None shall pass (Cinque Terre)

Part of the reason we had to catch the train.

We both struggled to get out of bed this morning after another disrupted, hot night. It's our last day in Cinque Terre and we are going to visit Manarola. The only town we won't have been to is Corniglia. The 377 steps up to the town from the railway station have effectively ruled it out. We would have happily walked to Manarola - less than a kilometre from Riomaggiore, but the Via Dell'Amore is part of the Azzurre Sentiere that has succumbed to nature and, to quote Aesop Rock, "None shall pass!" (I apologise for the white-boy hip hop, particularly since he misquoted Gandalf anyway).

The usual breakfast, double espresso, OJ and pastry helped get us going. The ticket machine at the station was a possible hurdle. There are only two machines and they are very slow and perhaps not so easy to operate because the queues the other day were monumental. I thought I'd purchase tickets online but the site would not allow me to buy tickets for the morning, so the machines it would be.

Predictably there was a line up at both machines. Equally predictably we had only 10 minutes to catch our train and the next one was a 30 minute wait. The machines are slow because they want to talk to you, to warn you about pick pockets, to ask you to verify your selection and they offer a ticket for one way only and you need to repeat the entire process to get a return ticket. These would not be tolerated on the Metro, the Tube, the New York subway, or even Redfern station ...

The happy owners of two tickets each, we ran down the tunnel to the platform as the train was arriving. I tried to validate the tickets before I got on board, and think I managed to validate two out of four, but this could wait until Manarola. Thankfully the train was a little late - TrenItalia, late, who'd have thought it? Well, it worked in our favour today.

Manarola, a postcard photo

Looking towards the harbour

As I said, Manarola is less than a kilometre from Riomaggiore but since the track is closed, the only access is by water ferry or train. I suppose you could follow the road up and over the mountain but that would be far more than a kilometre and would take a lot more energy than the train.

Manarola is similar to Riomaggiore in that it is carved into the side of the mountain, it has a small harbour and many colourful buildings. There were the usual tourist stores selling over-priced merchandise, bars, restaurants and of course, a church and tower. It appeared to as that it was like the other towns we visited yesterday, far more crowded than Riomaggiore. There were the usual, ubiquitous tour groups, slavishly following the rag on a stick and plenty of other people pouring away from the station to the village itself. The flow of humanity headed for the water and then thinned somewhat as people were distracted by food and drink. The more determined tourists walked around the edge of the harbour towards the blue track. The water looked very inviting although, not knowing what to expect, we had not come equipped for swimming.

Looking up hill.

We thought we should have our regular rest and beer even though we hadn't walked far today to really earn either. The usual problem prevailed, the bars closer to the water were packed and the ones a little further away didn't serve draught beer. So, it was back home for refreshments.

Today we went further up the hill to Bar Centrale. Now I'm not criticising the speed of the service, but I did see two couples leave before placing an order and there was a skeleton sitting in the corner of the outdoor seating area with a bony finger raised perhaps to call the wait staff. Indeed, it took us petitioning three different wait staff before one could manage to provide us with il conto so we could pay and be on on our way. We also noted our 19€ was still sitting where we had left it on our table as we walked past 5 minutes later, having purchased some wine for our afternoon happy hour. Very trusting or relaxed people, the Italians.

Bar Centrale was however a great place to people watch and Jayne enjoyed watching the postal workers trying to deliver parcels. Unload the truck. Load the trolley, check the address, disappear into the crowd, return 15 minutes later with the parcels. Place them back on the truck, select a new parcel. Repeat. It was cause for celebration when a worker returned empty-handed.

The shirtless brigade continue to amuse. One guy turned up for lunch sans shirt. How do you think that would go down in Sydney say at Barangaroo or the Opera Bar? Not so good I suspect. Mind you, if I had a body like the one today, I would take my shirt off too. Sadly, though, in my experience, those who generally remove their shirts would be best to keep them on.

Now THAT is a handbag ... or is it a re-purposed wedding dress?

We are relaxing on the balcony listening to the waves and the sounds of Riomaggiore pre-dinner. You would know of my deeply entrenched love of all things Austen dear reader, her focus on the minutiae of life, all that bores me stupid. Well, I firmly believe we are there again. The current generation of selfie-takers, documenting their every move (I hope not movement), surely has surpassed her mindless commentary on balls and match-making. We just watched someone lean out of their window and take a photo of their bottle of beer. Admittedly it was an Italian beer, a Moretti, but really ... imagine slide night at his house on his return to the UK (yes, I'm profiling) and here is a picture of my first beer in Riomaggiore with the harbour in the background, and here is the beer I had at breakfast, and, oh, this one is great, here is the beer I had sitting on the stairs when I was too drunk to walk to the apartment. Seriously! What is that!

Coming to UK bookshops: "The beers I have consumed with picturesque backgrounds".

We may never pass this way again (Cinque Terre)

And so today Jayne went, what, in Australia, we would call bushwalking. More on that later, but I'm still laughing, in a supportive way. It certainly gave us today's title, a nifty little number by Seals and Croft from 1973. They are not a patch on Australia's only true, legendary R&B band, Stylus, ahhh, much love from the '70s.

They say, whoever 'they' are, that New York is the city that never sleeps. Well, perhaps 'they' are not so well travelled, because Riomaggiore definitely does not sleep. We pulled stumps around 11:30pm and they were still kicking on and I heard them into the morning. Mind you, they sleep a little later, but only a little. The bottle bins were being emptied at first light. It was like the recycling truck out the front of our house in the old days when they only did recycling once a month. Lots of crashing, breaking glass.

Eventually I prised myself from the bed and turned my thoughts to breakfast. No fresh OJ today but the coffee was awesome and the focaccia was, well, more than enough. Then it was through the tunnel to the train station and crowds. They are lemming-like, the crowds. Get to the platform and stop and stand there blocking access for everyone else. If only there was a cliff I could direct them toward ... hmmm. Now that's a thought.

The train arrived and half of Asia alighted, eyes glazed, focused on a tour flag. DO NOT stand between them and the tour flag dear reader, that is a death-defying act. One could easily be trampled. It is almost as terrifying as a Jane Austen character encountering a gypsy (or an erection). At least gypsies existed in Austen's time, the latter just caused one to feel flushed.

I digress. The train is quite unremarkable from a vista perspective because most of the journey between the 'five lands' is in tunnel. An engineer might view this very differently, however, for me it is just darkness and being trapped with people with whom I would choose not to die. One could grow mushrooms there.

Monterosso beach

Monterosso from part way up the mountain

We travelled the length of 'Cinque Terre' to Monterosso Al Mare through the other towns (yes Maz, I said hello to Manarola for you). Monterosso was certainly larger than Riomaggiore despite what the Lonely Planet guide says - I'm not sure what they use as their yard stick for 'largest'. The town features private beaches of black sand and multi-coloured umbrellas - no stones in sight. It seems very uncrowded - that is, until you hit the "historic town centre" and that's when you know you are in Cinque Terre.  Monterosso is not the photoshoot destination of the five lands - in fact the other lands tried to kick it out of the club in the 1940's. But it is picturesque and affords one of the two still available stretches of the original "goat track" hiking experience - the Sentiere, that originally was the only way to get from village to village, pre-TrenItalia. You used to be able to walk from Riomaggiore to Monterosso but landslides took out significant portions of the track and now you can only walk between Monterosso, Vernazza and Corniglia.  The rest you either have to train it or ferry it (today however, the ferry was suspended due to swell... they should try the Rottnest Island run to see what real swell is!)

Same again

Anyway, Jayne suggested we do the walk from Vernazza to Corniglio.  I suggested that doing the first stretch from Monterosso to Vernazza might be better because Corniglio, unlike the other four towns of the Terre is set up on the cliff away from the water. Even arriving by train you need to climb 377 steps to the town from the station. In Jayne's terms, that's more than the climb to the top of the L'Arc de Triomphe in Paris - and that is her benchmark.

Alora, we set out for Venazza. OMG. OK, I'm happy, I'm walking, the scenery is to die for, but the path is steep, like seriously steep and the steps aren't that solid or secure. I'm worried for Jayne - think 2012 dear reader and if you are new to my blog, the posts from Paris of that year. We left Monterosso and up and up and up we went. We met another couple of Aussies on the climb. One lady who was a part of a tour group and eschewing lunch with the crowd and a single young guy who was enquiring about the cost of the walk and where you pay.

I was trying to remember Jayne's description of the walk from yesterday; this climb didn't seem to be in keeping with what we had discussed. It was well-trodden and well-sign posted, but the markers were all red, I recalled Jayne talking about a blue track. Up and up we went. At one point we paused for breath and water and the view. I looked across at Jayne whose face now bore a striking resemblance to the track markers and said, "This was your idea and I still can't believe you suggested it." In all my years bushwalking, Jayne has accompanied me once and that was before Cait was born!

I told you it was steep - yep, that's Jayne.

The track continued to wind up the mountain side and we continued to play leap frog with other walkers. I was most annoyed with the lack of walker etiquette. Several times I stepped aside when I saw people walking towards to me because the track was too narrow in parts to allow anyone to pass safely. Only to have people from behind me just walk past and cause the oncoming walkers to stop for them.

Despite Jayne's glowing visage and huffing and puffing, she did extremely well and we either kept pace with or passed people who were younger than us. Although at one drink stop, Jayne did remark, "And I had to pay to do this". Despite the heat, humidity and significant level of exertion required to complete the track, we remained Australian and did not succumb to the European need to remove your shirt. This is clearly an unisex affliction as we saw a number of young ladies walking in their bras, carrying their shirts and many, many more shirtless men. Many of them should have taken into account other walkers and left their shirts on.

Vernazza.

We saw some interesting sights. People with inappropriate foot wear for the length of the walk and the grade of the track. People who were obviously ill-equipped to do such a walk in the heat of the day and weren't carrying water, although one man did carry one of his shoes. Significantly overweight people who should have been sitting in the shade somewhere. A girl on crutches - seriously.

Along the track, we came across two separate entrepreneurs: the first had set up a drinks and and other refreshments station, catering to walkers who were about to expire. He was squeezing oranges. Not sure what the mark-up was but the monopoly ensured significant recompense for any exertion in getting the wares up the track in the first place.

The second industrious marketeer was selling... jewellery of all things - not sure what business he was doing since earrings do not, in my book, fall in the category of essentials on a taxing walk but he had carted the stuff up there, table and all, so presumably he thought he had a market.

The estimated time for the walk was two hours - we did it in an hour and 40 minutes. Just as we were walking into Vernazzo, a medical officer was heading up the track to save some ill-prepared person.

Vernazza harbour

Finally we were in Venazza and went in search of a bar and two large beers. While there were plenty of bars, they were all packed and I had no intention of squeezing into a seat in the sun. Our search took us back to the train station so we caught the next train back to Riomaggiore and two large cold draught beers, in the shade away from the crowds.

Once we had returned home, Jayne reread the walk descriptions to discover to her disgust that we had, in fact, walked the red track, not the blue track - the one 90% of walkers tackle. The red track we had completed was designated for experienced walkers and therefore only attracted 10% of the foot traffic.

Our hosts had recommended a particular restaurant but suggested that we would need to book. The earliest sitting we could get for dinner was 9:30pm and that is usually past my bedtime. We declined the offer and found another place at 7pm. A group of young Aussies arrived just after us and Jayne was sure she knew one of the boys in the group. If he recognised her he didn't let on, so we continue our journey not officially having seen anyone from home (that we hadn't organised to see).

Arty shot of a flower.

Warning: the following scenes may offend some readers. The night proved to be even noisier than the previous one. You would know dear reader that I don't often identify groups of people by country of origin. I prefer you to apply your own racial profiling, but I am about to make an exception. If I had any idea where those ridiculously bloody loud Americans that woke us up at 2:30am were staying, I would have dropped in early this morning to say hello. And then hold pillows over their faces until they turned blue and stopped struggling. Inconsiderate morons.

I'm not your stepping stone (Cinque Terre)

Another transit day. Florence to Riomaggiore by train. Firenze Santa Maria Novella Stazione was very crowded. There were people sitting on their bags leaning against any available wall space. Tour groups, solo travellers, family groups, the tribe had spoken and it was time to leave Florence. We tried to occupy as little space as possible while waiting for our train to be assigned a platform. I know, you'd think they'd have an idea before the train arrives. In fact, if you check their timetable our train is slated for platform 1A. Did we make a daring run for it dear reader? Nope. With all the backbone and tenacity of a Jane Austen character we sat and waited for something to happen. And unlike an Austen novel, something DID happen, we were assigned a platform (Hi Min).

Not quite platform 1A - it was next door at platform 1. We gathered our wheely bits and zig-zagged our way through the clumps of humanity waiting to be assigned their departure platform. The train wasn't quite the same as the ones we'd travelled on to date; it was more of a suburban Sydney train, two levels and no bag storage. For once I understood the perspective of visitors to Sydney who pay exorbitant prices to catch the train to the airport, with no baggage storage areas. In fact, they are just regular urban trains and the SYSTEM just charges you extra for alighting at the airport. Well, where are the luggage racks? You charge more ... where is the service? Service? We are talking about Australia. I apologise on behalf of my money-grabbing government and the Sydney Airport Corporation (or whatever they are called).

Where was I? Anyway we crammed ourselves and our bags into a double facing seat arrangement, which meant we were not allowing two people to sit down. There was little choice because there was nowhere to store our luggage and we were not alone. This was a train that had two major stops: Pisa, apparently there is a lop-sided tower thingy there and then La Spezia, the drop off point for Cinque Terre. And it's peak season and hot and summer and people are heading for the coast. The point? The train was packed until Pisa.

The view from our balcony.

And there after it was only slightly less crowded all the way to La Spezia Centrale where we changed trains for the magic of Cinque Terre. In what we have come to expect, the train was late, but not hugely and the trip to Riomaggiore was, in large part, through tunnels. And then you are ejected (I was going to say ejaculated but thought better of it) from darkness and gifted the most beautiful sight of the sea and the cliffs. Only for a moment. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone and we were back in darkness. And then we were at the station.

The harbour form our balcony.

Riomaggiore is the most eastern village of the five lands and apparently the largest. I'm not sure how anyone decided to settle here, unless they were part mountain goat. It is genuinely carved out of the side of the mountain. Having no idea where to go, we were fortunately met by Luca and Valentina who inquired if I was "Breda" and then we were guided from the station to our the "house by the sea". We are on the top floor (6th) of a building that is clinging to the mountain with views over the harbour from our massive balcony. Being seaside means a sea breeze. Oh yes, blessed relief after the heat of Firenze. As I sit here in the twilight typing this, I am being serenaded by the waves in the harbour as the tide comes in.

We went for an orientation walk after we'd been shown through the apartment. OK, we went in search of the wine shop and food. But first, a swim at the 'stone' beach. Now there is a culture shock dear reader. No sand, just what we would call in Australia, river pebbles. Except they are rocks or stepping stones (thank you to The Monkees, 1966,  for today's title). Covered with algae. Slippery and slimy. It was difficult enough to negotiate a path to the water's edge and maintain your balance, dignity and poise. Then there was the water. I made several valiant attempts to get into the water beyond the depth of my ankles, without falling over. After this proved near impossible I accepted the assistance of a wave that pushed me sideways and lunged forward into slightly deeper water. No doubt this provided vast amusement onshore for Jayne. I was as graceful as a mutton bird on land, or a foal taking its legs for the first time. No, it wasn't pretty. The water, though, was beautiful. I'm just not sure it was worth the effort, although I did manage to escape without breaking anything.

After a small recuperation period on the stones of the beach (how I missed the sand of Australia), I suggested to Jayne that if she was going swimming, it was probably wouldn't be there. She had already worked that out from observing my incapacity to remain vertical. We packed up and walked the path back to the main street and located the wine shop and the take-away that does the freshest seafood. The wine shop was a stunning success, the take-away was OK. Been there, done that, won't be back - yes, of course I'm talking about the take-away place.

The stone beach

Sunset. Whatever.

After having spent a large amount of time inanimate on the train, we needed to walk to get some steps up. Sunset at the fort, at the very top of the hill/mountain/cliff, whatever. Up we went and found a set of stairs that led to the interior of the fort - obviously it was a function centre and it wasn't being used tonight. We sat on the steps and waited for the sun to do it's stuff. Now we've seen some awesome sunsets in our time - Lord Howe Island, Santorini, Western Australia, Heron Island, Fitzroy Island, Great Keppel Island, Koroni (Greece) and now Riomaggiore (Cinque Terre, Italy) and do you know what dear reader?

Redfern, plain simple old Redfern provides some of the best sunsets you'll ever see in May and June and other times of the year as well. You are most welcome to join us on the balcony, just call ahead so we can plan a menu.

And that's probably enough for the day.

fino a domini

How's it gonna be? (Florence)

And so begins our last full day in Florence. Tomorrow is a transit day to Riomaggiore, Cinque Terre. Looking forward to the seafood and swimming. But I am getting ahead of myself.

The day stuttered to life at 2:46am. Unimpressed, we were woken to the sound of our buzzer. I know Zoe had left her sunglasses behind but suspected it was not her wanting to collect them. I staggered to the bathroom and peered through bleary eyes down onto the street. The stalls had all gone for the night, but there were a number of groups of young men wending their way home after a night of revelry. Clearly one of them thought it would be amusing to ring the buzzer of a random apartment. In Australia he would rightly be referred to as a "dick".

The day finally commenced with breakfast at 8:30 in Mercato Centrale. The food and coffee there is seriously good, as was the wine we sampled last evening. However, they win no prizes for efficiency. They have baristas working both ends of the bar and the cash register is centrally located. You are supposed to know, presumably by osmosis, that you order at the register and then they will direct you to a barista. This morning I was sent one way and our coffee was made at the other end. Whatever. It's Italy.

The central courtyard of the Palazzo Vecchio

The Palazzo Vecchio and the Museum Del Bargello were the targets for today. The palazzo was the former town hall in its heyday and has the tallest tower in Florence. One curious little tradition that is worth a mention: if you thought politics was a suitable career choice, you spent 2 months locked inside the town hall once you were elected to ensure no outside influence impacted on your vote. Mind you the rooms were, as you would expect, palatial.

We climbed the tower first. It was an excellent view and certainly rivalled that of Piazzale Michelangelo. There were 233 stairs to the top but that was after you had already climbed to the base of the tower. Photo opportunities were limited at the very top because the parapet around the edge of the wall was cordoned off - except for one area where they invited you take a selfie. Sadly dear reader neither Jayne nor I have had a lobotomy so a selfie was out of the question. 

The level below the top is where photographs could be taken between the bars. I'm sure you would realise dear reader that I am not a happy camper when faced with a steep drop to certain death. Vertigo is more than just a scary Hitchcock movie. Normally with a wall between me and oblivion I would be fine, but the floor sloped towards the abyss. I thought of Third Eye Blind and the line from How's it gonna be? "the soft dive to oblivion". 

The tower is the tallest in Florence but this was not always so. Florentine families used to display their wealth and power by building tall house towers - until the Medici family decided to move from their original palazzo of four storeys to this one so they could oversee the democratically elected government (read replace) because they knew better what was good for Florence. This tower and its buildings became the Palazzo Vecchio - the  new Medici residence and as such had to be the tallest tower in the town so other prominent families were told to knock as many storeys off their towers as was necessary to make them lower than the Medici tower.  Hmmm ... thinking they would have got on famously with a present day tower owner in the U.S. ...

We wound our way down to the top level of the palace museum and thought we would begin our tour there and work our way back to the ground floor. As you would expect, the ceilings were adorned with marvellous images and the walls of the great hall had paintings the length of each side wall. Some of the rooms contained period pieces as well, beautifully crafted cabinets with semi-precious jewel inlays.

Wall art.

The decorations are stunning and this doesn't do it justice.

Check that out Michelangelo.

We were out by 11am and went in search of the Museo Del Bargello. It resembled the Palazzo Vecchio but on a smaller scale. I was going to write: like Magellan we circumnavigated the building, but upon checking my facts I see this is another myth I was force-fed in primary school. Much like the stories around the white occupation of Australia, the Magellan story is a little short on truth - he died before the job was complete. So, much like Juan Sebastian Elcano (google him), we circumnavigated the building in the company of some other tourists, to find ... no open doors. Back at the door with the posters we see that museum is closed on the second and fourth Sundays of the month. Hmmm, random, but we had checked the guide. On closer inspection the times in the guide are listed next to a white square or a black square. The black square means closed. Traps for young players.

That meant it was time for a beer. Yes dear reader it was still early but there was a Kiwi at the Mercato Centrale who had a beer at 8:30 when we were getting breakfast. He was probably drinking to drown his sorrows after the All Bleaks failed to win a second test match in succession. 

I wanted to have a beer in the Piazza Del Repubblica where all the designer stores are and all the beautiful people go to be seen. We made our way to Gilli where one can relax in a lounge chair and drink a 9€ beer that you can pay 4,50€ for elsewhere. Ah, no. To the other side of the piazza, 4,90€ but they weren't open so we went next door and sat down content that we were not being ripped off. Until the menus arrived that is, yes, my perceptive reader, it was 9€ a beer. Jayne was keen to leave, reminded of the ridiculous price of a coke on the Champs Élysées, but I wanted to people watch for a while so we paid the price and enjoyed being choked to death by two young smoking tourists. You wouldn't get away with it in Australia, smoke-free air is something we take for granted.

I can't look at the river without thinking about the 1966 flood.

A random doorway around the corner from the apartment.

It was still too early to go back to the apartment so we looked at our map to see if there were any areas that had been identified as places of interest that we had not yet visited. There was a recommended gelataria on the other side of the river near Santo Spirito so that became our destination. The gelato was lovely and cooling on another hot day. Worth the walk? I don't know, I'm not a gelato afficionado. And then home, out of the sun, to regain our strength for the final  Florentine evening's festivities.


This afternoon concludes as a black armband day for Australian cycling as Richie Porte crashed in the TDF and was taken to hospital.

We returned to Fuoco Matto for dinner. The waiter recognised us and welcomed us back. On top of the free prosecco and focaccia we also received some pizza bread and salad. The food was, once again, sensational. We had a tasting plate of ham and pecorino cheese to start followed by pizza and pasta. The guy at the table next to us was discussing having a T-bone steak so the waiter brought the steak up for him to look at ... all 1.3kg of it. A massive amount of meat, which scared our would-be meat eater into changing his order to a pizza.

We stopped in at the wine bar at Mercato Centrale on the way home and were recognised there too. Lucky we are leaving tomorrow, I think we are getting a reputation. The night finished with Zoe and a couple of Cointreaus around the kitchen table. Tomorrow it's farewell to Florence as we head to  the coast and Riomaggiore, one of the Cinque Terre towns.

Flowers for Zoe (Florence)

And so dear reader like a modern explorer I have lost track of the days. Sadly this cannot continue forever. Particularly because we have trains to catch and before that, people to meet and ultimately jobs to which to return.

Today is Saturday, well it is here, and we are meeting Zoe for lunch. Zoe and I worked together in another lifetime, another world. She is now based in London which is far closer to Florence than Sydney. You are a most astute observer dear reader, yes the title of today's post is for Zoe. It's a song by Lenny Kravitz written about his daughter.

We had a few hours to kill this morning before lunch and weren't quite sure what to do. There were a few churches that we hadn't seen, but we were probably 'churched' up to pussy's bow. They could wait until next time.

Breakfast was the first order of the day and much like yesterday it did not disappoint. Excellent coffee and pastries and a freshly squeezed orange juice. No surprises as to where I'll be tomorrow morning.

Then it was back home to begin organising things for our eventual departure. We looked back at the map of Florence and then to our guide book - had we missed anything? The easy answer is yes. There are a couple of churches we have yet to visit, but as I said we have seen enough churches this time. We haven't been to the palaces but ... maybe next time. 

Looks inviting doesn't it?

On the map there was a fort. Surely that would be worth a visit. It wasn't far from where we are, but, hey this is Florence; nothing is far away. So, in the heat of the day with a couple of hours to waste, we thought this would be worth exploring. It must be pointed out though, that we were surprised that something that could take up a position on the map of Florence did not feature in the guide book.

Off we went. In the sun. It was closer than we thought and it certainly looked like a fort. In fact, it looked like a prison. Well, an old style prison, one that didn't mind so much if you escaped. There were big walls, guard towers and something that could have been a moat back in the day. It did have a locked gate and there was no access. Apparently it was the local convention centre. Regardless, it didn't look friendly. We walked part of the way along the wall which deposited us in a park with a fountain. I know, dear reader, a park with a fountain, in Italy, who would have thought? Feeling smug? Check out the photo ... what is that? It looks like a burst water pipe. What would Bernini have thought? I mean, this is Florence, the birth place of the renaissance.

Modern art is rubbish.

All this was a mere distraction. The main game was lunch. We strolled to the appointed restaurant and took the advice of the waiter that it was too hot to eat outside. We told him we were meeting someone for lunch and a table for three was organised in the very colourful interior  of the restaurant - lanterns, various cooking moulds, garlands of garlic, all hanging from the ceiling amid tables with throne-like, heavily embroidered chairs. Zoe arrived shortly after, somewhat perplexed because, as she wandered down the street, the waiter asked her if she was meeting someone for lunch ... not sure how he knew she was our lunch date but obviously she looked like a date and was ushered inside to where we were seated. Luckily for her and us, the match up was correct.

Lunch was a great catch up of the last six months and then we continued back at our apartment until it was time to meet up with Gina who also is touring Firenze - a perfect rendez-vous point at the bar in the Mercate Centrale where we shared some more Tuscan vino and discussed places of interest here and on other continents (we are all such jet-setters). Zoe and Gina had a dinner booking to keep so we returned to our apartment after a stroll around the neighbourhood. We will catch up tomorrow for breakfast and then decide how to spend our last day in Firenze before packing up to move onto Cinque Terre on Monday.

Like wow wipeout! (Florence)

I told you it said "no parking"

After wandering the streets of Florence in search of the perfect breakfast, today we found it, directly across the street. I know dear reader, who would have thought. An excellent breakfast: great coffee and fresh pastries in the Mercato Centrale, two minutes walk from our door. We shall certainly be breakfasting there again. The coffee was great and the pastries, yum, less than 3€ for a chocolate scroll and an apple tartine style thingy.

It wasn't as if we didn't know you could get food there. It was described to us as an "upmarket fast food place". A tad harsh we think. It is in fact the upstairs version of the downstairs fresh food market. Basically what you can buy downstairs you can have cooked upstairs. They have cheeses, wine, pastries, breads, pizzas, pasta, fruit, charcuterie, gelato ... I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.

After breakfast we walked down to the Uffizi Gallery. The walk was easy and the crowds were reasonably small with the exception of the Cathedral. Now the Cathedral doesn't officially open until 10am and there was quite a crowd there at 8:30 when we walked past. That is a long time to stand in a queue. Not my problem. We had our pre-purchased tickets for the gallery, so we joined the short line for the security check and were in. Sort of. We were in the first entry room. We then needed to queue to have our tickets scanned. This brought about our first encounter with a mindless tour group, or locusts as I refer to them. They ignore everyone else and sweep all before them. Do not stand in their path or you will be swept along in their fast-paced, whistle-stop tour of whatever major exhibits the guide thinks worthy of their short attention span. You can insert you own national prejudice here but I know who I am talking about.

Before I get too deeply into today's Italian experience, I wish to draw to your attention an expression we saw many times today dear reader. It was this: "a Roman copy of the Greek original". (That's just for you Dean. You were right, but at least they acknowledge it. The Etruscans don't get so much as a nod).

Warning: the following paragraph contains scenes that may offend some readers. So, the Uffizi Gallery. It was deceptively large - only three floors high compared to the nine storeys of the Louvre. We spent over four hours there and that was without an audio-guide. Had we plugged ourselves in, we could have been there all day, although I'm  not sure my patience would have lasted the distance. Aside from the audio-guide, the only thing I really missed today was a short bladed knife to stab those ignorant morons who kept stepping in front of me to get a better perspective on some work of art. Or a sword to decapitate those mindless fuckwits whose existence is only validated by taking endless selfies in front of art pieces they won't be able to name tomorrow and don't understand anyway. Or a semi-automatic rifle to take down tour groups that refuse to move and insist on standing in front of the most significant piece in the gallery, obliterating the view for everyone else and causing blockages in areas that should be free-flowing. Or a poison dart to immobilise the tour guide so the group is unable to move on from a point where there is absolutely nothing to see. Ok. I feel better now, my gentle reader; as you may have gleaned, there were some stressful parts to the day.

Another great reflective photo of the Vasari Corridor

The early rooms were rather underwhelming, unless you are an architect. They were populated with sketches of some of the famous buildings of Florence as well as the floor plans for St Peter's Basilica in Rome. It is easy to forget the complexity that goes into designing a building, but it didn't maintain my interest for three rooms. Hence no photos.

Sections of the gallery itself make up part of the Vasari Corridor, a secret passage for the Medicis to move from one part of Florence to another without having to dirty their feet on the ground shared by the common people. It became a storage area for the vast trove of art works collected by the family through the years. Impressive? A bit. Oh, well, a big bit. It was absolutely amazing actually. Even reading the information plates next to some of the most incredible artworks by Caravaggio or Giotto or any of the Renaissance painters and it says things like, "discovered in a storeroom in 1924". Like wow - hence today's title, courtesy of The Hoodoo Gurus, 1985.

It was truly an extraordinary experience. Room after room, gallery after gallery. Every time you thought the tour was about to end another set of rooms opened up. The frescoes, the paintings, the statues; if it wasn't for the aforementioned tour groups, I could have stayed there all day. Tantalisingly, we kept seeing signs that pointed us in the direction of the Leonardo rooms but they never appeared and then, suddenly, we were spat out into a cafeteria and outdoor eating area. What had happened to Leonardo? How had we managed to miss him?

Botticelli's Venus

My arty shot of the day

We actually retraced our steps to check we had not inadvertently gone past the mythical rooms in our haste to escape another infuriating tour group but there was nothing. We paused to take some outdoor shots of the city scape and then headed towards the exit signs to inexplicably find our selves, in fact, back on floor one and heading towards Leonardo after all. Very Italian to jump from ground to second floor so that then you are funnelled down onto floor one on the way out... And then, after all this heightened anticipation, there were two paintings by Leonardo da Vinci and some of his ink sketches. Disclaimer: I acknowledge the man was a genius, but as a painter he is, well, without. While the tour groups sardined their way into the gallery where his two paintings were displayed and then monopolised the space and the air, I didn't feel it was worth the effort. I felt the same way about Mona Lisa and I have seen that three times now. Compare that to the emotion brought forth by Michelangelo's David. Still, there is no small amount of resentment in Italy that La Giaconda is resident in Paris when she should be here with the works of the rest of Florence's finest sons.

Sight of the day: Hmmm, how to describe it. Think Boy George, but not as flamboyant. Black three quarter pants - pedal pushers. Almost flared. White, long sleeved shirt. Black hat that was more a piece of over-sized cloth, like a medieval helmet, but in corduroy or velvet. At first sight I was uncertain about gender (not that there's anything wrong with that), male. Sorry I couldn't get a picture but it was a sight to behold.

That was the endpoint of the tour. It finished on a low when I looked back at some of the other works on exhibit, but hey, that's just my opinion. You can disagree, but it's my blog, so I probably won't publish what you say anyway. Unless you agree with me of course. It was then the long and winding road through the numerous gift shops before we found ourselves outside in the Florentine summer heat. Time for birra.

Purchase of the day: Despite making a vow not to purchase souvenirs for the family, we came across one particular item today that proved far too alluring to pass up. So, David, our first born, you are getting the only souvenir from this trip. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

We decided that Mercato Centrale might be an interesting place for lunch. And so it proved to be, but not for us. It was crowded. This would have necessitated one of us minding a space at a table and then going in search of food and then reversing the situation. And it was noisy. Instead we decamped to the streets around where we are staying and found a delightful little restaurant that was away from the crowds. All that left us to do was to find a gelataria and a wine shop. No challenge. I do not need to eat until breakfast.

A nice shot from our window

Tomorrow promises to be a day of excitement because we are catching up with a friend. As you do. Lunch? Of course. Let's meet in Florence.

I miss my bike.

fino a domini

Dante's Inferno (Florence)

Day three in Florence. Last evening we went for a wander around the local area because it was time to buy Jayne a new red leather jacket. While we avoided the street sellers, I'm not sure the stores in our area are any more reputable. I'd been looking in every store since we arrived so it didn't take long to find one with the jacket I had in mind - and it was literally across the street from our apartment. We were sweet talked by the local merchant who gave us a fabulous discount and then discounted some more because we weren't sure. All a bit of theatre, but we are happy with our purchases. I'm sure we will get some wear out of them when we return to the cold climes of Australia.

Last night after our shopping expedition, we began planning the itinerary for the remainder of our time in Florence and decided not to head out of town to the wineries or to Sienna or anywhere else for that matter. In what can only be described as a "Terminator" moment, we'll "be back" at least to experience the Tuscan countryside, so we are staying local for the rest of this trip.

Having been promoted to be in charge of windows and shutters after Jayne's failed attempt on night one, we both slept much more soundly last evening, with all windows locked and shutters firmly latched. While our apartment is central to everything, in future, I would avoid an apartment overlooking a piazza. It is just too noisy and even if you can sleep through the restaurant crowds coming and going, the drunk boys serenading their way home at 1am is a little too much. Florence is also quite small, so if you are walkers, like we are, just about everything is in walking distance.

A view of the old town wall

We slept a little longer than planned which meant breakfast was put on hold and we headed off to Chiesa di Orsanmichele to purchase pre-entry tickets for the Uffizi Gallery for Friday. That done we attempted breakfast. The first place we stopped at insisted on table service, so we went outside and waited. And waited. And waited. Enough. We were making our way down to the river and Ponte Vecchio so surely we would find somewhere to eat in such a big tourist area. Not as easy as we thought. The only places we walked past were crowded (bus tours), only had tables in the sun, or were all white pre-fab plastic - really? This is Italy - I'm not eating there. When we finally did find a cafe on the other side of the river, Jayne thought it would be too expensive because it was in a tourist mecca. We walked on. And on. And on. And up. And up.

The view from the top

Nice garden

Santa Maria del Fiore and San Lorenzo in the background

There were no cafes and we reached the top of the hill before we found another one. Great views of Firenze, including the Arno River, at the Piazzale Michelangelo - locally recommended and all for free. A tourist area. Outdoor seats only in the sun. The pastries looked like they been baked with yellowcake. Another no. While taking in the view and getting the obligatory photos (I hope the one of the Ponte with the reflection of the shops in the water turns out), I noticed a sparsely populated cafe on the terrace below us. Down we went, the pastries looked good, and the view was sensational because we also got to people watch. Breakfast time. I know dear reader, it was closer to brunch but we needed a sugar hit and the lateness of the hour means it will be beer for lunch and then a proper meal at dinner. Of course it was twice the price we would pay near the apartment, but it was a welcome sugar hit and a rest in the shade.

How about that reflection?

The next stop was the Santa Croce church for which the Lonely Planet guide book described the interior as "austere". Just for the record and the sake of accuracy, austere means: having a plain or unadorned appearance. Sooooo wrong! Mind you, the outside façade added on after the original build was typical Florentine - 3 colours of marble and beautiful to see. The inside, however, was an OMG moment, perhaps because we were expecting, well, nothing. It is stunning, from the art works to the stained glass windows to the frescoes. Seriously well worth the visit. The pictures speak for themselves. How can you go wrong with Giotto frescoes, and the tombs of Galileo, Dante (hence today's title) and Machiavelli??? Mind you, we knew these great minds were going to be there because we researched the place before deciding to go there - the frescoes and the stained glass windows were a bonus due to the Lonely Planet's understatement.

Austere?

Surprisingly not so austere.

Definitely not austere.

A side chapel, also not austere.

It appears other tourists are less deliberate in their explorations because, as we were waiting to purchase our entry tickets, a couple from an unnamed country (insert your own prejudice) asked if we were English and then inquired what we were going in to see - was it worth the entry prices? After I replied, "Better, Australian," Jayne proceeded to tell them what they were going to find, including an explanation of who Dante was.  Apparently our recommendation was sufficient because we spotted them inside the basilica later on.  Do people really just wander around a city and see what they come across? We are great advocates of walking everywhere because you never know what gems you may come across off the main grid and we are always looking for local recommendations (hence our dinner destination tonight), but we try to ensure we know the big ticket items in any place we visit. We travel too far to go home and find out later we missed a classic must see.

The weather continues to be a bonus. Cloudless skies and temperatures in the low 30s. Today is no exception. It does mean one needs to stay hydrated so, in place of lunch, today we had beers, somewhere on the walk back toward the San Lorenzo district where we are staying. I know I have mentioned this before but I rarely drink beer at home and Jayne never does, yet a beer sometime in the afternoon has almost become a ritual.

Re-hydrated, we turned for home again, the long way, to check out a restaurant where we think we will dine this evening due to a local recommendation - Fuoco Matto (Crazy Fire). Then off to the supermarket for some happy hour supplies.

The last tourist destination of the day was the Basilica di San Lorenzo which is the church we look at through our bedroom window. Another church full of renaissance art and Giotto frescoes, full of deceased Medici family members who considered this to be their local church since it was just a stone's throw from their original palace. Again, the murals and frescoes are impressive, prompting Jayne to ask, "What is so special about the Sistine Chapel?" I have no answer, especially since Michelangelo didn't want a bar of it. So, any of my arty friends out there I would love to hear from you. (Kristy, I'm looking at you).

Another relief.

Jesus with chest hair and a tummy slug.

A side altar.