My last morning in Florence started with yet another
gorgeous sunrise run. The sky was even prettier because I wasn’t out at the
crack of dawn, but just after. Then came the daunting task of having to cram
everything into my suitcase. I smartened up this time and travelled with a few
extra bags – which isn’t so much of an issue for the airplane, but more for
train travel, especially when you have to change trains. Inevitably the next
train is down and then up another set of stairs. I managed to get everything
into 2 bags – 2 huge, heavy, bursting at the seams bags, but only two
nonetheless. I rolled my bags into Neighbor Guy’s apartment and we set off.
First to Caffe Oibo on Piazza Santa Croce where I had my first caffe when I
arrived, very fitting to bookend my caffes. We each had a pasta, too – which is
a pastry. That’s one word I wont get used to. Pasta is for lunch, not breakfast
and it’s even stranger when two pastas become paste. Although, now I will never
forget the plural, I suppose. We wandered over to Oltr’arno, the neighborhood
across the Arno, poked into some shops, gardens and courtyards. We found a
cheese shop where I had my sandwich made for the train and we went on past the
bathhouse and the Saturday mercato at Santo Spirito –
the usual shoes and clothes, mixed in with
all the vegetables and flowers for sale.
Then back across the Arno
and to the
Piazza della Republicca where there was yet another mercato of sorts. Cheeses,
olive oils, vinegars, alpaca wool items, breads, sausages and other cured meats
from the regions around Florence. Just like at Costco, we sample whatever there
was on offer.
Neighbor Guy spots some macrons
that he absolutely has to
have at Gilli – the place where we had the decadent yet ridiculously overpriced
cioccolata calda con panna. He comes out with a bag of assorted flavors, takes
one bite and declares them awful – so he gives them to me for my train ride.
Then back to the apartment, passing the Duomo one last time just to indulge me
and decide that there is no way I can pull my luggage to the Stazione.
As we come to our building, there is a girl trying to get
into the main door but can’t find the right key. Neighbor Guy says , “Permesso”
and opens up. At the top of the next flight of stairs by the door to our
landing, she is trying again. Neighbor Guy opens up again. We go into Neighbor
Guys apartment to get my stuff and she is still struggling to open the door to
my old apartment. I offer to help, because I know that the key needs jiggling. Neighbor
Guy is very unimpressed that my replacement can’t even get into the building.
Neighbor Guy carries my bag down the stairs and we wait for
a taxi. Weekdays, they are everywhere, today, a Saturday, we wait an awful long
time for one. Finally one pulls up and I hop in and we zig zag our way to the
Stazione, “C’e un casino!” the driver says as he has to avoid people on the
street and other cars at intersections. At the stazione I wait under the big
“partenza” sign waiting for them to indicate which platform my train is leaving
from. I’m going to my cousins cottage in
Udine. 5 minutes before the train leaves, it’s indicated, so off I go. I get
into my seat. I have opted for first class. Not sure why, it wasn’t that much
more expensive and it gave me a seat reservation. When the train person (are
they stewards on a train too? Or just on airplanes?) helps me with my bag, I
figure it was worth the price. It’s a high speed train between Florence and
Venezia Mestre and we get there in no time. The platform in Venezia is level
with the train so no lugging the bag, but I do have to change platforms. Right
on cue, an Italian man grabs my bag and carries it down the stairs and then
another one carries it up to the next platform. Hmmm, I could get used to this.
The train from Venezia to Udine is not a fancy high speed train with first
class seats. It is a rather run down, completely full, regional train that is
stopping at a station every 10 minutes or so, without air conditioning. I find a seat in a small booth
and wedge my giant bag next to me so that people can get by. Oh, this isn’t
going well. And it’s hot, and there isn’t any air conditioning. The people I’m
sitting with start chatting with me and so it kills some time. Slowly the train
starts emptying more after each stop until my car is almost empty. I pull my
bag over into the booth and stare out the window. At the next stop, a gaggle of
schoolgirls gets on and I have to pull my bag out into the aisle again so that
two of them can sit in my little booth. I doze off but keep waking up whenever
my bag rolls away from me, which is often since the train is stopping all the
time. Finally the girls get off and I wedge the bag back in. Suddenly, I
realize that I have absolutely no idea where I am. I haven’t even looked at a
map of where I am going. All I know is that I am somewhere away from Venice and
hopefully somewhere north east of it, as I seem to recall that’s where my
cousin’s place is. My car is empty except for me and I can’t read the signs in
the stations as we pull up because the stations are so small and there is only
one sign and I always miss it. Hopefully Udine is sizable and I won’t miss it.
Hopefully I am heading towards Udine. I really have no idea. We pull into a
larger train station and I spot the Udine sign so I hop off. Just as I am about
to go down the stairs, in swoops Italian Guy to take my bag down the stairs for
me and then up at the exit. So far today, I have not had to carry my bag up nor
down any of the 5 sets of stairs. I really like this place.
My cousin pulls up and we drive to Cividale. There, I am
greeted by his wife, two dogs, a cat and five horses, one of whom is munching
on the grass in front of the house. The complete opposite of the frenzy of
Florence, I am speechless.
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