I don’t think that Firenze (Florence) knows how to do “plain”. Everything is lavish and over the top.
It’s lively and bustling…and LOUD. I had to learn to stop being alarmed every time I thought I heard Italians having a heated debate. They were just having normal conversations. But with passion. And lots of hand motions. As a Latina I totally get you, Italy. We do that, too.
Like, Latina women are guilty of wearing too-small skinny jeans with rhinestones on the butt, paired with a stretchy neon orange low-cut top and heels.
…to the grocery store
…while pushing a kid in a stroller.
I saw a girl in Rome wear bright green Ugg boots with leopard leggings and gold hoop earrings…
Go ahead. Do you, boo.
I don’t know why I’m so surprised at how many tourists there are, seemingly mostly Americans. Holy crap they’re EVERY-fricking-where! I know I’m technically one of them, but I’d like to think of myself as more of a tourist ninja cause nobody ever knows I’m a foreigner.
And between The Jersey Shore filming at Pizzeria O’Vesuvio and the KimYe (Kim Kardashian/Kayne) wedding all taking place here, I’m pretty sure Italians secretly wish Americans and our shitty reality TV shows would stay the hell out.
I feel you, Italy. We think they’re douchebags too.
And while Florence might signify art and culture to most, I made it an adventure.
You can keep your 7 euro Gucci coffee with fancy sugar. I prefer haggling with street vendors and drinking Fragola liqueur straight from the bottle.
Firenze in a nutshell:
- Taking a chance on Fragola liqueur instead of Limoncello and discovering it tastes like strawberry Quik with booze in it. Sweet Jesus.
- Making fun of people who spend 7 euros on coffee at the Gucci Museum Café because it’s served with brown sugar shaped like the Gucci symbol.
- Girls taking selfies kissing the Gucci sign outside the museum. Girl, STOP.
- Girls taking pictures of each other pointing to the Statue of David’s penis.
- Successfully haggling street vendors down from 40 to 25 euros for a new suitcase.
- Checking out girls’ asses and wondering which have more booty: Barca girls or Firenze girls.
- Gaining 8 lbs and immediately wanting to
work outconsole myself with more pizza.
- Getting neck cramps from looking up at the gorgeous domed ceilings of Orsanmichele, Santa Croce and Santa Maria di Fiore.
- Aggressive street vendors who insist on touching the small of your back while they try to
glance at your asssell you a leather bag.
- Leather as far as the eye can see – belts, jackets, bags, wallets, you name it. In EVERY color.
- Fake designer shades fo’ days. You need some Fucci shades, boo? They got you! Unless the cops are coming, cause then they gotta pack up and run.
- Falling in love with Mercato Centrale, where the best food stands have the longest lines.
- Reaching the front of the line and being shouted at by a little old Italian lady trying to seat you.
- Feeling strangely comforted by the above.
- Amazing street musicians in Piazza della Repubblica.
- Italian couples making out. EVERYWHERE.
- Best gelato ever. Bless you, Grom.
- Getting so tired of pizza and pasta that I went to McDonalds and ordered on a machine. Because every single McDonalds I saw in Europe replaced their cashier with machines.
- Knowing you would all judge me for admitting I ate McDonalds in Italy.
I felt a little guilty not visiting the museums, but given that I had done so in every other city, I didn’t have it in me to do anything other than eat and wander.
No matter how gorgeous the destination, traveling alone wears on you after a while. I feel like I didn’t fully appreciate my time here because I’m just so tired.
Next stop, London! It’s time to go home to my boo and enjoy not living out of a suitcase for a while. That sounds like heaven right now.
But seriously, once I’m there it’s GYM time. Like HARD.
Cause after all these months of careless eating, my ass is gonna need its own passport to get home.