The Two Sides of Florence

After Venice, my husband, Adam, and I continued on to Florence, because I had never been there and he thought that I, as someone who loves architecture, needed to see it. We took the train from Venice, and as in so many other cities, the area around the train station makes a weak first impression. But then we came upon the Duomo—extraordinary during the day, and even more dazzling later that evening. The marble facade glows; it reminded me of both Florentine paper and mosques in Istanbul.

The contrast between the restored and unrestored parts was remarkable.

We stayed at the Hotel Savoy, a Rocco Forte property on the Piazza della Repubblica. While I missed a grander lobby that such a location warrants—the existing one is small and crammed with art and vitrines showcasing luxury goods—our room was lovely to look at. Rooms, I should say, because we asked to change after the street noise (buskers, a carousel, amplified tour guides, people in general…) proved unbearable. Even the second room, on the back of the hotel, was far from quiet. In every other way, the property is terrific, and the service was impeccable. We wished that the hotel would install better windows—or that we could pick the whole place up and move it somewhere else.

Our first 36 hours in Florence were rough. We didn’t sleep well because of the noise, and every street in the central area was jammed with pedestrians. I suspect the city is always a little like that these days, and worse during the Christmas/New Year’s period. The buildings are gorgeous, sure, but the stores are the same as in Soho; it’s a giant, open-air mall.

Inspired by A Room With a View, I went to Piazza della Signoria, only to discover throngs of people and Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana, and Valentino boutiques. And we aborted our plan to tour inside the Duomo’s bell tower because the timed tickets proved meaningless—we arrived 10 minutes early, and people with the same time as ours had already been waiting for an hour, with at least a half hour more to go.

I thought this shop looked interesting, but I wasn’t willing to be the twenty-first person inside.

Someone has pasted “Yankee go home!” decals all over, but extracting Americans would only make a dent in the situation. Italian tourists were plentiful, too.

On top of all that, the air quality was atrocious. It was that way in Venice as well; an inversion in winter traps emissions from industrial sites nearby. You could feel it in your throat, and then the sensation abated after a rainstorm—a relief, but also confirmation of why breathing was painful.

We thought about moving to a hotel outside of town, but we had already spent a lot of money on the trip. So we made the best of it. And come on, the Ponte Vecchio is pretty amazing, as was the color of the light on the Arno.

And I found lots of door hardware and other architectural details to geek out on.

Look how the wooden door is carved to match the stone.

A glum mummy baby.

And how fabulous is this?

Such variety of fonts! Such flair!

We snacked well at Forno Becagli, a bakery specializing in schiacciata, a Tuscan bread somewhat akin to focaccia.

Although we would’ve snacked better had we not been in town during the holiday season.

Just like in Venice, I made a point of walking around before dawn. The lack of people was a relief, but unlike Venice, there were delivery vehicles zipping around wildly—including right through the piazzas.

Quirky cultural moments stood out. I adored the old-school photo booths on the sidewalks, and I wished I could’ve taken the little Pasquali Riscio for a spin. (“Built by Florence-based automotive company Pasquali, the electric-powered Riscio is a three-wheeled vehicle that is so small, both in term of engine size and inside space, that you don’t even need a driving license to operate it in its native Italy.” —Hotcars)

I had just about stopped investigating the sidewalk vending machines selling condoms and other urgent needs—it’s not a great look—when this one caught my eye. It upped the ante with a range of sex toys.

Also, the dachshund is clearly the favorite breed of dog in both Venice and Florence.

As Adam and I tend to do, we stopped by a food market—the Mercato di Sant’Ambrogio—where we bought Italian pine nuts (which came in a bag with a delectable logo) and learned something: the kaki mela, or apple persimmon, looks like a hachiya but can be eaten firm, like a fuyu.

And obviously we went to see Michelangelo’s statue of David at the Galleria dell’Accademia. It’s a stunning work, to be sure. I was also interested to see so many people staring with such intensity at a male nude—in a homoerotic pose (trust me), no less—which I don’t think they’d feel comfortable doing if it were, say, a photograph. I was also amused to overhear a woman turned to the young girl at her side and asked, “Do you have any feelings about it? Did you think it would be so big?”

This room of casts reminded me of those roadside stores that sell outdoor sculptures in every conceivable shape.

But the paintings weren’t my thing at all. I diverted myself by focusing on the odd ways that artists depicted baby Jesus (?). I see a lot of Jonah Hill.

All of which is to say that we were having a good enough time when a friend back home insisted we cross the river and go up the hill—lo and behold, we loved it. First, on the concierge’s recommendation, we had lunch at Golden View. The name is regrettable, but the setting was as promised, and the tagliatelle with duck ragú was superb.

A bed was just one of the surprises on the walk to the restroom.

We continued to the Rampe del Poggi, “a four-tiered complex of manmade grottoes, basins, fountains, arches, walkways, and stairs,” as Architectural Digest described it after the restoration was completed in 2019. “Constructed between 1872 and 1876 by Florentine architect Giuseppe Poggi, the ramps were conceived as a means of reinforcing and beautifying an unstable hillside and the Piazzale Michelangelo, also designed by him, to the world down below.”

The view from Piazzale Michelangelo was sublime. And the meandering walk back was a delight. There were few other people, except near the bridges, and we loved the Santo Spirito area, which felt more like a real city. I wish I could buy a book by the street artist of the abstract below.

And we were the only visitors to Giardino Bardini, where we found more exquisite views.

I was particularly drawn to the sculptures. The couple directly below appears to be checking their phones during an intimate moment.

And when I say I was taken with the sculptures, I mean it.

So Florence earned back some points. We probably would’ve liked it more had we eaten better. The old-school charm of Cibrèo was appealing, but Coquinarius disappointed, and we had one of the worst restaurant experiences ever at Zeb, where the proprietor was so aggressively, angrily rude to us—from the moment we walked in—that we left minutes after sitting down. Decent pizza elsewhere and the walk home at night made up for a lot, although I wish no one saw the need to tart up the Ponte Vecchio with colored lights.

During the day, the bridge is so crowded it’s hard to even take note of the shops, most of which sell jewelry. I prefer them at night, when they get shuttered in stylish fashion.

On our last morning, we took a cab to the town of Fiesole and walked the two hours back to the city. The scenery was often quite beautiful, and we saw frost for the first time in years. What will stick with me most was this: we stopped at two cafés, and both times, the people were nice—and it hit me how unwelcoming nearly everyone in Florence had been. I hope they were just exhausted by the holiday season.

P.S. We were flying out of Venice, and we didn’t want a two-hour train ride first, so we spent our last night in Italy at Villa Franceschi, 20 minutes outside the airport, in a town called Mira. I can’t say I’d recommend it, exactly, but I did enjoy it. The complex is old and full of character.

Our room was fine, but it bore only a faint resemblance to the more richly decorated ones on the website.

The town made for a pleasant enough walk—just long enough for us to daydream about resuscitating one of the old buildings.

And the dining room was like a portal to another era. The second photo is of the butter service.

UPDATE 2/7: Just as with the recent post about Sedona, this one has found an audience of people who want to defend the honor of a city, which is fine, and I’m happy to have a conversation about Florence by email at [email protected]. But the insults are juvenile, and the piling on is boring. Does it really matter if someone likes a place less than you do?

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Previous travel coverage:
••• The Most Magical City in the World
••• One and Done in Sedona
••• A Proper Visit to Santa Monica
••• A Quickie in San Francisco
••• Dipping a Toe Into Southern Corsica
••• The Exquisite Luxury of Taking Paris for Granted
••• Santa Rosa Island in One Day
••• Soaking Up History at Castle Hot Springs
••• Driving Through the Heart of Hokkaido
••• Tokyo Is a World Unto Itself
••• Paso Robles, Pinnacles National Park, and Beyond
••• A Review of the Inn at Mattei’s Tavern
••• Another Quickie in L.A.
↓↓↓ Sitting Pretty at the One & Only Mandarina
••• The Mysteries of Istanbul
••• Palm Springs: Midweek at the Oasis
••• Exploring the Sea Caves of Santa Cruz Island
••• A Summer Swing Through the Northeast
••• Why Is Everyone Going to Portugal?
••• Patagonia Made Easy
••• A Quickie in L.A.
••• From Penthouse to Pavement in Mexico City
••• Do Greek Islands Live Up to the Fantasy?
••• Splendid Isolation at Utah’s Lodge at Blue Sky
••• Three Reasons to Visit Paso Robles Now
••• The Rebirth of the Cuyama Buckhorn

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