Florence

The first thing I have written down from Florence is that I saw a guy whose shirt simply said "WINNING TEAM" and a restaurant called "Bakery's Pizza." Up next: "Italy is a world leader in old men on bikes." If those aren't great ads for Italian tourism I don't know what is.

I spent my first morning waiting to get into the Accademia to see the David. I was stuck behind an 11-year-old Yankees fan who wasn't afraid to badmouth my World Series Champion Red Sox, but we managed to get along fine after he found out I'd gone to Michigan (he got that one right, at least). The David was huge - it's ironic that after slaying a giant he became one himself. I then ventured over to the Medici Palace to see their chapel, which I wrote about for one of my first term courses, and which was incredible. Neither place had much going on except for the main events, but both were spectacular.

David 1

David 2

That night I spent at the hostel, drinking cheap supermarket beer and watching soccer with some new friends, both Englishmen. I'd met them just hours before but we'd somehow gotten to a point where we were discussing our futures with each other. Even correcting for the beer, it was refreshingly honest and I appreciated it in the midst of hostel small-talk. I passed out fairly early, rose fairly early, and went to the Duomo on a cappuccino/croissant buzz right around opening time. I hadn't realized beforehand that visitors were allowed to climb to the top, and I was ecstatic to be able to see the entire city from up there -  it's a shame that's not allowed at St. Paul's back here in London. In addition to that view, I also accidentally saw a woman's breast - I glanced down to look at her baby (who'd waved to me during our ascent) without realizing she'd been breastfeeding and my timing was wrong. Another rosary, I guess?

Top of Duomo from Bell Tower

Bell Tower from top of Duomo

Duomo fresco

My final night in Florence was spent in the Piazza della Repubblica, eating a panini and drinking wine (recommendations from friends from Italy and Michigan, respectively). I met a friendly Dutchman who worked for Bose, who showed me some photos he'd taken of a strange team wrestling sport that we'd seen being played in front of Santa Croce but didn't understand at all. I had a few pints, watched England lose, and went to bed ready to move on to Venice and the Biennale.

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I Forget What This Was

Zits

Duomo, interior

Santa Croce 

C'mon Man

Rome

It's been a month and a half since I overslept and missed my flight to Rome, since I nearly got sick in the van on the way to Gatwick, since I ran frantically through the streets of a new city in a new country searching for an ATM that would work so I could pay the cash-only hostel for my bed. Suffice it to say the time has flown.

By the time I finally got settled I was eating a cheap calzone by the Coliseum, which I hadn't expected to see so quickly. I wandered home, sent my dad a Father's Day text, and passed out.

My first morning I waded through the eddies of overbearing "Fast Track" tour guides and over-bored tourists to the end of the line for the Vatican Museum. We shuffled our way along the bottom of a steep embankment, turned a corner, and saw the rain clouds advancing. Within minutes of the first drop the guides produced umbrellas and ponchos, which most people needed. It was a wet and chilly wait the rest of the way, but I was lucky enough to be allowed to hold the umbrella for an older couple and their son who only spoke German. We attempted to comment on the weather intermittently and I lost them once we made it inside.

I squelched my way across various papal marbles, enjoying the frescoes but ultimately only really thinking about the Sistine Chapel, which was far darker than I had expected but nonetheless worth the morning's drenching. Not unlike the scene at the Mona Lisa, the people watching here was pretty choice, especially when the guards caught someone taking photos. The next thing I remember is drying my feet and body in St. Peter's Square before wandering across the river into Trastevere, and eventually back to the Piazza Venezia to catch some of Germany-Portugal.

Piazza Venezia

The next day I walked all the way to the MAXXI museum (farther than I realized, well worth it) to see my second Zaha Hadid building in person, as well as my first Ed Ruscha painting. Other highlights included a primer on Piero Sartogo, "Roma Interruta" (Rome-centric architectural theorizing), Sol Lewitt, and catching a photos of these guys on my way home:

Beard Twins

The best phenomenon I encountered in Rome (which sadly went unphotographed) was what I dubbed the "Part-time Priest." As one might expect, there is an abundance of clerics in Rome, and it being July it was rather hot, particularly (I assume) under the clerical collars. Which meant that plenty of them were undone. Which gave me the distinct impression of there being legions of priests, fresh off double shifts, just ready to let loose. Which made me laugh. Which isn't what you're supposed to do at priests that aren't recycling homily jokes. (I think I got away with it. I'll say a rosary for good measure.)

My time in Rome ended back at the Piazza, with pizza and beer, watching the World Cup as the sun went down.

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