Travel and Firenze-Day 1

It was the coolness of wet fabric brushing my hand as I reached for my bag that alerted me first. Then the smell hit me and I was both alarmed and confused. As I picked up my carry-on the perplexing sensations coalesced into a dreadful certainty. Some asshole spilled an entire cup of coffee under my chair and didn't do anything to soak it up from the carpet. As I am wont to do, I had placed the bag beneath my seat for safe-keeping while I settled in to read an Italian phrasebook for the duration of a boring layover in Charlotte. Unbeknownst to me it had been quietly wicking up large quantities of smelly airport coffee. Whatever, I thought, it's not like this is the worst thing that has happened this week. Pondering the general unpreparedness, ineptitude, and good old-fashioned bad luck that had left me in the situation of traveling internationally without adequate luggage, a laundry list of important electronic devices that would all most likely be arriving just a few hours after my flight left, a place to live upon arrival, and $1100 poorer thanks to some craigslist huckster in Nigeria, I rearranged the contents of my carry-on to prevent any important papers or electronics from getting soaked. Boarding the Airbus 330 (dad called it) I tried to arrange it in the overhead so that no one else would suffer a similar fate. Surprisingly, the precaution turned out to be unnecessary since no one else sat on my side of the aisle. In fact, of the eight seats in my row only four of them were inhabited. The flight was largely uneventful. I was unable to sleep owing to an inability to stop watching movies long past my bedtime and the dread of knowing how badly I would want a shower if I did sleep.

The air on the tarmac in Frankfurt, Germany was crisp and bracing in spite of a tinge of diesel exhaust from the shuttle buses, a divine departure from the stuffiness of the cabin and the heat and humidity of home. The final flight of my treble-legged trip was short and scenic as I tried to snap photos of the incomparable Swiss Alps from 30,000 feet. I was surprised to discover how much hotter it was than expected upon arrival. Based on the captain's description of weather conditions in Florence (why do they all think that prevailing wind direction and speed is as important to you as it is to them?) and some quick mental math, it was supposed to be in the low 70s. It was not. It was just as hot and oppressive as Kentucky this time of year. Finding a taxi to take me into town: "Scusi, parla inglese?" Back and forth hand motion which I have come to understand means: "I want you to think there is a possibility I will understand you so that we can still do business, but my English is not good enough to say 'a little' which should really tell you what you need to know." "Ok, I need to go here." says I, while pointing to a printout with the address not trusting my Italian pronunciation or that I will correctly guess how to say the numbers. He indicates that he can get me there. "Venti?" I ask, which he replies to by staring blankly, maybe it was my pronunciation. "20 euros?" "Si, si, 20 euros" and he points to his minivan. The smell of stale sweat is pervasive but it improves after the air conditioner runs for a few minutes. We sit in silence as he whizzes around delivery trucks, buses stopped for passengers, through clearly marked crosswalks with pedestrians in mid-stride, past cyclists which he misses by scant inches (or rather centimeters) and by other similarly speeding and weaving taxis and the hordes of scooters. Trying to stifle car-sickness enough to enjoy the roller-coaster ride I am struck by something: Florence is ugly. What the hell? I think, as we fly by all manner of dilapidated hovel and semi-complete demolition projects. This is really the home of Dante? As we near the center the architecture improves. I notice, however that some other things do not. Especially graffiti. I don't mean like good street art either, we're talking badly scrawled single thickness lines of monotone paint that would probably be old gems like "antonio was here" if they were legible. The stuff is literally everywhere. No one seems to notice or care that 800 year old palazzos have all manner of spray-painted adornments at street-level.

Arriving at the front desk of LdM I got a very confused look from the friendly receptionist as I try to explain my situation. After following a beautiful student in see-through pants (what is is with Europeans?) that looked like they might be the only comfortable attire for the heat up a maze-like set of stairs and corridors, the same look was replicated shortly thereafter by the similarly friendly ladies of the housing office. However, in due time they had worked out a few options for me. I had an appointment to view an apartment at noon and one of the ladies was going to accompany me to help facilitate the process. It was a little before 11:30 so I spent half an hour in the infernally hot cafeteria drinking an enormous bottle of water and trying to use the internet. "Scusi, parla inglese?" (Back and forth "so-so" hand motion) I point at the colourless screen of my new-used iPod which shows a password prompt and say simply "Wireless?" "Ah, password!" says the cook/cashier and hands me a small slip of paper. I perused (legitimate) apartment listings while he and his wife shouted and watched their son play with a remote control helicopter. Dropping off my larger bag at the front desk, I walked the couple of blocks down Via Faenze with Patrizia the lady from the housing office to view the first apartment. After standing there chatting for 20 minutes waiting for the guy she called him back. "There was a misunderstanding, he must have thought we were meeting tomorrow, he is at the beach." Naturally. She made some more calls and told me that another guy was on his way to show me a different place. I waited in the lobby chatting with the receptionist about Kentucky. Alessandro arrived and took me to see a two bedroom apartment with 4 beds. I must have looked confused because he put me on the phone with Patrizia. "Would I have a roommate here?"

"No, it's all for you"

"But there are two rooms with 2 beds each. Would the rent be less if I had a roommate"

"You said you wanted to live alone since you will have guests"

"Right but there is an extra bed in each room, and I don't need 4 beds to myself... never mind."

"Tell him you will think about it."

Hanging up the phone I say "I'm going to have to think about it and let you know tomorrow."

"Perfetto."

Back at LdM they draw me a map to the office of Housing in Florence, and suggest that I try there. Walking through the maze of tourists I try to read the not-to-scale vector map designed by a former drafting student of the LdM campus and surroundings. I get my first view of Brunelleschi's magnificent duomo and consider for a moment stopping to join the crowd of picture-takers but decide that I am too tired and sweaty to really appreciate it. Pressing on I eventually find the tiny office in a piazza. The windows are covered in advertisements for apartments. Bingo! Pulling and then pushing on the door I am dismayed to discover that it is locked. Peering through a gap in the ads I can see a bicycle and a few desks but no people. Trudging back through the narrow streets that do not permit much airflow I think of how strangely sterile the city is. Not clean, mind you, but sort of devoid of natural life. Except for the occasional view of what I'm sure are magnificent gardens in the courtyards of the numerous walled palaces there are no plants anywhere that aren't potted, certainly no trees. The only animals are the overly brave pigeons. The only sounds are the sounds of people.

Relating the story of my long, hot, march through the city center to the housing ladies I must have been looking pretty miserable. "They were probably out to lunch" was the explanation for the absence of anyone in the realty office. Siesta, there's a cultural lesson for you. It's my understanding that the Italian government has waged a campaign against the tradition, but it seems that your odds of getting anything productive done between 1:30 and 3:30 are still seriously reduced. They arranged a couple more options for me to see around 5 o'clock. I asked if there was somewhere nearby that had pay showers and they finally just suggested that maybe it would be best if I got a room in the youth hostel for the night so I wouldn't decide on a place just because I was tired. I carried both of my bags for what seemed like forever to the hostel and booked a 4-bed dorm room for 24 euros a night. I took an extremely satisfying shower and finally changed out of my travel clothes, stowed my backpack in the unlocked closet with supplications to the travel gods that no one would steal anything, grabbed my laptop bag and walked back to LdM right on time. Patrizia accompanied me again, which was definitely good news since I don't speak Italian or French and Paolo the landlord doesn't speak any English. The apartment is at 12 Via Faenza, only a few hundred feet from the main office of the scuola at 43, although you wouldn't be able to guess that from the numbers. There is literally no rhyme or reason whatsoever to the numbering scheme on any of the streets; absolutely none. Walking in one direction from the school you will pass numbers both above and below it. Headed from the duomo 43 is after 9 and 117 but before 73, although there does seem to be an odd side and an even side so that at least makes sense. The apartment was pretty nice, and while everything here is outrageously expensive it was comparable to other similar places. It also has maybe the only elevator in the city. It only goes to the 3rd floor, leaving the last flight to walk, and I should probably take the stairs more anyway but it was a welcome sight. I decided that the likelihood of doing better was low and I didn't want to lose it while exploring other options so I told him I would take it. It won't be available until the 31st so I'm stuck in the hostel for 5 more days but it could certainly be worse. After I left there I went and dozed in a park for a while, happy to be somewhere that had trees and enough open space for a breeze, before heading to bed for the evening at around 7:00.

I think things are starting to look up.

PS, sorry for the long and un-proofread post.