen. We held his soft hands (I actually wondered what kind of moisturizer he used, and whether or not he applied it himself) and he cupped our cheeks. We mumbled ceremonial saying, unmoving. But when our time was up and his aide took my arm, I quickly added something that I knew my boyfriend would appreciate: "Luigi says hi!"
If not for pictures, I doubt anyone would believe us.
Student writer, professional daydreamer. Go to www.pumpkin-face.com for a complete list of articles.