Spring Break in Retrospect IV: Florence

And so we made our way to Florence, a center of art and hometown of the author of the Divine Comedy, our small group now to five members. As our train from Milan, where we flew in, to Florence sped across the Italian countryside at some 180 mph in the shadow of the majestic and terrible Alps, I was reminded, oddly enough, of the countryside of Central and West Texas. Italy and Texas are both rather flat (excepting the Alps themselves, of course), are mostly grassland with trees along the fence line or dotting the fields, and are domed with a vast expanse of cloud-fringed blue sky. Of course, Italy is a bit more crowded, the towns are closer together, the fields are as often fields as they are vineyards, the houses are normally white or yellow with red roofs, and every town is marked by the steeple of some small old church. I daresay I like Texas better. But I do take no small delight in Italian food, which was available in profusion. We ate gelato nearly everyday, and had pizza, pasta, and pastries. Sights included, for me, the Basilica di Sante Maria del Fiore, with a view of Florence from the top of the Duomo, the Uffizi art gallery, a hill overlooking Florence, and the city in general. The city itself felt like something of a cross between Paris and Mexico with Texas spring weather (if that means anything to you). It is also filled with works of art; even many of the smaller churches and other buildings have frescoes painted on their walls which you may see simply walking through the street. A beautiful place, to be sure.
And now, of course, the pictures. I apologize that there are relatively few here; while we were in Florence I decided to lay off of the tourism and the photography a bit and relax. But here they are:

Here, and following, are a few shots from the train on our way to Florence from the airport in Milan. Day 1.

A vineyard!

I'm pretty sure I've seen this exact field off the road in Texas. No wonder there's a town in the state called Italy.

A shot of the Duomo of the Basilica. The church is really quite beautifully colored. The style is quite in contrast to the French cathedrals, which themselves were of a different character than the English.

The great door of the Basilica.

I took this shot out of a window/slot on our ascent to the top of the Duomo. By the end of the winding and often steep passages, the stairs seemed more like ladders.

A view of Florence from the top. While we were up there, the bells of all the churches began to ring, and it came home to me at last that I was in Italy.

A fruit stand and street in Florence. Guess which person is the tourist! Day 2.

A smaller cathedral. I didn't go inside this one, but it was still certainly worth a photograph.

And, of course, I made a visit to glimpse Dante's house. That bust below the banner is of the great poet himself. Day 3.

The Ponte Vecchio, the only bridge in Florence to survive World War II. Once lined with butcher shops, it is now a jewel-shop glutted tourist madhouse. Day 4.

Still, the view from the bridge of the river was nice.

We climbed this formidable flight of stairs (the last great climb of our trip) to reach the Piazza Michelangelo, a plaza on the edge of the Tuscan hills overlooking Florence. At the very top of the steps is a small church and alongside them are the stations of the cross (you can see one of the red crosses at center right beneath a tree). These stairs were not always meant to lead tourists up a hill.

Views of the Tuscan hills and of Florence spread out below.

This cathedral is a bit further up the hill (it isn't the one at the top of the stairs). It was the last church which we visited over our break and our final tourist destination. That evening we did feast upon pasta, and the next day we took a train back to Milan for our flight out the morning after that.

The fringes of the colossal Swiss Alps outside of the airport in Milan. In the morning we were in Italy; in the evening we arrived, at long last, utterly tuckered out, in our small, quiet, restful town of St. Andrews, were the sea breeze is fresh and the daily events fairly familiar. We were all quite happy to return, I daresay. How much more when we again pile into an airplane, this time bound for home! How I look forward to that day. It's trite, but so very true: there is no place like home.