A Fly on the Wall
Letter #57: Mastering the art of eavesdropping when you've been traveling alone, and my final day in Florence.
9/21/23
The following morning I embarked on another heated run, this time going a bit further to reach 3+ miles. It’s always easier taking a running route the second time—you go a bit faster, you know what to expect, you can zone out.
I planned to spend the day exploring the city center, including a free walking tour at 4:30pm.
I headed to a random brunch restaurant I’d selected on Google Maps. Their sidewalk seating was built halfway into the building with the ceiling hanging above, still in the open air. So I decided to sit outside since the tables were covered from the glaring sun. I ordered a cold brew and some sort of open face tomato and avocado sandwich with a side salad. I spent a couple hours there writing, but, again, became super distracted by the tourist couple next to me. I was noting that every group that came into this restaurant were tourists, most of them Americans. But that’s what I get for following English reviews on Google Maps.
At first, I thought this Australian guy and American girl sitting next to me were on a first date because the air surrounding us felt palpably awkward. The guy was clearly trying to have a pleasant exchange of conversation with her as they looked over the menu, but she was nearly silent in return. When she did respond to him she sounded bitter and unhappy, a real wet blanket type of gal. (Side note: is it fair of me to judge her actions without knowing what was going on with her in that moment of time? No. But I am recording my observations for the sake of story-telling, so we’ll let it slide.)
I felt bad that this seemingly first brunch date wasn’t going well.
His conversation prompts were generic and uninteresting and she barely responded to him. To be honest, I wouldn’t been thrilled by generic conversation either. After they ordered, I could hear them criticizing the family of Americans sitting near us—a mom, dad, and four blonde teenage girls. I also found the family a bit loud and obnoxious, unaware or their flagrant Americanness, but that may be my own insecurity at being marked as a fellow tourist. I listened to them complain about which Kentucky universities were worth it, and which ones “sucked”. I could smell the money from 10 feet away.
It seemed this American/Australian couple could bond over their shared disgust for the stereotypical rich American family (I couldn’t help but eavesdrop and nod my head in agreement). Pretty soon I could hear them talking about how to spend the day. I realized then that they were also tourists and not just on a first date. I suppose, initially, I had assumed they were both students in Florence and thus on a first date.
Every cheery suggestion the guy made for how they might spend the day was met with an icy, negative rejection from his American date.
I was fully distracted at this point, unable to continue journaling. Instead, I pulled out my phone and began texting Alie a play by play. If these two were indeed traveling together…why? The deafening silence from her that met his eager small talk had me screaming inside that they should call it quits that day, maybe right then and there, before even finishing their meal.
At first I found him to be quite uninspiring in his conversation, but after listening to them for a while, I just so desperately wanted to tell him that he was a nice guy, cute even, and deserved someone that will appreciate his sunny demeanor and determinations to have a good time no matter what the weather—she didn’t seem to want to do ANYTHING he suggested, repeatedly complaining about the heat.
I was so tempted to tell him to pay the bill and run when she got up to go to the bathroom, but he’d picked up a phone call from a friend or family member. He was telling them that “yeah, yeah we’re doing ok”, sharing more about his vacation time with this girl. I eavesdropped further, very invested at this point.
He explained that something disturbing or unfortunate had happened with her family—I softened a bit. Again, I don’t know their background? Who am I to judge?! But alas, I’ll share my analysis anyway. 😂 He sounded waaaaay too overly optimistic about the remainder of their trip together. From what I could gather, they had been long-distance dating and it wasn’t very solid. Their trip through Austria and Italy sounded like a last ditch effort to make it work. I felt sad for him, because I knew there was a 95% chance they wouldn’t make it. She reminded me of myself on a date I couldn’t wait to get out of. Her annoyance of this man was unmistakable. Her affection had long since reached its expiration date. Whatever was going on in her personal life didn’t seem like it could cause her to put on airs that suggested she were wishing she was ANYWHERE but here, having brunch with him in Florence.
And he deserved to be with someone that participated in the conversation, that asked him questions, that shared in his open affection. I felt for both of them, my intuition going off that this vacation would end in both heartache and an emptier bank account.
She returned from the bathroom, he paid the bill, and they left before I’ll ever know what happens with their relationship status. I wish I had a conclusive end of this story for everyone.
I took another 15 minutes or so to finish my coffee, reflect on how hard dating can be, write a bit more in my journal, and then paid the bill.
I walked towards the Basilica di Santa Croce. I figured I’d spend the remainder of the afternoon walking around and seeing the sites mentioned on so many of the blogs I’d glanced at in regards of what to do while visiting Florence.
Piazza di Santa Croce, Loggia dei Lanzi, Palazzo Strozzi, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, and Cathedral of Santa Maria dei Fiore. I stopped at a boutique and bought a dress by a local designer (of which I’ve now only worn once since I’ve been eating way too much pasta to feel comfortable in a backless dress, whoops), but I bought it because I sometimes miss shopping for clothes while I travel—those clothes end up being some of my favorite pieces once I get back home.
I got back to the free walking tour checkpoint by 4:30pm, realizing that my feet already sore from walking around all afternoon. Coupled with my morning run, I’d already been on them for 7.5 miles.
There were about 25-30 people on our walking tour. The guide was funny and informative, speaking an Italian-accented English into a microphone as she led us from site to site, giving us a background of the history of Florence, and specifically the Medici family. I tried to listen to as much as I could, but inevitably my attention would drift in and out. I thought I’d use the knowledge I gained to figure out what site I’d actually want to buy tickets for the following day.
Even though I’d heard seeing the real David—Michelangelo’s depiction of the biblical figure of David, as in David and Goliath, soaring at 17 feet tall—at the Galleria dell’Accademia was breathaking, seeing the replica outside the palace where it had originally stood prior to being moved into the museum in 1910, was enough for me to feel I’d experienced some of the culture you’re meant to experience in Florence. The long and short of it? Florence is beautiful, but, overall, I’ve decided I prefer Rome.
When the tour wrapped up, I tipped the recommended 10 Euros and decided to walk back across Ponte Vecchio so I could check another site off the list.
These shops were originally built along the bridge for butchers and fishmongers to sell their goods, then used as a leather tannery, whose industrial waste created such a stench that eventually the shops were allowed only to house goldsmiths and jewelers to provide a more pleasant experience with those passing over the bridge and living within the area. So now you pass by window after window of gold jewelry as you cross over the bridge, and—you guessed it—are surrounded by droves of tourists.
One fun tidbit of advice the tour guide provided? The gelaterias in Florence are amazing, but don’t be lured in by the shops that display huge mounds of brightly colored gelato. They are factory-generated, made that way to target tourists, and the real deal, the good gelato with fewer preservatives will be covered up with metal lids, no bright colors calling to you on the street. It was a great point because who ISN’T lured in by those dazzling ice cream colors on a hot summer day?! They look so playful and inviting.
I got back to my AirBnB around 7pm and was so tired from all the walking—at this point maybe I’d reached 10 miles for the day.
I made myself another small dinner and enjoyed it in the garden. I cleaned up and went to bed early that evening, planning to spend my final full day in Florence visiting at least one site in the city center.
I made breakfast at the AirBnB the following morning (of course after my 3rd and final run in Florence—you can detect my ideal schedule, I’m sure, after all these months). While I ate, I searched around for what site to visit that A. Had ticket availability, B. Wouldn’t break the bank, and C. Wouldn’t be totally packed with tourists. And so I landed on something maybe a bit boring but manageable, the Cappelle Medicee. It was perfect for what I was looking for. The entry ticket was only 10 Euros, there were several sculptures by Michelangelo housed inside, and there were hardly any tourists.
Prior to that, I decided to walk just outside the city center in search of a cafe so I could get some writing down. (I doubt I was truly in the outskirts but it at least felt quieter and more local). I found a great spot—Ditta Artgentiale & Hario Cafe Piazza Sant'Ambrogio—where I could have an iced coffee in the air-conditioned interior, people-watch, and journal.
At one point, when I glanced to my right, I could see that the guy sitting across the room was chatting with his friend while also sketching on his iPad. I could tell he was drawing me. I’ve experienced this before on the subway in NYC, where you could tell someone was looking at you without looking at you, if that makes sense? You become the subject for someone’s art, but you take on a less human form. It doesn’t bother me, instead I find it fascinating.
Eventually, I was ready to get on with my day, so I knew I was likely to distrupt his drawing, if in fact I was correct and he was drawing me. I got up to go pay my bill, then went to the back to use the bathroom before I continued my exploration of the city.
I was trying so hard to work up the courage to ask if I could see what he was drawing…but I chickened out. As I walked back into the cafe, I glanced over his shoulder and could identify a sketch of my form sitting on the bench, with the window beside me. I wish I could describe it or say it was good, but I am STILL kicking myself for not stopping to ask him about it. I suppose I could blame that on the insecure tourist in me that still creeps in from time to time. It would’ve been amazing to have a copy of that drawing of me sitting in a random cafe in Florence…
And yet here we are, two months later, and I am vowing to myself that I will to take more risks, be more forward, form more connections with strangers even if I fear rejection.
I wandered for a bit, ending up in the Central Market where there were tons of food stalls. While the place was beautiful and bustling, I wasn’t feeling hungry enough to eat, and was a bit overwhelmed by all the people and the noise. Outside the market, I decided to buy a roll of decorative wrapping paper from one of the vendors—it looked like vintage wallpaper. The guy didn’t sell tape, but directed me to one of the many 99 Cent shops nearby. I had brought a “thank you” gift from NYC for each of the 3 farm owners where I planned to WWOOF at, and thought it’d be a nice gesture to wrap the gifts first. It was an impulsive decision and the 99 cent tape had TERRIBLE adhesion, but the gifts did look much better!
As I headed to Cappelle Medicee, I tried awkwardly not to bash any of the passerby with my roll of giftwrap. 😬
The cathedral was beautiful. The ceilings extended into the sky, the octagonal room lined with walls of marble inlay. The marble was amazing—however it was cut and installed, you’d see these perfectly smooth panels where the marble textures were mirrored back against one another. It was such an intricate design of both an organic occurrence in nature, and also man’s interpretation of how to position it in a certain way to form a work of art. I could get a bit lost in studying the intricacies of it.
The next room featured tombs of members of the Medici family. Here is where one could see several of Michelangelo’s sculptures. Admittedly, my memory of art history from college ie lacking and I really owe it to myself to brush up on the famous artists of the Renaissance. But at least I was experiencing it in person, even if my appreciation for what I was witnessing may come later in life, upon further research.
I did try, however, to find appreciation for how revolutionary these sculptures must’ve been at the time. Nudity portrayed in such an open, permanent way during an era where the rules of the Roman Catholic religion still reigned. How shocking and beautiful that must have been, how dangerous that time of change must have been.
After I’d soaked in the views of the museum, I decided to head back to the AirBnB to shower before dinner. I was finally craving pizza again (after my caper and anchovy incident), so I went back to the neighborhood spot—Pizzeria Ristorante i Tarocchi—and grabbed a seat along the sidewalk.
I kept it simple this time, ordering only a margherita pizza with a glass of red wine. It was delicious, and I was happy to have made up for my Calabria transgressions.
I was home by 10pm and packed up my bags—I’d be leaving for the train station the following morning (Monday) around 9am to head to my first WWOOFing farm in Londa, about a 45 minute train ride outside of Florence.
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