It's 1:30 a.m. in Florence. And, while some locals enter the deeper stages of sleep, resting up until the morning returns, other are still awake. Some are in Kikuya on Via dei Benci enjoying the last few sips of their wine. Others are at the Red Garter, singing karaoke belligerent, drunk and forgetful of tomorrow's classes. You pass Moyo and take the next right off the bar infested street. This leads you to Piazza Peruzzi which seems contrastingly lifeless. The street is dimly lit. The stores are all closed, with their gates down and graffiti exposed. The next right leads to a remote ally. To be precise, the secret bakery is located on via del Canto Rivolto 2. But once you turn on this street a number is not needed. You could easily just close your eyes and let the smell guide you instead.
It is certainly not difficult to find amazing food in Florence, or the Tuscan region in general. Locals here are spoiled and accustomed to some of the best pasta dishes and smoothest wines in the world. But there is simply nothing like a fresh Italian pastry. This delicacy which would seem easy to come by can become surprisingly difficult. That quick snack before class can turn into a stale disappointment after lying out on a cold metal rack all day. So where can you go to get that chocolatey, sweet delight? That fresh doughy pastry that flakes off and falls to the ground softly as you devour it in no more than four blissful chomps?
Secret bakeries in Florence operate in the early hours of the night in order to supply the city with their pastries. any local cafe's, bars and restaurants will purchase goods from these bakers to serve to customers the next day. usually they begin working around 1:30 a.m. and finish around 6 a.m. But what makes these places so secret? In short, these bakeries are not your standard Italian cafe. Via del Canto Rivolto 2 has no decorations outside, nothing alluring to those passing by. It is not "open" in the sense that you can walk in, order a pastry, sit down and enjoy it as music plays int he background and regulars greet their local baristas. Instead, you will encounter a completely different experience. One much more mysterious and exciting than you would have during the day time.
If you are craving adventure and yearning to satisfy your sweet tooth the secret bakery off of Via dei Benci awaits you. Whether you have stayed awake long enough, or are still out after being at the bars and clubs, you can go here and get served the freshest pastries in town. The secret bakery off of Piazza Peruzzi is completely unidentifiable. Foggy looking from the frosted glass, nothing on the inside can be seen. This is the point where you begin questioning the directions you have been given. There are no decorated signs hanging outside to act as a friendly invitation. Instead, there is just a taped sign on the door: "Please be quiet".
Knock on the door and wait. One of the bakers will answer; with hair pulled back and remnants of flour on his apron. Strangely, he will not initiate conversation, or invite customers inside. It is up to you to assertively ask for a pastry. The baker will describe what they have that night. Usually, depending on when you arrive, there are a few options: chocolate or creme filled pastries. Some are plain with sugar. Some are in the form of croissants, others are like American donuts. They even have fresh mini pizzas which can be ordered. The inside of the bakery is simple, with one purpose only. No special decor, just a bunch of silver ovens, and silver kitchen counters. Only the basic necessities needed to make the baked goods. And before you can catch another glimpse he shuts the door. There is no extra conversation or friendly conversing between the pastry exchange. You are left waiting for another few minutes in anticipation outside.
A baker will come back out with your pastries in individual bags. They are one euro each; extremely reasonable considering the upcoming delight. The pastries come right out of the oven, still warm, with chocolate oozing out of the sides when bitten into. Or melted on top of a croissant-like dough in a heated pool of chocolate.
Aside from the obvious splendor of the fresh pastry, the secret bakery is an inimitable experience in and of itself. In the middle of the night, on an empty, desolate road, the quest for chocolate becomes a mysterious adventure. All the ingredients involved in the process of getting your pastry from the secret bakery become an enticing recipe. From the moment you are greeted by the seemingly annoyed baker, to the moment you finish your pastry you will feel a rush of adrenaline that signals forbidden activity. You fear that you will somehow get in trouble, even though you will not. Like a chocolate drug deal of sorts, you will finish your pastry wishing already that you had purchased more.
You would think that after spending a week in Corfu and Athens Greece I would have seen it all. The sights, the sand, the sea and the sun. That my week had already climaxed and the bus ride now was just an easy transition back to Florence. But I didn't feel fulfilled, and a part of my trip felt void. This gave me a bitter taste of dissatisfaction. Maybe these months of travel have made me spoiled and snobby, I thought.
Once we left the hustle and bustle of Athens, a city of 4 million people, we drove by a smaller city right on the coast. Strangely, this was my favorite part of the entire trip. Strangely, this fulfilled my Greece expectations with one passing, without even stopping. I felt a surge of excitement. It wasn't like the feeling I had at the Acropolis. Or any of the other tourist attractions in Greece. And it wasn't something I could just say, "Oh! That's cool!" at. It was beautiful. And while the rest of the bus slept, I was awake with Marina, feeling totally relaxed, amazed and appreciative.
For moments like these, I am so grateful to be studying abroad. I have realized that sometimes people are scared of change, but habit has no memory. How weird is that the days repeated the most are forgotten the easiest? Shouldn't repetition make us remember them more? Days at home often go by one after the other and blend into a huge clump of time. Here, my senses are electrocuted. I can remember the virgin white buildings and the wavy copper rooftops. Behind these, the ocean boldly faded in three distinct stripes. Closest to the shore was a pale, sea foam, bluish-green. Parallel to this, the water turned more turquoise, and finally a deep blue. Out the other window was an overwhelming view of mountains. They sprouted up from the ground jagged and unpredictable. Those behind the water looked different. They were faded and dim, like an out-of-place layer of fog. How could they not though? The suns glare ricocheted off of the tips of the waves and demanded the attention of my eye. The mountains became the blank curtain ignored behind the main spectacle performing center stage. And I feel that rush of happiness again. Bottled up in my body, contained on a bus, and ready to explode. This is life. It isn't a stringing together of days but an appreciation of each individual one. It's about living your life how you want to. Life should be about going on a limb, taking a chance and doing something totally different. Something uncomfortable, something you never expected you would do. It's about trying new foods, seeing new places, and meeting new people. It is so easy to get lost in the habit of routine; to become unsatisfied and forgetful. But when you find yourself in these euphoric moments every risk is worth it. These memories will not be lost, even when life becomes a continuous pattern. Or rot in the stale days of habit. Instead, they will stay fresh, preserved and alive in our memory, even as we encounter more change.
Imagine the ultimate paradox; as your lungs beg for air, your muscles crave relaxation but you cannot stop, your legs refuse to stop. The firm and smooth road quickly turns into a broken down, unstable path composed of stone and dirt. This begins the challenge. The body must work harder. But more importantly, the mind must work harder. There is no visual foreshadowing to bolster your determination to make it to the top. So why exhaust yourself? Why not just take a nice promenade and enjoy the scenery on the way up? This is what separates the runners from the walkers.
The winding paths and uneven stones laugh at the body's inability to maintain equilibrium. Constantly trying to maintain balance, but never interfering with the mind's one, clear goal: reach the top. A heavy dose of adrenaline is pumping through the veins. This feeling is exhilarating, and similar tot he short, warm tingle you feel before a shiver. The sensation fades to a burn; as the leg muscles tire, the stomach begins to cramp up and the body temperature rises. The span of each breath quickly shortens too. Each one becomes choppier, more difficult, and less pleasing than the last. Just before the body reaches its failure the end is in sight. But the last part is steep. You angle forward, putting most of the weight on the front of your feet. Do not stop, you are almost there, just a few more strides of agony.
Finally, at the top, there is no more incline; just a flat sheet of concrete and sidewalk. The David is the finish line. Green, tarnished and triumphant, it signals the body to come to a complete halt. The tension releases and you allow yourself to completely relax. Without thinking you rest your hands on your knees. Seconds pass and slowly the rate of breathing decreases. Now that the body has had time to settle, your mind has energy to focus. It is in this moment that you are rewarded; the ultimate gift for any runner. The head rises and your heart stop entirely. Not a momentary pause, but frozen in a quick jolt. Here, in the middle of Piazzale Michelangelo you are treated to an amazing view. Your hands hold onto the concrete rail, not for fear of falling, but for a reminder of something materialistic and real. In the evening time in February there is a soft and foggy haze on the horizon. The city stretches out across from you and for a moment, you feel like you are in a dream. Or on a cloud, blissfully watching the city from afar. Every church, every monument can be seen. The sky in the background is a fragile mixture of pink, purple and blue; like melted cotton candy. Or a magnificent collage of pastels delicately crafted on a canvas.
To the far left you can see the old city walls. Although recognizable, they are at first difficult to see with the surrounding greenery on each side of it. The brick separates the city from the Tuscan countryside. In a city robbed of plants and other organic elements of nature, the very site of trees is refreshing. The air suddenly feels different flowing into the lungs. Cleaner and crisper, as if the air particles had been individually filtered through the grass, leaves and trees. With February being the "off" season, you can enjoy the panoramic view of Florence with more peace. When the sunset approaches many tourists and vendors begin to disperse.
As you stretch your muscles, the mind becomes blank. Not because you are not thinking, but because it is impossible to craft a sentence that perfectly describes the view in front of you. it is precisely what you see in a postcard, but when the body is already physically excited, the beauty of Piazzale Michelangelo is intensified exponentially. Here, you find serenity and bliss; you fall in love. Looking past the city towards the mountains protecting Firenze you wish you could freeze time. Still and calm, the city already looks like it has been paused. Time loses significance and in that moment, as the body stabilizes and the mind wanders, you feel completely alive.
It is hard to leave this square, to snap yourself out of a euphoric daze. But you are grateful for the downhill slope ahead. Craving that beautiful paradox again, the joyful high mixed with the pain and despair, you begin to run for a second time. There is an enjoyable ease as the legs extend. They are also moving quicker than ever, so fast that you fear the consequences if you try to stop. In your head you are focused, but at the same time free. Any trouble, any stress just disappears. Maybe it drips off of your forehead in tiny beads of sweat; or burns away as the body puts in overtime.
If you are a runner and you are in Florence, for a few days, a year, or permanently, running up to Piazzale Michelangelo is a must. The trails along the Arno River are tempting and flat; but you will out on a spectacular view. Just like my running coach Ewen Scott Love once told me, "The easiest way to get over a mountain is to go around. But if you go around, you miss the amazing view from the top."
"The depth of my soul and the depth of Your voice. With words I've tried to find since I have been alive, this whole world stopped when You spoke." - Flyleaf 'Bittersweet'
We took a day trip to Bologna last Saturday and I have to be honest, the only thing I was expecting out of the city was delicious food. I did little research before leaving of any important historical monuments. Only expecting good pasta, and completely unaware that I would leave with something much more everlasting, significant, and gratifying. Was the food all I hoped it would be? Yes. But the churches were the highlight of my day.
Bologna is small like Florence in the sense that you can walk for 20 minutes and be on the total opposite side of the city. However, within this space you will find tons of towers, monuments, squares, and obviously, churches. The first one we visited was the Basilica of San Petronio, located in the Piazza Maggiore. It is the 5th largest church in the world and my absolute favorite. The outside facade is blank, brown, and unfinished. You know that old saying 'never judge a book by it's cover'? Listen to it, because the inside was like nothing I have ever seen.
I noticed throughout the day a few things. The size, detail, and history of these churches are astonishing and completely baffle my mind. Modern churches built today in the states look like Lego houses compared to these structures. What does this mean though, because our culture and society certainly has not digressed since these times? The size of these buildings blatantly show how important religion used to be. That space in people's lives that once was so full is now empty. Every church gave me a different feeling. At the Basilica of San Petronio I felt awe and mystery but more so, unsettled. I walked around to every section with curiosity and alertness. It was like God wanted me to know something, to learn something, but I did not know. Every detail, every painting must have such purpose, such meaning. But what is it? What did these artists want to tell the world?
The next church was many of my roommate's favorite. To me, it was dark, cold, and desolate. I could not feel anything from it, not even when I tried to relax and take it all in.
As night greeted us, the cold weather froze us, and the rain poured on us, we made our way to the final church. The Basilica di San Francesco. However, after peering in, we saw that the church was in the middle of mass. Quickly and nonchalantly changing plans, we decided to leave, meander for a bit, browse in a few shops and kill some time before making our way back to the train station. A little bit later we noticed people exiting and decided to go back in and check it out. I also loved this church. In the simplest way, it felt alive. I know this seems impossible because religion is so un-materialistic. I mean we have bibles and people who you could argue give it actual substance, but it is, for the most part, completely bare. All we have is our beliefs. It was crazy how I felt sitting in that church. People were leaving but it is like God was there, summoned by the prayers and still around, listening. Or maybe He was leaving and all I could feel was a trace. Sitting on the cold, solid bench I felt a surge of tingles; as if little pin-pricks were touching my body, exciting the cells of my skin and stimulating the nerve endings connecting to my spinal cord. He was waiting for me to say something. Maybe He had been all day.
The second I began praying, the most basic and simplest of prayers: "watch over my family and friends", "thank you for blessing me with this beautiful life", it was like the flood gates were opened. Breaking the barriers of concrete around my heart and allowing an intensity of emotions to pour into my soul. In the midst of this, my insides ignited with fire and warmth. It took less than a second and I could have started to cry right there. I could feel my eyebrows squeeze, my body stiffen, and my throat close tight. It began to ache, painful and sore as I fought back against my body's natural tendency to burst into tears.
It is amazing when you feel God, but it is also terrifying. I'm scared of this exposure, this openness. I cannot let go of this control of myself, but I want to. I want to believe He is real and when I don't some days I feel hollow. This was the third time in my life where I kenw; with a pristine and confident clarity that God is real. I do not know which religion to follow, what scripts are right and which are wrong. But none of that matters to me. If you can sense a God in your life be grateful and let Him in. The rest I am sure are just minor details of a greater masterpiece.
"I believe, what if I believe You now. Could it ever change this heart? Forgive me, believe me, please come back to life. Come back to my life." - Flyleaf 'Circle"
"Did perpetual happiness in the Garden of Eden maybe get so boring that eating the apple was justified?"
Almost a full month in Italy, I have experienced a whirlwind of feelings, thoughts and desires. I have been thinking a lot about this quote. When I first arrived in Firenze, I was tired and my mind was jumbled. So far away from home, in a place so new to me with people I did not know, I could not help but feel I was in this altered state. Not so much like a dream and being out of touch with reality, but rather that my head was clouded by unfamiliarity. I walked the streets in an aimless, dissociative trance. As I wandered with my head towards the sky, I found myself stopping every two seconds to snap a picture, or stare in awe at a church. This is a fantasy world, consistent of total freedom; from our labels, home, our responsibility. Go to clubs, and drink like you would at home because there are no longer age restrictions. Are there any restrictions at all? You find yourself spending the euro like it is nothing at all. This new form of currency has as much meaning and value as monopoly money.
Oblivious to the true "being" of the city yet, we found ourselves purchasing postcards and sending them home to our loved ones, still maintaing some sense of the established mores and expectations. It is funny how we send these cards home, enhancing the paradise-like belief and providing a general, unrealistic symbol for the city. We have taken a bite out of the apple. Enjoying every moment in this freedom high, doing exactly what we crave at home without any care. Maybe we were in paradise at home and did not realize it. Maybe it is paradise here and we had not realized it yet?
I have been given the opportunity of a lifetime to experience Italy; the culture, the people, a place so amazing. Yet when given the freedom to do whatever I want, do some things otherwise admonished, I may have overlooked parts of Firenze that make it truly Italian Firenze, not American Firenze.
It was all an illusion of the mind. This "apple" it is. After a few weeks the drunk American-like bar scene has gotten old. We desire something more. Like any drug, even after we get the initial high off something we are not satisfied. We find ourselves searching for something different to give us that feeling again. At the Cavalli Club (owner Roberto Cavalli, fashion designer), I very soberly regarded the people. In sober reality, it was not fun. People were shoving into each other, hot, sweaty, and disgusting; and older creepy Italian men showed persistent interest in barely legal girls. But when I looked around I saw girls who looked as though they were having the time of their life. The forbidden apple clearly was enticing more than just me. It is so weird how this "apple" has distorted our perception of genuine happiness.
Maybe being tempted by the apple is natural and vital. But after getting past this period of enticement there is a new appreciation for "Eden".
Yes, Florence is absolutely amazing, breath-taking, and beautiful. But it is what it is becase of the people who live in it. People have acutal lives here, bills to pay, classes to attend, and children to feed. We tend to think of Italy with a certain, unrealistic stereotype. Life is fabulous, beautiful and problem free. So we come here with this notion but find it fading within a few weeks. Once you begin to appreciate this country for its actual beauty in a less touristy way, you can really say that you love it here. I can now accept the "postcard" image and representation of Italy. It does not symbolize that "apple"' to me as it did once before. The pictures of the churches and buildings are gorgeous and a real picture of Italy and its history. The Italians living here add to that picture and make it real. I love it because I can now understand it as a concrete place; I can feel it as an actual home. I love it here like I love my home in the states, not as a temporary, blissful escape.
As life becomes more habitual I have realized that the "apple" idea of paradise is an illusion that can never last for an extended period of time. Life seems real again, confusing my previous notions. Maybe I was in paradise before and did not know it? Or maybe we just have an inaccurate perception of it. Regardless, I know I am in a pristine paradise now, with a clear, grateful mind, more tuned to the ground and to my thoughts.
The apple, this "honeymoon" stage of the trip, has been eaten. I understand Eden because now, all I feel is real. I feel completely true. There is no escaping, no more blurring of perception... just a new clarity. Florence for what the city really is. Life for what it really is.
In class today we discussed the Pico Iyer article "Why We Travel" that we had to read last week. One of his quotes that impacted me the most was when he said, "The most distant shores lie within the person asleep at our side." Although everybody had many different interpretations, this was mine. There is a certain philosophy to travel that has sparked a new feeling of excitement and appreciation in me regarding my trip. Traveling is significant because it wakes up parts of us that are normally asleep. When you travel you are freed of conditions of worth from others and life is, in general, simplified to our basic necessities. In the end, you find yourself alone in a way. Leaving everything behind, but never escaping the self. This unfamiliar and foreign "part" or ourself is never ventured to when we are cradled by familiarity, family and friends at home. Traveling, like reality in general, is totally subjective. There is no set-in-stone experience that everyone will endure while at a certain location. This has lead me to believe that we do not find geographical cures to our problems or geographical answers to the main questions our life proposes. But how is it then that we feel as if we have evolved somehow when we return from abroad? We become familiar with the untraveled parts of ourselves through the act of traveling itself. It is here that we are simplified to the most basic questions we could ask ourselves; who am I? And what is my purpose? Iyer said that we go from "innocents abroad" to "sophisticated travelers." Perhaps it is that travel reduces us to our nakedness and then adds a layer to our soul which is crucial to self-growth, change, and discovery.
