After the early morning procession in the Signoria (the last blog) and a shower, of course, I was off to the gym. Then I went home for leftover ricotta tortellini smothered in walnut and Parmesan pesto. After all the pasta, a walk was in order.
As I took my stroll, the evening air moved in and out, as currents, some heavy with the scent of mock orange. The warmth of the day was beginning to cool. Swallows were as thick as a swarm of gnats swirling and screeching around the church of Santa Croce. Below the statue of Dante Alighieri, on the steps of the church, there was the usual collection of college students playing guitar and singing. They were colorfully dressed in a free-form manner that sets them apart from others. Plied with cheap wine and very large bottles of beer, their serenade provided enthusiasm more than proficiency. But it added life to the cold marble of the church and the stern gaze of Dante. Their vocalized fun added energy to the thinning crowd in the square. The stone benches that line the square were now only filled with a few romantic couples, one pair holding the camera away from themselves and snapping their own cuddling picture, a small family group, two students eating take away together, and a few individuals just like myself taking in the vignette.
People on bicycles were on their way home and the shops are all closed. Some people walked casually, others with a briskness that made me imagine they needed to be somewhere. At that hour there is a big restaurant open on one side of the square and a smaller on the other. The accordion music from the smaller café was mixing with the guitar music of the students. It was a strange but interesting mélange of sound under the voices of the swallows. Just the sound of muffled conversation and the rustling of china, as the tables were bussed, came from the other café.
As I walked around the perimeter of the piazza I could see the rusted metal railings that cling tenaciously to the weathered and crumbling marble of the upper floor patios, strewn with random pots of flowering plants. The city still has lots of life but she is in need of repair, especially with respect to the individually owned apartments. The crumbling facades are charming but they speak of an economy suffered by most in Florence, especially the young.
One corner of the square of Santa Croce is clothed in scaffolding with a white fabric barrier. It is a commercial building in the process of needed renewal. The fountain just below is dry with a plain weathered metal fence around it. As I lean against the rusted metal I noticed that the few scattered clouds are white to steel gray. But soon the pink of the sunset sky had tinted some of the clouds and also added visual warmth to the stark cool marble of the Santa Croce church. Just to the left of the church as you face it, on the top floor is an apartment that I can imagine myself renting. It has two wonderful porches covered in old vines. The windows are dissimilar in a charming way. The view towards the Arno must be great from up there.
Someone brought a dog that played catch across the expanse of the square, fetching a small water-filled plastic bottle. That would have been impossible just a few hours earlier. On my way to the gym there were easily more than two thousand people in Piazza Santa Croce, there were less than a hundred in the evening cast. Most were at the two restaurants, on the church steps or on the benches watching the dog play. The area has morphed from a tourist sight back to a neighborhood, once again.
As I milled along I noticed the flaking frescos that were beginning to be muted by the dimming sunlight. The streetlights had started their watch.It was time to start towards the Arno to enjoy the sunset.
The souvenir vendors had closed up or were in the process of packing up their quiet electric motorized carts. Each evening they migrate out of the areas of the Centro Storico. Borgo dei Greci is nearly impassible during the day, with all the vendor carts and tourists. It was easily passable as the sun began to set.
It was getting chilly as I entered the Signoria and walked down the Ufizzi archade toward the Arno. There was a guitar player. I’ve heard him before; he is very good. He had a good audience. The street hawkers with their cheap off-set printed Botticelli and Michelangelo prints lined the arcade. They always have lookouts to watch for the ever-roving Carabineri. When the lookouts see the officials coming they make this clicking sound with their mouths and the hawkers quickly push their photos together and run. Those selling knockoff designer handbags and other trinkets have their wares on sheets and are able to quickly make off with the sack-like bundle of their belongings. Only once, since I have been here, have I seen them lose their merchandise. A few sanctioned artists were still out but most had wrapped things up by the time I reached the river.
The sunset was almost gone but still painted colors under the Vecchio bridge making for the shot everyone hopes to capture. Cameras and their masters lined the river walk, hoping for that perfect picture. As I leaned on the stone appointments along the river I heard the guitarist’s shift end and the flutist had begun. He started off with the theme song from The Little Mermaid. Schmaltzy, yes, but beautiful none-the-less. The flute and the violin are my favorite sounds to hear in the Signoria and Ufizzi arcade.
Streetlights that line the wall at the edge of the Arno always cast long rippling shadows across the dark nighttime water. Bursts of well-lit colored stone and stucco are ever-present in the evening, strewn across the hills behind. The brightly lit pastel marbles of the monastery glow at the top of the hill. The scene had now gone from sunset-tones to jewel-tones, sparkling lights in the darkness. I lingered for a while smelling the river and the scent of drifting orange blossoms but it was getting cold. It was time that I wandered back to take one of the seats along the slightly covered north side of the Loggia. The popular area is always filled with people listening to familiar songs and pondering their new memories. And when I arrived there were still some bursts of flash as people tried to capture a few last visual memories in the sound filled dusk.
Your pictures for tonight are: David with street signs, marble crypt marker, marble head in a private palazzo, metal tree seat in a private palazzo and Pope Urban VIII's coat of arms...on some unknown building.
