Home sweet Florence

This weekend I got some quality time with my city. Since I have been off frolicking about Europe for the past couple of weekends, I haven’t actually been in Florence on a Saturday or Sunday in a while.

It was a nice change to be in my own area for once, but I have to admit, I get agitated with the amount of tourists crowding my neighborhood. Sure, I was one not even three weeks ago, but I’m not anymore. And they annoy me. I can’t even see my pretty little river through the sea of bodies, and ok so technically I have a historical monument in my backyard, but can’t people give me a little privacy?

Anyways.

Saturday afternoon we go the Uffizi museum, which is home to the original “Birth of Venus” painting. There are a lot of recognizable names in artist and owner descriptions- Michelangelo this, Medici that. It’s interesting to see all of the palaces and churches these pieces have lived at before eventually arriving to this particular museum. Oh the things they must have seen in their existences.

My roommates bought a museum pass that allows unlimited access to all of the museums in the area, and I can’t decide if it’s worth sacrificing a week of groceries for. Going to the Uffizi was one of those experiences you know you have to do, and it’s interesting, but not something you necessarily want to do all the time. But when will I be around some of the oldest art in the world again?

I’ll have to sleep on it.

Then at night, Hunter, our friend from Chapman who is studying in France, happens to be in Florence, and we take him out.

We bump into Pa on our way out of the apartment, and convince him to come to a bar with us, which he does. After a few beers, he agrees to come to a club with us as well! Somehow, fifty year old men going out dancing isn’t an uncommon thing, and isn’t viewed as odd as it would be in the states. It was like bringing our father to a club. But a hip father, who knows everyone and fits in better than you do.

Long story short, our group gets pissy and doesn’t actually want to stay at the club. So Pa offers to take us back and reopen the restaurant to us, which we decide sounds lovely. We feel like VIP getting let into our favorite little restaurant after hours, but even though we beg Pa doesn’t let us back into the kitchen. He does, however, graciously chop up and bring out some parmesan cheese for us, accompanied with delicious hefeweizens to sip on.

We discuss Italian culture and language, as is our favorite past-time with good ol’ Pa, and when we finally get too sleepy, we simply walk the five feet to our apartment door and go to bed.