The alarm went off at 4:20 am Sunday, 30 July but it didn’t matter – I was already up and out of bed. I slept very little Saturday night and in fact didn’t slept well Friday either, attributing it to the fact that our fans had been packed up and shipped off Friday morning, While the air in the apartment was not hot -- we had a/c -- we had no air movement and our bedroom particularly was somewhat stifling. And I could have sworn there was a mosquito somewhere hovering around the bed just waiting for me to drop off in order to start dining. (photo: five, well ok six flights.)
So we were up, got showered, dressed and put the final touches on packing and soon headed out the door. Turning off the lights and leaving our keys in the apartment left us with a slightly odd feeling, as if somehow we should have them with us in case we needed to return. But we weren’t going to be coming back, at least not to this place, and probably not to Florence. Of course who would have imagined in 1994 when we caught our first glimpse of Florence and told ourselves, this is not someplace I would care to live in. Yet that is exactly what we have done. So never say never.
It was an easy and quiet walk to the train station to meet the bus that would take us to Pisa airport. The sun was just starting to come up as we left our apartment building and walked down Via dei Servi one last time to the Piazza Duomo and then turned right heading toward the station. A few people were out in the morning – returning from parties or just out for a stroll before the hordes of tourists descended upon these streets. For us it was a refreshing change to have the streets of Florence pretty much to ourselves –at least once anyway.
We got to the station a few minutes before the bus was to. Unlike the urban (ATAF) and extra-urban (SITA) bus lines which we have used often, this bus system, called Terravision, runs only between downtown Florence and Pisa airport. But they are certainly tourist-savvy -- we scheduled our departure and ordered our tickets online – a very user-friendly website.
The bus arrived, probably 15 minutes late but after everyone loaded their bags in the cargo compartment – and there were lots of folks heading to the airport – we were off heading west toward Pisa.
We arrived at the airport early even though we started a few minutes late and had a driver who is probably one of three people in the country who goes slower than the speed limit!
But we had plenty of time to spare that’s for sure and after we checked in at the easyJet counter we decided to grab a coffee and sit outside along with some 3000 smokers before going through security.
Our flight was on time in arriving from Paris Orly and on time in returning there as well. It was uneventful and took us only about 90 minutes but it was certainly a change of worlds. Passing over the Alps is always an awe-inspiring experience and on Sunday we had a grand view from our window. Apparently someone had forgotten to put us over the wing where we have usually found ourselves on most flights.
After we picked up our bags we headed to the OrlyBus stop just outside the arrivals gate H, bought our tickets and soon we were off to Denfert Rochereau – in fact repeating our journey from this past May. We arrived at Denfert R. metro station – also the location of the nearby Paris Catacombs where the bones of more than 6 million Parisians are resting. We spied a taxi as soon as we got off the bus, flagged it down and were off heading to 46 rue Poliveau, our home for the next eight months or so.
A few minutes later the cab driver dropped us at our front door. I had planned to tip him a euro but then he overcharged us for the baggage: the fare was €6 and he charged us €8, which included the two pieces of baggage. Well the small print is that the first bag is free so it all evened out I suppose.
We had arranged to meet our landlady Andrea (“Drea”) at the small café on the ground floor of our apartment building, around 1:00 pm but since we arrived at a little after noon – we decided to have lunch there and wait for her to show up.
We sat outside even though it looked like rain was in the wind – indeed the temps are significantly cooler than in Florence, for which we were and are mightily grateful. The breezes reminded us of being near the sea in Puglia. We cannot believe the wonderful weather here.
Anyway, the fellow running the show by himself this early Sunday afternoon was pleasant and using a combination of English, Italian and the few words of French we do know, the two of us ordered a nice goat cheese open faced sandwich (“croques”) and white wine for lunch. As we have discovered in the past goat cheese is apparently something that must be consumed by every Frenchman on a daily basis for it is everywhere and eaten in a wide variety of ways: stuffed into thin egg roll-like wraps and flash fried, topped onto slices of bread and broiled along with another cheese for an open-faced cheese sandwich (which is what we had), topped onto fried potatoes and then placed over a bed of greens with a mustard dressing. I cannot wait to see the other ways goat cheese – or cheese in general – is consumed in this country. Rather I cannot wait to try those “other ways.”
So we sat admiring the new little neighborhood where we would be spending the next few months of our lives. Directly across from where we were sitting is a small tiny triangular-shaped park that actually separates two streets, which split off from one. On our left corner is a butcher shop (“boucherie”), next to that going clockwise is a restaurant, then across a street on the corner is a hair salon, and across another street and moving across our front from where we were sitting is a tiny fruit and vegetable stand on the corner and then a take-out Asian “traiteur”, and then coming back to our side of the street is small grocery shop, then our café. To our immediate left across the street is a Vietnamese restaurant and behind us is the door to our apartment building. Next to the door, on the right hand side as you’re facing it is still another little grocery shop.
Pretty amazing and yet as we will soon discover these types of neighborhoods abound literally everywhere.
At about 1:00 pm Drea showed up and we sat and talked for a bit as we finished lunch. Although born in Paris her parents are Americans, both professional historians in fact, her father a specialist in European history and her mother in Colonial US history. Drea studied art history, and has lived in Paris for some years before getting married and moving to Holland.
But we came to settle in so we grabbed our bags and walked around the corner and into the apartment building. We then hiked the five flights of stairs to our apartment, “5 right”.
(While five flights of stairs may seem like a lot in fact in our building it only comprises 80 steps; our apartment in Florence was on the second floor and yet it was 76 steps to get to it. Of course we had an elevator but we always walked down and usually walked up so we were well prepared for this change.)
As soon as we walked inside we knew we had made the right decision. From the overall space, to the bathroom, to having two bedrooms, to the kitchen (just what we figured we would need) to the fact that we now had a balcony –a wrap-around balcony, narrow to be sure but we can still sit outside – and such light, air and fresh breezes blowing through the apartment we thought this was what have been looking for all along, to the feel that this was a home, we had made the right choice. (photo: small but oh so wonderful!)
We spent some time talking over the details with Drea, like how things work, where things are, our ADSL line which will be set up in the next couple of weeks we hope, all the things that make up most of the waking moments of our lives, like paying the rent, that sort of thing. There were one or two things we needed to sign to get up and running eventually with our internet connection –which by the way we were told, or rather Drea was told might give us unlimited free calls to the US – so we arranged to meet with Drea the next day at the nearby Jardin des Plantes, just a block away in fact, where the zoo is also located. She was going to have her little boy with her and thought it might be a good location to keep him a bit distracted while we wrapped up the details of settling into the apartment. (photo: living room.)
It had been a grand day for Susan and I, and indeed we count ourselves among the fortunate to be able to find a bit of tranquility in the big city. And while we never thought of ourselves as city people, it is ironic that the last 12 years or so have seen us move to ever-increasingly larger cities: from Chittenden to Rutland in Vermont, from Rutland to Siena, Italy, from Siena to Florence and now from Florence we find ourselves in one of the world’s most beautiful cities.
Notwithstanding the poetry of the place, after Drea left I stretched out on the sofa and took a nap. Later on, in the early evening I walked across the street and ordered some Asian takeout. We turned in early and slept like babies for 10 hours.
We were home.
Wish you were here,
Steve
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