Why can't the English? (Florence, Day 1)

Another slowish start to the day. New hotel, different bed, air con and those ridiculously thick doonas all take adjustment time. Nonetheless, dear reader, we did not have a huge amount planned for the day. The Palazzo Medici Riccardi that we reconnoîtred yesterday is pretty much it. Aside from general wanderings through the Florentine streets. New sun glasses are on the menu after I managed to partially destroy my existing pair. I tucked them into the waistband of my pants and they were jagged by my backpack as I hoisted it onto my shoulders. They'd still be fine if my right ear and eye were 5cm lower than the corresponding anatomy of the left side. There you go, the right always causing trouble. I'm thinking the ICAC inquiry again.

From our hotel door, the next street off Via Nazionale contains all manner of eateries so we decided to try breakfast there. We opted for the establishment next to the café that sells the cow stomach panini. Yeah, still no. A ham and cheese toastie with three slices of bread, a glass of OJ and an espresso all for €6. Bargain. And a seat outside in the early morning sun so we could people watch as we ate. The coffee was good. The first one since the plane to Muscat.

The unassuming doorway to the Palazzo.

From there, we walked to the palazzo and arrived slightly before our 10am ticket time. It wasn't particularly crowded then or as we left because it is probably not that well known. There were plenty of art students, but few tourists like us. I'm OK with that because it made our experience more enjoyable, not being jostled or assailed by people using outdoor voices indoors. That is, except for three ladies who work there and had an extremely animated discussion about the state of the carpet in the state rooms as we edged past them. Clearly the boss lady was not happy and the other two were simultaneously responding and gesticulating about the offending marks.

They love a chandelier.

The altar in the chapel.

As with the palazzo we visited in Rome, this one is still a functioning building and has other uses beyond tourism. I'm not sure if anyone lives there but it is certainly has a role in civic duties. There is/was a police station on the ground floor. One bedroom is preserved for the exclusive use of the Italian President whenever they are in town, although the bed looked pretty lumpy and uncomfortable.

I wouldn't sleep there.

Like so many of these buildings, it is constructed around a garden replete with orange trees, cooling lawns and the ubiquitous fountain. Originally a Medici palace, it has all the hallmarks you would expect of a power family. There are the ceiling frescos, a gallery of mirrors, a chapel, a room of marble busts, and famous art works. There are also excavations below the current ground floor that delve back to the more distant past. From a white Australian perspective, the history and years it spans are quite remarkable and yet they aren't. There are many of these palazzos throughout Italy.

The ceiling of the gallery of mirrors.

One of the painted mirrors.

After a morning of culture and history, it was time to shop. Well, that part was accidental. The Ponte Vecchio was our target but we were distracted by the need to buy new sunglasses and a crossover bag to carry our phones and stuff when we don't need the backpack.

The courtyard.

Excavations beneath the palazzo, an old sewer.

Sunglasses were secured first and at a bargain price, especially since there is a tax refund as well. It would have cost about $100 more at home. Next stop, a few doors away, Pandora. of course. No trip overseas is complete without a Pandora charm representing the country or area. A Duomo charm and a red Morano glass disc (to replace the one form Venice that died) purchased, it was back to the madding crowd. One look at the roiling masses down near the Ponte Vecchio was enough to turn me in the other direction. Time for bira.

Swimming against the tide we headed to the Piazza del Duomo to a ristorante with cooling overhead water sprays and had two extremely overpriced beers, while listening to someone singing opera in the shadow of the Cathedral dei Santa Maria del Fiore.

The view while enjoying a lunchtime beer.

Next stop was the leather market to obtain a bag and then a swing through the Mercato Centrale. We surveyed a few of the stall holders, one offered a reasonable solution at €36 after discount, another €65 for a similar item, no discount, and the best offer €100 after discount. Ultimately we purchased a bag for €50 near the Mercato from one of the stall holders there. The cheapest offering did not look like leather and the other options were identical.

The Mercato Centrale was as we remembered, crowded and loud. To be fair it was lunch time. The outlets appeared not to have changed much. The pizza guy was still there measuring out his dough, the café was still doing the same business and downstairs was still produce.

Out of that tumult, into a street full of leather vendors and then home to the hotel to enjoy our welcome drinks, blog and plan for tomorrow. Once that was accomplished it was dinner time, pizza. Garbo serve both kinds of pizza, Romano and Napoli. No contest as I have earlier remarked. Pizza ordered, the wine proved more of an issue. They didn't have my first choice and I was directed to a more expensive bottle, of course, what's a couple of euros? Curiously, after the order was placed the server disappeared across the road to the liquor store and returned with the chosen bottle. Pretty sure he could have done that with my initial choice.

Busts in the Medici collection, Nero and Caligula. Is there a message in that?

After a lovely dinner, we strolled to a recommended gelateria, My Sugar, and for dessert, we selected several artisanal flavours, skilfully scooped and piled into our cones. As we wandered home in the Florentine twilight through thinning crowds, consuming our gelatos, two ladies stopped us, inquiring if we spoke English. Although Turkish by birth, they were from the Netherlands and had never met an Australian. They had seen our gelatos and were in fact searching for a particular gelateria, Eduordo's. Unfortunately we couldn't assist them but spent a few minutes chatting to them about our travels in the Netherlands while they told us they loved our accent - so much nicer than the British ... whatever that means.

Of course that was the inspiration for the title of today's post, Why can't the English? from the 1964 musical My Fair Lady, sung by Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison. 

Once we made it back to the hotel, Jayne's carefully planned day for tomorrow became upended by inconsistent opening/closing hours of the attractions that we were intending to visit. A complete reorganisation was required as I tapped away at the blog until it was time to retire.

Alla prossima.