A change of hotels

Once again we engaged in the loathsome activity of bag packing. Our time at Hotel Toscana was up and we were off to Hotel Annabella near the train station just after 10am. Finding it was easy even if the packs were sapping our energy by the second. We were greeted warmly by what must have been the hotel owner, a man in his 50s who used English in an adorable way, insisting we leave our bags in the dining room until our room was ready and be “welcome, welcome”.
Having “studied up” last night I was keen to check out the old Roman fortification just south of us past the highly-secured government sector. First we surveyed a nice park with plenty of shade on this hot morning. But we couldn’t actually go inside the fortifications for whatever reason. It was signposted a no tourist zone. So I led the way down what the map said would be a lovely tree-lined avenue. But it wasn’t. So then we found the river and walked along it past the American embassy with all its security and on past the Florence beach - rows of deck chairs positioned at the foot of the river’s weir. You make do I guess. Over the bridge we walked through more streets with shops screaming for tourist trade. We stopped in the shade of the Palazzo Pitti, built for the Pitti family but bought by the Medici family in 1549 as their family residence, now a group of museums but baulked at the entrance fee. We couldn’t find a way around into its extensive gardens either. So we walked further, both sore and tired from the midday sun, on through the city door we found the day before and up past the stables again, where we could just sit and relax for a bit in the relative cool.
There was nothing left to do but walk back to the hotel. It had been an ordinary morning - dashed by the no entry at the fortification.
That night after some rest and relaxation in the hotel we set out for dinner. We found a piazza with a live band in the middle surrounded by restaurants and sat as far away as possible for no real reason. Except the menu appealed and the prices weren’t outrageous. We were seated next to a middle aged couple who as it turned out were Dutch. Alysia ordered a pasta while I opted for a mixed grill. The bottle of Chianti proved a good companion as we started talking to the stranded couple; their car having broken down they were in Florence for a few days till it was fixed. I still don’t know what had gone wrong but if we thought our load dramas were formidable, evidently they could not fit in any more bottles of Italiano wine and oil - they’d had a good trip. We talked geography over our meals and he shared some travel philosophy. “Just see the important things,” he said, “don’t waste time doing things you’re not interested in either.” He even insisted I try some of his Florentine steak, so massive it was. It wasn’t bad even if he’d seasoned it with perhaps all the salt in the Adriatic Sea. Alysia ordered a tiramisu, which we shared, quite nice. And very Italian of course, washed down on my behalf with another espresso. We bade our companions well calling it a night. If that super strong coffee would ever let me sleep.
Sam (August 10)