Pizza, Cannolis and Gelato: Oh My

Today started off with a passing rain shower. My mom and I had breakfast on the patio, looking at all the clothes hanging out on the lines of the neighbors. There's four people here from Orange County as well as a good looking family of four from Toronto. The OC folks leave in the morning and I'm wondering if a more, well, shall I say, Los Angeles type of person takes their place.

I planned to have the day be simply a walk and look tour of the city and we've found a restaurant that looks great. Trouble is, will we be able to find it again tonight? I've written the name and the street and will attempt to make our way there this evening. On the way, we were stopped in our tracks by a bakery. And there they were...cannolis. The hard crispy shell with an inside chocolate coating was the perfect complement to the creamy cheese filling. We had to lick our fingers along with the paper before we decided we had had enough.

Stopping in some nameless Italian church, we lit some candles and on the way out, I even dipped my finger in the holy water and made the sign of the cross. I figured I'm in the land of the Catholics, it won't hurt to act like one for a brief amount of time. We past the museum that houses The David, but with a three hour wait, we decided to reserve tickets for later in the week. It was the one thing I did not buy beforehand, so I'm hoping to rectify that today. With umbrellas packed just in case, we set off for a leisurely stroll across the Ponte Vecchio. Bumper to bumper walking traffic met us all the way to the other side where we decided to check out the Pitti Palace and Boboli Gardens.

If you've been to Versailles, then the Florence equivalent pales in comparison. Even Rosemarie could tell these rich kings really had egos bigger than both palaces combined. Once again, I bought us the audio tour and without fail, Rosemarie kept pushing too many buttons to turn it on. With a little help from me, she got the hang of it and we proceeded through the countless rooms full of portraits, gold, marble, tapestries and frescos. As with Versailles, these kings and queens were squat little people. My entire lower half would hang over the side of the tiny beds and chaise lounges. Passing the hordes of tour groups, we bought admittance to the gardens in the back of the palace.

With my mom holding on to me and the guard rail, we made it to the top for an incredible view of the city.

"We don't have to go any further," I said, worried it was too much of a hike for her.

"Nope. I didn't come here to stay this far down, let's go to the top."

I must admit, looking towards the top and feeling the sun beating down on me, I was kind of hoping she wanted to turn around. Once there, as I looked at the murky green water of the pond, I hoped that  no one ate the fish who were swimming and jumping out of the water. Jumping fish was quite bizarre and after having our picture taken, we headed back down for lunch.

Perhaps there's nothing better to eat in Italy than pizza. The trouble is deciding which establishment to visit. The sun at its peak and we both decided that inside and cool was the best place to be. The host sat us next to a mother and daughter who I knew instantly were Americans. They made for a fun lunch conversation as they've never been to Florence and I directed them to the must see sights for the day.

Our spiced salami pizza with onions was in a word - perfection. This is no deep dish American version - this is, pure and simple, pizza. A thin crust just on the verge of being burnt, yet remaining light and crispy was saturated with olive oil. My mom and I can never get enough oil on our pizza and it took everything we had to not wipe the plate with our tongues.

Getting ready for that oil  - and oh, yes, the pizza too.

As I suspected, the server thought our lunch neighbors and us were one party. I gave them enough euros to cover our share of the bill and we set off for the only thing that is an every day must have: gelato.

As hard as it was to resist my favorite flavor, pistachio - I let my mom order that while I dove into the dolce de latte. Yes, the fat content is higher and yes, you can taste that the fat content is higher and no, you don't give a damn of what it will do to your waistline as you eat even the cone where the gelato thinks it can escape.
It was  now either more walking or take a B&B break, and we opted to make the hike to the Piazzalle  Michaelangelo.

Now, anyone who's been to Italy knows what a challenge it is to cross the street. There are rules of the road, but the Italians don't bother to obey them. I turned to my mom, told her to walk with me quickly and we'd get across. So imagine my surprise when I turned around and saw Rosemarie still on the opposite side of the street. A few speeding motorbikes and scooters later, she joined me at last. It was then as we headed towards the piazzalle that we saw a staircase that reminded us all to much of our time in Paris.

"Do you want to go back?" I asked thinking she had done enough uphill climbing for the day.

The trouper that she is, we made it, although we did stop on every section so she could catch her breath. It was today that I realized that for as much as I can forget and take for granted, my mom really is 76. As one of her hands held my arm and the other the wall of the staircase, I thanked whatever higher power there is that I was experiencing all this with my mother.

My mom contemplates how many stairs we have left to the top.

Arriving at the top, the view was simply breathtaking, and of course, there were two gelato shops on either side. Note to travelers, never regret passing an ice cream shop and stopping in because there's one coming up in ten seconds.


My mom and I walked around the perimeter of the piazzale, got our picture taken and walked over to look at one of the copies of The David. The poor bastard is green and covered with bird shit but he's still one of the best looking naked men I've ever seen.

We found the WC before we headed back down and thought how horrible it would be to be the woman working behind the booth there. You're in Florence and you sit behind glass in a public restroom taking .60e from every person who needs to empty their bladder. Sufficiently relieved, we headed back down the immense set of stairs, where I held onto Rosemarie as she had a slight trip.

"Will you please put two feet on each stair instead of just one?" I implored.

"That makes me feel like an old lady."

"You are an old lady!" I laughed before I proceeded to lose my footing on the sidewalk.

"Now who's old," my mother observed. Touche Rosemarie, touche.

We've added six more miles to our total today and it's time to nap and google that restaurant. It's not up any hills or stairs, so that's something in our favor tonight.