It was Saturday, and so many questions filled my mind: Were we really going to see the Holy Relics that live next to our hotel once we got to Rome? What does the finger of St. Thomas the Apostle look like? Were monks going to carry our bags to our rooms? What exactly does “When in Rome do as the Romans do” mean?
Before I was going to be able to find answers to those questions, our group of three had half a day to explore more of Florence. We walked through the Piazza Annunziata, which was very close to the hotel. There was a bar on the corner, with chairs set out on the sidewalk.
The sound of the band Creedence Clearwater Revival loudly blasted from the speakers outside the bar. I really wanted to stop for a beer and experience life sitting in a chair on the corner of the piazza as the world walked by, but that would have incurred a fierce look from my Mom, so I didn’t stop.
While we walked through the street, the distance to the Florence Duomo looked closer than it really was. It was tricky, especially for someone like my Mom who doesn’t walk well on the uneven cobblestones because she would think she was almost there, but she really wasn’t. It was so much bigger than everything else around it that it constantly looked like it wasn’t far away.
Florence is one of those places where you can wander up and down streets and never feel like you made the wrong turn onto a dangerous street.
We wandered back to the hotel and ate some yogurt in our room and repacked our luggage for our trip to Rome, we left Mom in the sitting area of the hotel with her Kindle. Paolo said he would keep an eye on her.
It was a fantastic afternoon in Florence. The atmosphere was festive in the piazzas.
Piazza San Giovanni, next to the Florence Duomo was packed with people.
There was a three-wheeled vehicle with a video camera shooting video of everyone in the piazza. There were horses with carriages, vendors selling souvenirs, two 7-foot tall models weighing 100 pounds between the two of them poising for an edgy photographer (Of course, Bronwyn walked behind them attempting to photo bomb the super models.).
Everywhere we looked there was something interesting going on.
There were dads chasing after toddlers, moms buying their children ice cream, a pack of young men in sombreros gleefully pushing around their friend in a wheelchair, young and old, fashionable and casual.
We took a quick look at the doors of the Baptistery across from the Duomo. The Baptistery is an octagonal shaped building that is one of the oldest buildings in Florence. The bronzed doors appeared golden in the sunlight. Dante Alighieri and the Medici’s were baptized in this famous building. We quickly walked around the building and then walked to the Piazza Della Signoria.
This piazza was also full of life. A newly married couple walked through the square. Tourist energetically walked by a copy of David. Some street players played Italian music.
Several people were dressed up like statues and beckoned tourist to take pictures with them and place money in their hats.
Bronwyn posed with a statue that was more creepy than comical.
He stuck his tongue out at her and started meowing like a cat.
We walked up the steps and stood at the Loggia dei Lanzi, an open-air sculpture gallery with works from the 1500’s. Looking down from where we stood, the square was full of life. Bronwyn started dancing to the music from the Italian musicians.
Ponte Vecchio was not far from the square, so we headed over a few streets to walk on the medieval bridge. Originally built in 996, a flood destroyed the bridge, and it was rebuilt in 1345.
The bridge was built to house merchants, and amazingly, to this day, it still houses merchants who sell their wares. During WWII, when Hitler’s army was destroying most of Italy, Ponte Vecchio was spared.
The bridge was packed. It was so crowded it was difficult to move. We walked over the bridge and turned around at the Pitti Palace. It would have been nice to walk through the Boboli gardens behind the Pitti Palace, but we were running out of time.
We walked back with purpose, only stopping to notice a street artist drawing a chalk masterpiece on the street, and an accordion player playing an unknown tune.
We found Mom right where we left her, reading in a chair in the sitting room. Paolo called a taxi for us because our train would be leaving Florence soon. We walked to the door of the hotel and were greeted by a strange view.
Three elderly women were slowly walking down the steps from above the second floor entrance to the hotel. Evidently, they live above the hotel. They held themselves as if they had lived beyond a century.
Paolo was nervous about them walking out in front of us. The elderly women’s nurse seemed nervous as well. There was just something about the three women that made my mind pause to think.
They were well dressed, had a purse in the bend of their arm, had orthopedic shoes, and they each had pleasant looks on their faces.
Their necks were hung slightly to the side, and their backs hunched from age.
Three flights of stairs.
Their walking was laborious, yet none of them showed the slightest bit of complaint.
They got into a taxi, and off they went.
I was impressed by those women.
Three flights of stairs.
They looked to be well over 100 years old.
They looked happy, and I was happy they crossed our path.
Why?
I’m not really sure.
Maybe I was happy about the encounter because it put life into perspective.
Our taxi arrived, and we said good-bye to Paolo, Hotel Morandi, David, rooms upon rooms upon rooms of classic works of art, and Florence.
At the Florence train station, we were better at maneuvering through the train station, better at giving career beggars blank stares, and better at walking to our train with purpose.
We were about to find out what it was like staying in a building attached to a basilica that houses relics from The Holy Grail.
The taxi ride from the train station in Rome took us to Hotel Domus Sessorian, part of a monastery attached to Santa Croce in Gerusalemme. Santa Croce in Gerusalemme is one of the seven pilgrim churches in Rome. The monastery was built in the 1100’s.
Santa Croce in Gerusalemme dates back to the 300’s and was built by Emperor Constantine’s mother Helena.
When the taxi pulled up to the church, my eyes widened, and my mouth fell open.
“We are staying here?” I said aloud, in disbelief.
“Si, Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, Si!” The taxi driver said several times as if to encourage us to get out of his taxi, so he could go pick up someone else.
We rolled our luggage into the foyer dazed by the size of the palace-like building and checked into our room.
Ciao!