The Mother Of All Statues

After our whirlwind day trip to Rome, I decided to drop the pace down and just leisurely explore some more of Florence. I was disappointed in myself that before I left the states I did not get reservations to see The David, so I was thrilled when our B&B called and got us an admittance time late this afternoon. Of course, before I had them try, I attempted to find a ticket booth without the handy help of my map. First, we overcame some ATM drama - note, when you go to an ATM, be sure it has the proper symbols so it takes your card, we spent more time this morning looking for one. With my mother's lack of direction skills and my growing frustration that I could not find the reservation booth (it's in a church  - hello, have you seen how many churches there are in this city?), I decided to ask our hotel hostess for help. Her call to L'Accademia secured us the entry.

Finally finding the right ATM and ignoring the sweat that was pouring down my back, I took Rosemarie to a great museum called Il Bargello. A former prison, the stone walls now house some gorgeous works of art. The stone stairway to the second floor was imposing so I opted to take the lift.

The stone stairs were too imposing - I opted for the lift

 The sculptures were awe inspiring and these artists must have loved their subjects - or at the very least - their asses. If I had a behind that hard and that firm, maybe I'd be more popular than I think I am already. We were disappointed that there was no audio tour - and being too lazy to read every little sign, I decided we should break for lunch.

Detouring from our usual pizza, we stumbled into a family owned sandwich shop and had what every American version of an Italian sandwich should be. On perfectly grilled bread, crispy and beyond delicious, our prosciutto, pomodoro and formagio sandwiches were the perfect light lunch. Although, since we of course had to have gelato afterward, I'm not sure how light the meal actually turned out to be.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon going in and out of the various shops of the city. Everything always sounds so cheap when you say Euros but fear not, do the math and watch what you spend. Some purchases later, we were feeling the sun's intense heat. It was leaving us dehydrated and we bought two large bottles of aqua minerale to not only quench our thirst, but also to keep us from passing out. We opted for the "con gas" version just to spice things up. Dodging, once again, the mass of tours stampeding by us, we returned to Dei Mori for a break.

Rested and fresh, I needed an espresso to make sure I'd shaken my mid afternoon nap. We headed out shortly before our museum time and wandered to a nearby cafe. The crowds seem to be getting larger every day. Getting over to L'Accademia, we stood in the reservation line and watched as the portrait vendors tried to sell their creations to passing tourists. If you display even the slightest interest in one of their drawings, or one of their stolen drawings, which I'm sure they are - they relentlessly pursue you for a profit. One passer-by walked on the edge of one, prompting the seller to yell loudly in Italian. Hello, your drawings are on the street, what do you think will happen?

We were ushered into The David's home on time and I was surprised to see that it was 14e with a reservation and 10e without. Perhaps they want to reward you with a cheaper price if you wait over three hours in the non reservation line. I was really happy to see that the audio tour here was informative and well worth it, but before we started, I took my mom right to the center of the museum to see the mother of all statues. The David stands majestically at the end of the corridor underneath the skylight built exclusively for him. It's hard to describe the emotion you feel when you look at it. It's majestic, stunning - unlike anything you've ever seen. I told her we'd get a closer look after we took a quick tour of the other inhabitants of the L'Accademia. This time, I purchased one tour that allowed my mom to use the same headset as me through headphones plugged into the main unit. She wanted her own, but I told her no : "This way, I can control you better."

Skillfully avoiding the tours (we're getting quite adept at this), we learned about Michelangelo's life and how his most famous work came into existence. Rosemarie kept saying over and over, "unbelievable." She was amazed, as I always am when I see The David, at the precision at which he's made. The veins in his neck, his knuckles, every muscle in this body is perfection. Who would not want to be made this way? I wish I had such a sculptor creating me. Throughout the walls echoed, "NO PICTURES, NO PICTURES," as tourist after tourist ignored the clear forbidden camera and video signs. At one point, they had the entire crowd silenced when the buzz of the noise got too loud and "NO PICTURES," echoed again.

We lost track of time staring at the masterpiece and the announcement that the museum was closing made us take notice that I had but a few moments to return our audio guide and retrieve my identification. The bookshop woman was closing up - these Italians don't kid around when it comes to quitting time. We wandered back to our bed and breakfast after buying some incredible sweets and other Italian delicacies to bring back home.

And, just when I think we aren't able to eat any more than we have already, hunger calls again. With the sun not setting until well after 9:30pm, the evenings here are endless and when summer does end, I will cry and lament the passing of these nights. Who would prefer the cold early darkness of winter to the light and dusk skies of summer?

As we made our way to a table outside for dinner, the couple sitting at the adjacent one didn't seem very friendly and within seconds, the dark, stout and hairy Italian man in the corner took out his pack of cigarettes and lit up for what would be his first of five for the night. Immediately, I asked if we could move inside, which of course, was no problem. The American couple next to us didn't seem too pleased with our bothering them again to move past, so we assured them they did nothing to offend us.

"How did she get such a nice looking man?" my mother asked once we were inside. "She's not that good looking."

"That's why she's such a bitch," I said. "Ugly women with hot partners are the worst. They know they're lower on the food chain than their other half so they don't take kindly to others. Works the same way for the boys, trust me."

"Well, she looks like a man," Rosemarie said.

While she examined if her observation was true, I ordered and then wondered if I will ever have a tomato like this again. I never tire of this dish to start or end one of our meals. And with tortellini in a pear and walnut sauce for my mom and pasta stuffed with salted ricotta and spinach in a tomato based sauce for me, our first courses left us salivating for our second.

And lest you think chicken nuggets here are some horrid McDonald's concoction, you need to book a ticket to this country as soon as possible. What arrived on Rosemarie's plate was drizzled with a sauce and smothered in vegetables. This was like a chicken pot pie without the nasty pie addition. My veal (yes, I ate veal, AGAIN), tender and crispy with a gorgonzola cheese sauce was the ultimate in politically incorrect food.

As we ate, a sugar daddy and his boy took their place outside next to the smoker who by this time was on his fourth cancer inducing pastime.

"Look at those two," my mother said drinking her entire glass of wine. "He could be his father."

"That's the idea," I said and decided since I missed that gravy train when I was in my twenties, to just ignore them and finish my wine.

Here's to us

And, then, since we needed to continue our tiramisu contest, we finished our meal with what ranked number two on our list. Not as decadent as the one we had at La Posta, this version still was an orgasmic taste of flavor. Just the right hint of rum covered the lady fingers that were smothered in marscapone cheese and shaved chocolate. Note: Cinzia informed us that if the Tiramisu is messy on the plate, it is freshly made and if it comes in a bowl and cold, then it was pre-made that day. As a bonus, the restaurant brought us two glasses of  limoncello along with it. I urged Rosemarie to go ahead and try it.

"Just take a quick sip," I said with a tipsy smile.

She raised the glass to her lips and her eyes squished together so tightly that I swear her mouth stretched to cause her lipstick to smear on its own. She reached to get rid of the taste of it, to, of all things, the last of her wine. I was laughing so hard as I took the shot glass and polished mine off in a split second.

If we had remained outside, the nasty smoker would have ruined what was one of the best dinners of the trip. We relished in not being hurried out the door, took our time requesting the check and no, we did not leave a tip.


"How can you still walk after all that drink?" she asked me.


I couldn't help but laugh, knowing that I am the only one in my family who keeps the liquor business in business.

"I'm a pro," I said. "Now you should get to bed and take some aspirin so you don't have a hangover, or tomorrow, you won't realize the leaning Tower is really leaning."