Firenze: The Duomo, The David and the One-Star Hotel

 “The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark.”



-Michelangelo

To me, Florence is all about the Duomo.

The Duomo, aka the “Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore”, is one of Italy’s largest churches, completed in 1436 with the largest brick dome ever constructed, an engineering masterpiece by Filippo Brunelleschi. The Duomo and two other buildings, the Baptistery and Giotto’s Belltower, comprise the Florence’s “cathedral complex”, and their combined effect is breathtaking—they are the visual centerpiece of Florence. Like a bold, elaborately designed outdoor art exhibit, the Gothic-style buildings are mesmerizing, full of intricate details--columns and arches, ornate windows, enormous doors and imbedded statues. The façade is comprised of marble panels, in shades of green and pinkish-red and white marble.
Our plan was to spend just one night in Florence, so I tried to reserve a hotel room close to the Duomo, finally settling on the Hotel San Giovanni. The description, price, and photos looked great, but the one-star rating had us concerned. I made a reservation online, but then the hotel emailed the day before we left Le Marche to casually inform me that the room I had reserved, one with a frescoed ceiling, was no longer available, and we had been moved to a nearby building. Great. Since there wasn’t enough time to make alternate plans, we prepared for the worst (loud, smoky, with grimy sheets and fleas), telling ourselves we only needed the room for a few hours’ sleep before leaving for Amsterdam the next morning.
We slid into Florence in the late afternoon, and I poured over the map intensely, trying to guide Jeff to a parking area a few blocks from the hotel. I hadn’t anticipated all the pedestrian-only streets, the one ways, the right-turn onlys and left-turn onlys--a cleverly designed system to discourage cars from entering the Florence centro (a concept we usually advocate, unless it inconveniences us personally). We kept turning and turning, left and left, then right, right, right, and finally I lost track of where we were on the map. I was completely lost, dizzy and frustrated. As usual, when faced with navigational challenge on an empty stomach, I quickly lost my temper, and threw up my hands in utter exasperation (someday I hope to change this about myself). “Listen”, I barked at Jeff, “Pull over. I can’t do this! Let me drive and YOU can navigate”. “No, no, no” Jeff assured me, his voice like honey, his free hand patting my knee, “You’re doing great”, and sure enough, with no help from me or the map, within minutes he found a seemingly secret way “in” to Florence’s center, only breaking one or two laws.
It seems that as Jeff’s navigational skills improve, mine are getting worse. I suspect marriage causes a sort of “brain damage” wherein as one partner excels in a certain area (navigation, finances, cooking), the other partner’s brain stops developing in that area—almost as if the brain shrugs and says, “Why bother?” and the skill withers and eventually dies.
We finally tracked down the hotel address. There was no hotel per se, but rather a non-descript building, a locked door and a panel of buzzers. We buzzed the Hotel Giovanni and the door was anonymously unlocked. Jeff waited in the car while Jenna and I walked into what looked like a creepy, dimly lit garage. We found a sign for the hotel next to a dark stairway. After 4 flights up, we arrived at the hotel “lobby”, a dark room at the back of the building. I had a really bad feeling about this, but the proprietor was friendly and helpful, and he walked us out of the building and down the street to the hotel’s annex building. We walked closer and closer to the Duomo, and then the man unlocked a large wooden door of a skinny building, sandwiched between a waffle shop and a tabacchi right in the Piazza del Duomo. We walked up a flight of stairs and down a short hallway, then he unlocked the door and we looked in, shocked: it was a bright, clean, airy room with 2 huge windows that somehow, unbelievably, looked right onto the piazza! We could see the Duomo out the window!
We made a quick mental note to consider more one-star hotels in our future.
After picture-taking, cocktails, and a quick freshening up, we scurried over to the Accademia museum, to catch a glimpse at Michelangelo’s David before closing time. Michelanglo once said “Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.” Nowhere is this quote more easily understood than in Michelangelo’s partially finished figures displayed in the Accademia Museum. It’s easy to skip past them, because the magnificent statue of David stands at the end of the hall, beckoning--but these unfinished figures are fascinating and worth an extra look. The bodies literally look like they’re climbing out of the stone, rough images in different poses, partial torsos, a leg here, an arm there. We looked closely and could see the chisel marks, as layer upon layer of stone was once painstakingly chipped away. We pondered over the amount of time it would take to carve and sculpt these figures. Considering how long it takes me to whittle a marshmallow stick, I imagine it would take me a really, really long time.
We walked to the David, which towered above us, the domed skylight above bathing the statue in light. It’s so much bigger than you expect it to be. We stood and took it in, looking at it from several angles, reviewing Jenna’s home-school research: the large right hand; the difference in his right profile versus his left.
It was dark and chilly by the time we left the museum and walked to a nearby osteria, where we ate outside, bundled in our coats, and ate heaping plates of pasta while we watched people walk by.
After dinner, Jenna consulted the map and directed us to a gelateria called Gromm, known for having the best gelato on Florence. It’s always fun for Jenna to have a specific destination and purpose in our travels, and even better if it’s a dessert place.
We each ordered two flavors: Jenna chose vanilla and stracciatella, Jeff got his usual chocolate and coffee, and I settled on my two favorites, coconut and pistachio.
The gelato was, honestly, the best we’d had in Italy. Creamy, smooth, bursting with flavor and complexity—amazingly delicious. After one bite, I had to sit down, just to savor it properly, with no distractions, but there’s nowhere to sit at Gromm. They must do this on purpose, because people would linger and talk about this gelato for hours if they had the chance.
So we walked in silence, taking tiny bites of our gelato to make it last longer. We strolled along the River Arno, toward the Ponte Vecchio, lit up at night.
We found the famous Ponte Vecchio "love locks”, where padlocks—hundreds of them in all different sizes—are strung along the length of the chain stretched between two low posts close to the bridge. Romantic lore says that if you attach a lock here it symbolizes the unbreakable bonds of true love, the bridge symbolizing the uniting of two sides. If you throw away the key into the River Arno, you and your beloved will be “bound” together for eternity.
It’s also good romantic luck just to touch the locks, so that’s what we did, seeing as we didn’t have a padlock.
We walked across the Ponte Vecchio, peeking in the windows, but most of the shops were closed. A few shops were still open, selling flashy gold jewelry.
We headed back to our hotel room, through the Piazza Republica, a typically beautiful Florence piazza, framed by lovely old buildings and a few restaurants spilling onto it. Then almost unbelievably, as if we were in a movie, we heard opera music, lovely, achingly beautiful opera, and I was momentarily struck by how rare and fine it was to hear good music outside, so accustomed were we to the irritatingly catchy pop music so beloved to Italians.
We assumed the music was coming from one of the restaurants, but when the song ended, we suddenly heard wild clapping and “Bravo!”s and looked over to see a cluster of people at one end of the piazza. At once we realized this was LIVE opera, and quickly walked over. As we approached, we could see that the singer was a young woman, maybe 20 years old, small and thin. The man next to her held an accordion, the only accompaniment. Immediately she launched into another song and the audience fell silent. Her voice rose up and filled the space with music, washed over my body like a shower, made goosebumps rise up on my arms. The sound was amplified perfectly, under an enormous overhanging loggia that lined the perimeter of the piazza. She sang with such intensity and purity, it was as if the notes were rising up from her soul.
I stood, holding Jenna’s hand, watching her sing. It’s times like this when I think: how can I possibly ever leave this country? The art is everywhere, in the buildings, in the street, the bridges, the food, the paintings, the sculptures, the gardens, and now in the air, in my ears.
Tears pooled in my lower lids, I couldn’t help it, it was that beautiful.
After she finished, there was a moment, just a second, when the audience didn’t move or speak. We were stunned. Then, collectively, we took a deep breath and clapped wildly.
Later, we walked back to the hotel (with a new CD in hand), in a haze of well-being, deliciously full in every sense.

NEXT UP: Amsterdam