The magic (or the curse) of Christmas has also reached Florence. In daylight, things change their appearance, so I have always been more attracted to night lights. At night, Florence now exhibits its Christmas wrapping, with the discreet aristocratic allure that characterizes the city so much. Seduced and abandoned, that’s how I feel. But the streets of Florence console me and heal my battered self-esteem so that I can reach the end of the year with some dignity.…
I am here a few months per year to please my voracious curiosity, searching meanwhile for some luck. The coexistence of different historic periods gives Florence a certain air of timelessness. Thus, I walk through these foreign streets as if my ancestors had left their trail in establishments and sidewalks; as if this is the home to which one always wishes to return. To my astonishment, I have discovered I feel at home in Florence. I especially sensed it through the intense joy, or rather euphoria, felt at the time of arrival. Also through the sadness, almost depression, lived at the moment of departure. Next comes the longing for the piercing song of the starlings and the tolling of the bells, as opposite to the exhausting sirens of police, ambulances and the squeaking rattle of the Berlin tram.…
Not everything in Florence is a matter of renaissance «facade». The city could be experienced by sight, but also by taste, its smells, trough touching as well as through hearing. I hate traffic noise, but I love the rumour of the crowd and the Florentine bells. In my different stays, it has been impossible for me to avoid the ones of Santa Croce, of the Duomo, neither of San Lorenzo´s. The bells produce an energetic and penetrating sound but always embody some relaxing and peaceful vibe, spiritual purposes aside. I like to think that the sound of the bells equals the heartbeat of the city. One that has lived for so many centuries but remains alive, flourishing and young at heart. Indeed, I feel offended when a visitor complains about this particular sound. That certainly unveils my true love for this city.
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I love the Florence-Santa Maria Novella train station for many reasons. For instance, its loudspeaker announcing the arrival of the Milan train by the binario otto and the departure to Venice by the binario due, or the smell of the railway machinery and, naturally, because of those who travel to other places. It is also wonderful to arrive alone in a foreign country, feeling the assault of transformation. The Italians are still here, busy living. The rhythm of their lives is different, while I am a complete stranger, an eccentric or maybe not. A friend has recently told me: «You are acquiring a past in Florence.» That´s an assertion — without going into grim details — I find not very encouraging, nonetheless quite revealing. Because, above all, I love to attraversare il binario ed oltrepassare la linea gialla.…
Meeting a foreign resident in Florence makes me wonder: “What brought him here?” (love, work, despair, art heritage, studies, food, wine, people, indecision), what moved him to stay here, what do I have in common with this person (at first and apparently quite a lot, and sometimes, in reality, nothing). However, what differentiates us, I sure know. It is usually, with natural exceptions, the routine. My discontinuous / intermittent stays in Florence let me enjoy the city with a renewed intensity each time. Such joy, I am afraid, might become ruined when choosing a permanent residence.
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Leonardo da Vinci said: “Just as a well-used day produces a sweet dream, a well-used life produces a sweet death.” Death and life are two sides of the same coin. We fear death as children fear the darkness. But in fact, one should fear life more than death. What happens after death has been the great “incognitum” of humanity since its foundation. Death makes us reflect on life’s value.…
I feel often the captivating force of Florence acting as a magnetic power. And yet, what we know about places comes mainly by sharing certain time and space in them. Florence is there, the person appears, but the person leaves. Florence continues. The place transforms the human and the person alters the place. Thus, José Saramago once wrote: «I do not remember having ever read about the reasons that lead us to love one city more than any other (…). I believe that the love for a city is made of tiny things, of intangible reasons, perhaps a street, a fountain, or even a shadow. In the interior of the city of us all, the small city where each of us really lives. We physically inhabit a space, but above all, sentimentally, we inhabit a memory.»…
Florence is a city that kills through strong emotions. There is no need to be accompanied, it is enough with ourselves and our senses. As Singer — the protagonist of the novel The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers —, when I wander anonymously among the whole crowd during hours through the streets of the city, it always seems that I am the only lonely person. However, it is not adequate to attribute to lonely souls the sorrow of an unhappy life. As I see, Florence is, above all, a destination for couples or groups; few people travel alone. It is the human being’s lifeguard against his own inner isolation.…
During the spring and summer evenings, when the Arno River runs low, Ponte alla Carraia grants one of the most picturesque sights of Florence. An isle in the middle of the river called Pescaia di Santa Rosa — between Ponte Amerigo Vespucci and Ponte alla Carraia — stands as a sort of no man’s land and becomes the spot where young people get together for a beer, a chat or share a joint. The water drop reaches three meters, thus the force of the current is considerable. However, whereas the bridge helps to maintain the natural flow of the river, the area close to Oltrarno remains dry and passable. Moreover, here the town flourishes against the light, a top scene for those in love with melancholic sunsets in Florence.…
As I arrived in Berlin, I remember being fascinated by its wide sidewalks, streets and avenues. I sense the opposite in Florence, where a car hardly fits in its streets and maximum two people can meet on the sidewalks. In Berlin, I might just longed for distance. Now I search for proximity. Closeness. They say that Berlin is a cosmopolitan city, but in Florence I hear everyday languages that I could never identify. Florence windows are not double-glazed. Not so isolated like those in Berlin. I get up sometimes at night to check that mine are not open …The city enters my room as if I really lived in the street. And I do not care, because I know all of these little bits, together, are called life.
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