Thursday, June 2
Got up early and finished up the last of the
packing before taking an Uber to Charles de Gaulle International Airport. We
took a bus from the terminal to a small Airbus jet and were on our way to
Florence, Italy. One hour and 40 minutes later we were in Florence, arriving at
a small terminal that reminded us both of Burbank in terms of size and lack of
jetways at the gates.
Got our bags (making sure the grey and orange
was indeed mine) and took a cab through the rain to our hotel, St. Regis, on
the river just near Ponte Vecchio (sp?). The hotel is 600 years old and was
originally built as a monastery before being converted to a hotel for noblemen.
The place was absolutely palatial. A double story space with a glass roof, the
Winter Garden, was an absolutely stunning bar and tearoom. I was awestruck.
Our room wasn’t ready yet so we left our bags
to go stroll the maze of little streets and alleyways around Florence. I’m
pretty sure Laura was taken with this gorgeous place, as I was the first time I
went and vowed to bring her back to see it for herself. We found a little place
for lunch, a restaurant I had dined in before and knew was good, and had
amazing pasta and lasagna and some chianti. We made our way back to the hotel
to finish checking in.
Laura in the rain in Florence.
One of Laura's favorites: prosciutto and melon.
Pear soaked in port and drizzled with gorgonzola.
Gnocchi bolognese.
Lasagne.
Ponte Vecchio.
We were taken to our room and were even more
awestruck. It wasn’t large, but it felt like a royal’s bed quarters with a view
of the river (which I’d ordered, something I don’t think I’ve ever done before)
and an amazing bathroom of marble. The photos speak for themselves.
Above and below, the view from our room of the Arno River.
Our hotel, built over 600 years ago.
After admiring our room we headed back out to
explore Florence. I took Laura to the “high rent district” where all the
fashion houses are located. Laura admired the clothes in the windows,
commenting on fabrics and designs and patterns. She was in her element and I
loved every minute. We went into the flagship Louis Vuitton store where I had,
on a whim and in a Florence fever, purchased a surprise clutch for Laura
previously. The purse she uses day-to-day at home is falling apart (well, the
hand strap is) and I had thought Florence might be a neat spot to buy her a
little something for our anniversary. We looked through the LV store but didn’t
find anything we really liked.
Florence is the home for all the high fashion
leather. Everyone—Chanel, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, etc.—all have design houses in
Florence and all have their leather manufactured there, so there are lots of
leather and purse and jacket stores in Florence.
We walked to the Duomo, admiring other shops.
Laura saw a purse and wallet store with Florencian leather in bright,
multicolors. The shop was closed, but the really liked some of the things she
saw. After the Duomo, we walked past the Uffizi and the piazza in front, then
headed back to the hotel.
Along the way back we stopped at the Ponte
Vecchio (sp?), an old bridge where houses and buildings and businesses one
filled in the bridge. Now jewelry stores and a tourist spot for romantics to
propose, the bridge was filled with throngs of people to the point you could
barely move. Still, Laura was absolutely astonished that the bridge held
buildings and once residences.
We stopped for a gelato—because…Italy—and
went back to the room. Laura had a nap for a couple hours and I worked on
posting my journal entries to Laura’s blog while she slept.
After she got up, we got dressed for dinner,
headed back to the fashion quarter and found a restaurant I had dined in when I
was in Florence for the first time last March. It’s “country food” but
delicious and I wanted Laura to try one particular dish. I didn’t know the name
of the dish because when we had come as a business dinner the Italian
representative of National Geographic (our client) had ordered family style for
us. I didn’t see the item on the menu (in badly translated English, anyway) and
so I did a quick Google translate for what I thought we had eaten: “pig fat.” I
showed the waiter the translation on the phone and he sort of wrinkled his nose
and said, “No fat.” But as I began to describe the dish his eyes opened wide
and he said, “Ah! ‘White pork’!” Uh-huh. That’s what I said.
Appetizers came, along with a plate of “white
pork”—thinly sliced pieces of nothing short of the white part of a pig. I don’t
know what you’d call that, but I’d call it fat. Regardless, it sounds horrible
but is absolutely rich and delicious. You can’t eat too much otherwise you’ll
likely have a coronary attempting to walk out of the restaurant. Laura had an
amazing ravioli and I had a thinly sliced roast beef with gravy and roasted
peppers. A half-litre carafe of house red wine was six Euros. We had two.
Certain we’d get gelato after dinner on a stroll we skipped dessert and headed
out.
In front of the Duomo.
Uffizi.
It was still light out and so we, along with
the hordes of other tourists, strolled. Finally, as it got dark, we ended up
back at the hotel and in the Winter Garden for a nightcap. It had been a long
day and our bed looked luxurious, our room quiet (unlike our Paris flat) and
with a functioning HVAC system (unlike Edinburgh), so we were eager to get a
good night’s sleep. It was amazing.
The Winer Garden in our hotel. An amazing room.
Little petit fours awaiting us in our room.
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