It is our 3rd wedding anniversary. And Florence is bathing in sunlight and blue skies. The day has started slowly and the smiles on our faces tell us that today, slowly will work best. 

From the Piazza della Repubblica we take the short 3 minute walk to the Piazza del Mercato Nuovo to see the bronze boar of Florence. Il Porcellino stands along the edge of today’s market, tearing my eyes away from the amazing smelling leather bags. I await my turn at the statue. It stands nearly taller than me and its nose is bright and shiny. It is said that should you wish to return to Florence you will find luck in doing so if you give the boar’s nose a good rub. Mr W asks if I want to return, I hesitate wondering if Florence has enough to tempt me back, and then my hand reaches up and grips the metal snout. Rub. Rub. Rub. Yes, I dare say it’s a good guess I’d like to return to this city. There are wonders I think I have missed this time. Even if it means wandering the streets and enjoying the coffee there is something about this city that is speaking to me. Il Porcellino is not alone, he sits amongst leaves and tiny bronze frogs. The details remind me just how beautiful Italy is.  

The footfall at the market is building and it’s time to move on. Our wander takes us across the Ponte Vecchio, a bustling bridge lined with shops. We i-spy the Arno river below, its slow flowing pace sets the precedent for the day, the sun bounces off its surface and makes it glow. 

The hot drinks from this morning’s visit to the Caffe La Terrazza are wearing off, we need more Italian treats and we find them at Gino’s Bakery. Cannoli! The bakery has a serving hatch on the street with a window showcasing the mouthwatering treats for all of the city to see. Pizza slices, paninis encasing the meats and cheeses of the country and arancini with its tasty hidden filling. There are beautifully crisp sfogliatelle dusted with icing sugar, muffins standing tall in their cases, glazed desserts, biscotti dotted with nuts and a coffee machine whirring in the background. And there they are. Sitting in rows upon rows of delicate deliciousness. Straight soldiers of rolled, bubbled pastry filled with sweetened ricotta cheese laying in wait to be picked. There are different colours depending on which topping the cannoli has been dipped into. Each one carries different textures of chopped hazelnuts or pistachios and my favourite, tiny chocolate chips. A bag for our purchases is not needed, the delights are quickly eaten right there on the street with murmurings of mmmmm’s and ahhh’s. 

Our next stop is only a 5 minute walk away and it turns out it’s lunchtime! We’ve managed to have our dessert first. Oops! It is time for my first pizza of the trip. Gustapizza on Via Maggio is a tiny corner restaurant with three tables inside. The tables are very tall wooden barrels with glass tops, my 5’5 body hops up onto the towering stools as Mr W peruses the menu. There are 7 pizza’s total. I often find that the smaller the menu, the better the taste. Let’s see how this place matches up. Mr W orders the Gustapizza, it has cherry tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, extra virgin olive oil and basil and when it comes it is a sea of red and green. The pizza is enormous and Mr W looks at me wide-eyed. ‘How do I eat all of this?’ he remarks. I’m too busy watching my pizza being made to offer any advice. The kitchen is right next to us, open to spectators and there are three men working as a team to create orders. The first man is stretching out the dough just one metre away. He glances up, smiling knowingly, he is confident in his work, he knows this food makes people happy. Toppings of tomato, mozzarella, spicy salami and basil are thrown together on the dough by the second guy and a wooden paddle whips away my pizza to the flame-ridden oven by a third. A short time later my pizza emerges and is placed in front of me. My mouth gapes open. This pizza is a monster! There is a fourth man wandering around welcoming new patrons, they look at the pizzas on our table and make their minds up. They sit having decided this is the place to eat today. My focus is stolen back by the glistening piping hot cheese in front of me. The meat has curled slightly at the edges and the crust has charred in places, the pizza oven’s heat has kissed the ingredients with its flames. The first bite cannot be believed, but the first slice is out of this world. No pizza back in the Uk can top this. The creamy cheese cuts through the saltiness of the meat and the basil gives it the sweet kick to tie it up in one big Italian bow. It is hands down the best pizza I have ever had the pleasure of eating. All of a sudden I remember I am not alone. I look across at Mr W. He is sitting in wide-eyed silence. His mouth is chewing but his eyes are drinking it all in. I feel a swell of pride that my research has paid off. He looks at me and nodds smacking his lips. It becomes apparent after a while that there is no way we can finish our pizzas. As if knowing thas, the fourth man brings us an empty pizza box. I am glad of the courtesy and also that in an hour from now, we will be able to again tackle the pizza in the open air of the Boboli Gardens. We pay for our pizzas and drinks and head into the ever present Italian sunshine. I remind myself we are lucky to have such beautiful weather in early autumn.

The Boboli Gardens are found inside the entrance of the Pitti Palace, after some confusion over our vouchers at the ticket office we are ushered to the security queue. Before we reach the entrance we are stopped by a scary looking art installation. Huge, lifelike iron statues of wolves are barring our way. The pack of wolves are standing in various places before the palace gates. Terrifying though they look, they are still and such a surprise that it takes a moment to walk on by. Mr W pretends that one has locked its jaws around our prized pizza box and stops for a quick photo montage. With just one handbag and the treasured delicacy in hand we know we’ll be whisked through quickly. There is a small family ahead of us, mum, dad and two small children. They have a big pram jammed with the necessaries for a family day out. Bags, food and coats are stuffed here and there. It takes them a while to move through the security scanner. We are standing in what looks like a grand courtyard surrounded by an arched walkway and I spy toilets up ahead. The absolute joy of the city break is finding a toilet you need not pay for. The two security guards usher us through easily until they ask what’s in the box. I answer with a smile that the box with a pizza drawn onto its lid does indeed hold pizza, he wags his finger ‘No’ and points to a bin. My inner obedient child wants to adhere to this crazy rule, of which there are no posters or guides to explain why food is forbidden, but my happy adult stomach is having a hard time letting go. I ask why, and again am witness to the waggle of the finger and that same finger pointing at the bin. With a deep sigh, I realise there is no way we could wolf the half a pizza that awaits both of us and Mr W drops it into the trash can. We turn away actually quite heartbroken and head on through. 

The day has taken a turn we did not expect, I had looked while planning if a picnic in the Giardino Boboli was possible and there were copious amounts of information suggesting this was the norm for a visit. Did I get something wrong? Were the security guards fishing our boxed deliciousness out of the shallow bin? Ha-ha I joke. Sort of. Mostly. Buggers.

Toilet found and used. We head towards the Anfiteatro di Boboli with its wide open space and Obelisk at its centre. I am yet to shake off the pizza incident. The sky is bluer than blue and here it feels like covid is a million miles away, but something isn’t connecting with us. We continue on through the park until we find the Vasca del Nettuno, the Fountain of Neptune in the Fontana della Signoria. It is pretty. But rather than enjoying the moment we are both wondering why we aren’t. It becomes pretty clear that museums, even open air ones with its impressive statues and Egyptian gifts aren’t quite our thing on this trip. We’ve been steeping ourselves so much into the culture here that we’ve swayed far from the tourist trail and finding our way back to it is hard. I believe if we’d invested in a guidebook we could enjoy the pockets of history in this place. Which only means one thing, a return trip! Oh dear, only if we have to!

We aim to head to the very top of Giardini Boboli to the Palazzina e Bastione del Cavaliere to make an exit and quickly cross over to the Giardini Bardini. But the exit here is closed. We check our handy paper map and find another exit at Forte Belvedere. The walk around the walled garden is in shadow and is pleasant in the afternoon sun. The trees provide the ground with a dappled shade that is both beautiful and refreshing. The next exit is also closed. What is going on?

We skirt the edge of the gardens right down to the security entrance and emerge onto Viale della Meridiana. It is a 10 minute walk in the opposite direction to Villa Bardini, the entrance to Giardino Bardini. To salvage our last afternoon in the city I urge Mr W’s tired feet onwards. The 10 minute walk takes twice as long due to the enormous hill that is the Costa San Giorgio, a back street of Florence that is the quickest yet steepest hill we’ve encountered yet. Again, what is going on? 

We are in a neighbourhood of Florence that is quiet and empty of tourists, it feels like we are trespassing. Upon reaching Giardino Bardini we are greeted with meticulously kept greenery and perfected planting. The gardens themselves are on the side of the hill we have presumably just climbed. They are spread out on different levels, each high above the Arno river and the city laid out below. From here the Duomo is tiny. Wedged between the Pitti Palace and the Piazzale Michelangelo, Giardino Bardini is a revelation. The large open spaces of the Boboli Gardens are long gone and the small intimate gardens here welcome us in their embrace. We find a bench outside La Loggetta di Villa Bardini. A large expanse of gravel leads up to a stone balustrade which gives way to a beautiful view of Florence and the mountains that stand by in a protective stance. We spend a long time sitting, stroking the resident cat and savouring the afternoon sun. Tomorrow we move onto Venice. The time here has flown.  

Forced to follow the daylight and keep on track for our evening plans, we leave the bench behind and wander down the zig-zagging path down through the gardens. There is a long sloped walkway with wisteria hanging from a pergola. At this time of year it is dense and green, the original plan was to come in April and be lucky enough to see a canopy of purple above us. Covid stopped that happening, I remind myself this is just another reason to return to this place. It seems as though we have unfinished business in Florence!

Our walk takes us past lines of hedges, rows of roses and past a vast staircase that ascends the hill to the terrace where we found the bench. This place has transformed our afternoon. It has forced us to slow down. To enjoy the smaller things we usually take for granted. We need to head back to our apartment to freshen up before our anniversary dinner. Our route back takes us over the Ponte Vecchio and the streets are busy in the evening sun. 

A quick shower and outfit change and I rush Mr W out the door. He thinks we are late and we head to the restaurant next to our apartment. This evening is a surprise for him and as he realises where we are he smiles. The secret has been worth it for that smile. His smile is my gift. The Hard Rock Cafe is somewhere we visit on our travels as a cheesy little tradition. Mr W collects the t-shirts and it’s something we’ve done since 2014. It may not be authentic Italian food, but it’s authentic to our relationship, and I love it. 

We are greeted by two proseccos ‘on the house’, they’ve been told it’s our anniversary and we settle in for the night. We order another boozy drink each and share a starter. The music is just to our taste and we are the first customers of the night. We are sat near the large stage, where a drum kit sits and take a moment to look at all the memorabilia on display. Mr W sips his long island iced tea, as I neck my prosecco and move onto my cosmopolitan. Our mains arrive and I can feel the alcohol taking effect. It’s clear very quickly that we are relaxed and in fact drunk. We say no to dessert, find a t-shirt to Mr W’s tastes and head out into the night. The darkness shrouds the city as we wander again to the Duomo, we are drawn to its presence. We have a small dessert from Venchi Cioccolato e Gelato, mesmerised by its flowing wall of chocolate and stagger slightly back to our apartment via Piazza della Repubblica. 

There is music bringing the night to life and restaurants with their tables spilling out onto the streets. I am reminded again how life has changed in the last six months. How covid has ravaged this country and the world. I finish my ice cream and thank my lucky stars, Mr W and hope to return soon. Florence, you have entranced me. For now we head to Venice! 

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/05/06/stories-of-venice-part-one/

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/05/07/stories-of-venice-part-two/

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/05/10/stories-of-venice-part-three/