Where are the beautiful people?

March 24, 2009
7:30pm, Flat in Florence

Observations about Firenze: the hotties come out to play. The pizza is softer. The city feels bigger. The exhibits are very expensive. The rain is too soft to feel. A lot of construction, even inside a church. A lot more tourists.

Last night we arrived in Florence at the wrong train station and got lost immediately. After wandering through some slums,w e went back to the station and took the correct exit, which brought us to the main terminal, fromw hich we were able to take a train to the main station. Of the two trains leaving for the station precisely when we got up to the tracks, we caught exactly zero of them and ahd to wait about ten minutes for a third train (to arrive late).

On the train, we made jokes in German about how Brent was a butt pirate and how I had missed my chance to nab Tadzio, who now lay dead in Venice because I had not been there to make the same sacrifice.

At the station, we promptly made our way to Offizia Turistica (the tourist office), where we declined to buy a map for one euro in favor of the free one we'd surely receive at our hostel. We did however receive directions to Jacapo street, which seemed easy enough to follow but were quickly complicated by the desolate street under construction that greeted us as we exited the train station. Using a "let's go this way" directive we somehow found the right street just as I was about to suggest going back for the map. Our "hostel," the Locanda David, turned out to be a converted apartment run by a man who was clearly interested only in the getting paid side of hosting travellers. He gave us a key ring, showed us our beds and bathroom, replied, as if it were obvious and our question was ludicrous, that there was no internet, and disappeared around the corner never to be seen of or heard from again.

From our windows we get a view into other peoples' windows. I suggest peeping across into the windows now. Brent calls me a pervert.