From Africa To Russia

I walk down a hill on a cobblestone street in the morning and across a bridge into Florence. It is an old city, steeped in history. The buildings look ancient and stylish. There are the expected hordes of tourists hungry for photos, stampeding in formation to get their shots. I check out the piazzas, the statues, the Duomo, and am impressed. One cannot do the Duomo justice with any one photograph, it is just too big. I think about going into a museum (maybe the Uffizi), but they charge like twenty euros per and I think that’s a bit steep and besides, visual artwork isn’t really my thing, so I pass. I grab some lunch near the Duomo (small portions of pasta again, and the hole-in-the-ground toilet from Tangiers). I am picking the lunch spots that are the most empty, where the proprietors come out and ask you to come in. At least I can be reasonably sure of not getting treated like shit. I walk around the city, and after go up to a park, watch the pigeons and the fountain and drink my beer. Off to the side, two pigeons are courting. The one is sort of pecking at the other’s neck gently, while she coyly leans back. It is touching, and I watch it for a while, just smiling. I walk back to the campsite, sit down in the tent and discover that the blister on my heel has reached unmanageable proportions, so I pop it. Pus goes everywhere. I am tired but I am forcing myself to stay awake at least until the sun goes down. I go to the terrace where they are showing the World Cup on TV, and Luis and Debra turn up. We spend the night talking and watching the game, along with a fanatical throng of futball fans. Luis and Debra are practicing members of the Baha’i faith (spelling?), which is a relatively new religion (1844 I believe) that shares traits in common with Islam. I discover they are not a couple, but brother and sister. Luis is an aspiring film director, and Debra has recently stayed in Belfast for a spell. I retire for the evening, climb in and go to sleep. It gets damn cold again, but this time I have my fleece on. My tent mate has a cold and cannot breathe through his nose, so I am treated to Darth Vader’s Second Symphony all night long. Someone behind has also decided to shine a freaking spotlight in through our window.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 18th, 2007 at 10:26 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.