Buon giorno, Italy!

Well, what have we here? Sure didn’t think I’d be hitting the big five-oh of blogging in just ten months. Guess that goes to show how much I actually like writing when it’s not affecting the future title of my name. I feel like I should say something funny/clever/profound to mark this historic occasion, but it will probably just come out soppy and nostalgic. So let’s just continue our journey through Europe, shall we, dear reader?

Ok, next stop: Firenze.

Florence was my favourite Italian city. She doesn’t have Rome’s constant hustle and bustle, Milan’s stylish shop windows, or Venice’s mask-adorned alleyways, but I always felt so at home here. It’s a feeling I like to call the ‘Lyon Phenomenon’. If Marseille was replaced with Milan, Montpellier with Venice and Paris with Rome, then the way I felt about Lyon in France was exactly that of Florence in Italy.

One of the first things I did (which began in Milan and turned into a habit for the rest of my trip) was climb to the dome of the largest cathedral I could find, happily burning off a few gelatos going up the almost-vertical staircases. And when I saw the beautiful Florentine rooftops, I forgot all about needing to catch my breath.

The basilica’s dark pink and green marble façade is bordered in white and carved into the most intricate designs. I couldn’t stop taking photos! It faces the impressive golden doors of the Battistero di San Giovanni (aka Florence Baptistery), which I was thrilled to finally see in person after hearing so much about them back home.

I did go see Michelangelo’s David, of course, but the real highlight in the Galleria dell'Accademia for me was The Rape of the Sabine Women, by Giambologna. Although this was only the gesso (chalk/glue replicate), with the real statue in the Loggia della Signoria open gallery across town, I must have walked around it, staring wide-eyed from every angle, for a good twenty minutes. The struggle of each of the figures – the older man, crushed under the strength of the younger Roman as they both fight for the young Sabine woman, desperately resisting his grasp – was exquisite.

I wandered the warm cobblestoned streets for hours on end with no destination in mind, making up for my earlier exercise with sweet Florentine cannoli and fresh basil and mozzarella pizza. Later, I found myself by the river, walking through the craft stand-filled arches to the Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge). It is by far my favourite bridge in Europe. If only I could afford the sparkling things on display behind the windows! One day...

Even though I was reluctant to visit Venice alone, I arrived in high spirits after my time in Florence. They continued to soar as I set off through the endless streets of elaborate masks and delicate glasswork. I didn’t even mind watching the happy couples rowing toward eternity on their gondolas. I thought Venice was just lovely...

Until I fell into a canal. And destroyed my camera, phone and iPod. ARGH.

So, long, embarrassing story short, wanting to snap a good photo of one of the pretty Venetian bridges, I decided to walk down a set of gondoliers' steps to get closer to the water. It was only after my foot landed on the algae-covered platform that I realised my mistake. Too late! I was already flying through the air in my own rendition of the iconic cartoon banana peel slip by then... Well, I sure got close to the water alright – the completely submerged kind of close. To make matters worse, a gondolier rows past at that exact moment (of course) and informs me rather seriously: "You're not meant to walk on those steps, you know!" Yeah, thanks mate, I know that NOW. A sign or railing would have been greatly appreciated! But yes, I know, even silly tourists aren't normally that silly.

And in case you were wondering, the water tastes slightly salty. It is also very deep and every bit as disgusting as it looks. Frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t die of a few nasty waterborne diseases. Especially after shivering all the way back to the hostel and taking a cold shower. Brrrr-yuck!

So that put a slight damper (no pun intended) on the rest of my holiday in Venice. I swear the sun came out the next day just to mock me. Ah well, it does make for a good story though, if nothing else. I can’t count the number of times I have heard the sly remark: “So, I hear you went swimming in Italy...” or the glee with which my friends retell my story.

Definitely one for the grandkids, I’d say.