It’s quickly become obvious that it is going to be difficult to find time to blog. Robbie does a great job of keeping the days packed. Much has happened since I last tried to fill this space.
On Friday, Robbie took us on a walking tour of Florence, or Firenze, as they call it here. It was interesting, and included a tour of the basilica of San Miniato al Monte. Kyle then took over, and walked us across the Ponte Vecchio and to the Piazza della Republica, before letting us all find our own way home. (Well, I tagged along with Kyle; the students all found their way home.)On Saturday, I finally began to earn my keep, as we started our classes. In the evening, we went back to the Castello Acciaiolo, where our students chatted with a group of Italian high school students over dinner.
On Sunday, we worshiped with the brethren in Florence. Some of our young men took part in the service and did a very nice job. In the afternoon, we had more classes, followed by a devotional in the evening. That night, we had our first evening tea, during which I was grilled by a roomful of female students on why I was not married. (During Robbie’s tour on Friday, I saw the plaque at Piazza Della Signoria signifying where Savonarola was burned at the stake in 1498; frankly, he got off easy.)
On Monday, we had our third consecutive day of classes, followed by a photo scavenger hunt in Florence in the afternoon. I was in a group with six Harding students and a couple of students from Smith College who are staying in Florence for several months.We all then rode a very crowded bus to the Stargate Pizzeria, where I accidentally ordered a pizza topped with “lardo,” which is to say, barely cooked pig fat. The taste was pretty good, but it was hard to get past the slippery texture. (Perhaps I should learn the Italian word for “pepperoni.”) The good news is that Abbie and Katie tried the lardo pizza, too.
Today, we drove in caravan (I drove the white van again) out into the Tuscan countryside to lend a hand in the grape harvest. After working all morning, the locals treated us to a fabulous bar-b-que, and then we finished up and drove back to the villa.
Little did I know that my evening’s adventures had just begun. Kyle asked me to follow him to the airport. We had rented a van to help shuttle all of the students out to the vineyard, and he needed someone to follow him to the car rental at the airport, in order to give him a ride home. I, without either my cell phone or Firenze map, (this is a blogging technique known as “foreshadowing”), agreed to do so.Sadly, I lost sight of Kyle in the rush-hour Florentine traffic, and found myself driving the aforementioned white van — which is the approximate size of New Jersey — around the streets of Firenze on my own. I looked for signs for the airport, but found none. I also meditated upon the wisdom of keeping one’s cell phone with one at all times, particularly when one is driving by oneself in a foreign city where traffic lanes are apparently negotiable.
Finally, I hit upon the brilliant scheme of ditching the van on the far side of Firenze and striking out for the villa on my own. I parked it on the side of a street — just down the road from the pizza place which served me lardo pizza the night before, in fact, though this was certainly not the result of any deliberate navigation on my part. As far as I know, the van is still there, though by now it could be in a chop shop in Milan.
I tried to make telephone calls from a couple of phone booths, but was unable to get through. I then hopped the bus in Florence, took it to the tram, and took the tram to Scandicci. From there, I walked across the street to the bus stop. We have been told approximately a million times that we want to take Bus 27, so naturally I immediately took Bus 15, which executed a nice little circuit, and deposited me back at the bus stop, at which point I then took Bus 27.
Sadly, it did not deposit me quite as close to the villa as I hoped/expected. I then managed to take the same wrong turn by foot which I took by van Thursday night (and which has been the source of some controversy) before stumbling onto the Scandicci square, where I saw three of our girls — Stephanie, Sara, and Hannah — who were there to sip cappuchinos and study Italian.
Stephanie, who had managed to bring both her cell phone and her map of Scandicci along with her, kindly shared both with me. I called Kyle, he came and picked me up, and finally I was back at the villa. I was safe and sound. I would not have to spend the night on the streets of Scandicci. (Fun exercise: Google “Monster of Florence” sometime.)
Upon arriving, Abbie and Katie presented me with a “Welcome Home” banner, which — in spite of being laden with rather sarcastic editorial comments — was nice.
(Reassuring note to my mom: The Monster of Florence hasn’t been active for 26 years. And he never bothered guys walking by themselves.)
