7: Ah, Poor Wine!

Original Post Date: 1/27/11 6:30 am Florence Time

I attribute this trait to my sophomore year; the ability to be relatively okay and sound on a few hours of sleep. Here, my sleeping schedule is nothing but odd and I’ve been told, no warned, that taking naps, come un gatto in il sole, is counterproductive to adapting to the time change. Speaking of the sun, sunrises here are breathtaking in the most understated way possible. Smooth and cool fog breathed into the air by the Arno, dare a la luce, clings and hovers in and around the river’s surface and at points is so massive that the mist spills over the edges of the Ponte Vecchio (or the even more beautiful Ponte Alle Grazie), all these natural and silent on-goings illuminated by the Tuscan-golden sunrise that in its natal-form is one of the few less saturated things here in Florence.

For the most part, thus far, I’ve slept an average of 6 hours each night. The mattress is rather un-giving, one of those compact foam ones from Ikea; I think I’m also a tad bit cold, just enough that falling to sleep becomes a second priority to getting warm. Surprisingly this has not effected my days which are spent walking thousand-footsteps around the city. Yesterday my legs ached and the balls of my feet are sore. And the funny thing about that is that I do notice my soreness and my tired feet but in the spectrum of what’s going on and what’s here I don’t care.

Laura put it best yesterday when she wondered out loud, “Will there ever be a point when I see something and don’t think, ‘oh my God!’” Will there be a point this semester when Florence is just a city in a country, as all other places are. I hope not. There’s history here that is blatant—I love that. At orientation Alessandra, our advisor, spoke about how to be Italian and drink like they do, “Enjoy the wine, experience it. Don’t gulp it down quickly,” she gestures like someone taking a shot, “ah, poor wine! There was a lot of work put into it, you know?” Will I ever be tired of Florentine food? Dinner last night with Bess and Laura at Le Fonticine sent sparks through my system.

Per il tavolo, vorremmo il antipasto misto… we began with a mixed antipasto; savory plump black olives still coated in their oil, a delicate vegetable omelet, eggplant discs topped with tomato, sun-dried tomatoes that were unlike any tomato-essence I’ve known, and prosciutto and salami. For dinner I had tagliatelle alla Bolognese, the wide handmade pasta with meat sauce, vaguely reminiscent of the same dish from back home but amped up by a few hundred volts—God, I hate music analogies—so completely delicious that will return many times. Behind all the graffiti-stained walls, the ancient water-heating system, cold bedrooms, and all are places like Le Fonticine or the foggy mornings at the Arno that make being here totally worth it.