A beautiful blue, Under the Tuscan Sun day
for our departure from Firenze.
We wanted to make the noon train to Bolzano
and I almost had a meltdown trying to get everything
(re)packed in the morning while Greg was out enjoying a coffee.
The very, very few and small-sized things I had bought during
our first 3 weeks here put me over the size limits of our luggage.
How ever little I ever bring, it's always too much.
Next time I am going to bring 3 identical black
outfits and just those: 3 pairs pants, 3 shirts, 3 sweaters,
1 pair boots, 1 coat. One set will be at the laundry, one in the
closet, one being worn. Once home I will burn it all.
I believed I had a conscientiously sane amount
packed for this year, and: Still Too Much.
Another lesson: I am losing my fondness for vacation apartments.
I come to Florence for the Experience of it, the food of it and
the scenes on the streets, not for a grand or beautiful space
to inhabit. If I am inside, and for the most part feel I shouldn't be,
I can curl up in any cozy chair with a book, or shut off all
the lights and watch tv all night.
A fridge perhaps, for chilling wine and water would be nice
but even that is not essential.
And, most importantly, I canNOT stop cleaning and neatening
and doing laundry, sweeping, rearranging the fridge, cabinet contents, etc.
It's an OCD type of affliction I have, the sort of thing I leave home
to escape, and the whole apartment thing just gives me
another place to practice my dysfunction. It is impossible for me to just lie
on the sofa and watch the dishes pile up in the sink.
So, a hotel is better. Daily maid and towel service, smaller space,
no kitchen. I know I would eat less. With an apartment I wind up
with a fully stocked refrigerator and pantry in addition to eating out 3x/day.
If the hotel is right, it can't be beat.
The Hotel Figl in Bolzano is right. Everything about it: layout,
location, welcome, room, bathroom, little café in the lobby,
warm, quiet rooms, windows that open, comfy bed, eiderdown covers.
Bolzano itself was a surprise, how totally nice it is. It was recently voted
Italy's most livable city, and I can understand that. It almost feels fake
in it's perfection, but for a holiday that's OK. The center of the old town,
with it's café lined, Austrian inspired Piazza Werther,
is a stone's throw from the train station. The cathedral there quaintly dings out
the hours and quarter hours with a tinny little bell
that seems somehow Swiss in it's utter lack of pretension.
Once again, lots of old people mingling with the young in the restaurants,
cafés, sipping coffee in the a.m., luscious Alto Adige whites any time after that,
and pedaling around the cobbled streets; in short, out and about
instead of visiting the doctor. There is an outdoor market in Piazza delle Erbe
with big green and white wooden stalls beautifully displaying
cheeses, meats, breads, vegetables, fruits and flowers.
One can sense the wealth of the place, no doubt trickling down from Germany
to the north, and there were lots of Germans and Austrians enjoying the town,
its many fine beer pubs, wine bars, cafés and restaurants, hearing their native
language spoken everywhere, right along with Italian.
It was a really nice place to pass some time, actually felt like a vacation.
Today it was on to Venice, and here we are.
Settled into another apartment.
I have vowed to buy only liquids for the fridge,
do no cooking at all, and wash no more than
one load of laundry a day. . .