Florence, Italy - August 9 - 11, 2006

Dry, hot, beautiful inland Florence, or Firenze as the Italians refer to her - a much spicier version than the prefix Flor could ever convey. Whereas Venice I had to see because it will sink, Firenze was worth seeing all on its own merits. What Rome was in the days of the Empire, Firenze was in the days of the Renaissance - the world capital of culture, art and literature, which are today embodied in a number of extensive museums (extensive referring to the 3-hour line I waited to get in one of them!). Anyway, I will let the photos speak to you themselves, starting with some panoramic views of the valley from the campsite.

As you can see, the campsite "Camping Michelangelo" was perched on one of the rolling hills that surrounded the city - it was only a short 20 minute walk into the city which made the location ideal and the price was right.

The star of the hillside, a replica of Michelangelo's David, the real one was removed and is now in a museum, which is too bad. Outside of the Italian countryside I'm not sure if it can take on the same shine as the replica did.

A feudal tower, maybe from the Medici era, is left on the high bank of the Arno River. In the evening the base of this tower serves as an informal hangout with a mini-bar and snack stand, some tables and music. Yet another reason why Europe gets everything right.

The Ponte Vecchio - the famous Medici bridge that was financed by the powerful merchant family during the Italian Renaissance. This partly covered bridge contained a secret passageway used by the Medici family and its advisers to cross in secret between their palatial residence on the outskirts of the city (to the left of the Arno in this picture) and there fortress inside the city. Rumour has it that butcher shops originally set-up shop along the bridge to hock their wares to passerbys but the Medici's evicted them for degrading their coveted bridgeway and demanded that only prestigious enterprises could operate, thus Ponte Vecchio became famous for its gold trade which operated out of the shops built right onto the sides of the bridge.

A close-up of the Ponte Vecchio.

Sunset on the Arno as seen from the Ponte Vecchio.

The feudal citadel gives this city much more flavour than any Roman influences. This tall tower likely belongs to the Vecchio fortress, the central Medici stronghold.

The famous Battistero, one of the oldest buildings in Florence, was built on a Roman temple sometime during the first millennium. The Italian poet Dante was baptized here.

Looming behind the Battistero is the Duomo - the Italian version of the German Dom, the church of churches. The most spectacular church I had seen in Italy (until Milan - which takes the cake for best church ever).

A close-up of the intricate architecture and colours of the duomo, especially the terracotta-coloured dome which easily stands out against the green hills and sand coloured buildings that cover the Italian landscape.

The campanile, the large bell tower characteristic of Italian churches.

The entrance to the duomo (sans priest with cross and holy water trying to evict demonic youngsters).

The best Christians are the ones encased in stone is what I've always said. Here some saints of Firenze adorn the outer walls of the Duomo.

No point to this photo, I just like the "look up.... way up" sort of feel.

The crest of the Medici family - a common marker in Firenze as the Medici's ran this town like the Hell's Angels run Kelowna. And whereas the HA have the Grand Hotel, the Medici's had a number of palaces.

Breaking the bank - out for a romantic dinner for one in Firenze with a glass of Chianti and a plate of real Italian pasta with fresh Parmesan cheese. Just typing this gets my mouth watering again. I thought of trying to set-up the camera somewhere to have it auto-shoot a picture but it turns out it was less embarrassing to ask the waitress to do it.

The Duomo and the Piazza di San Giovanni at midnight - as active as it had been six hours earlier. European cities just don't know what time's bed-time. But I did, so I headed back to the campground.

The Arno and the Ponte Vecchio in the dark.

Firenze from the hillside on my hike back home.

Back in town. Looking from the city-side bank of the Arno toward the multi-coloured buildings that line the periphery of the city. Unbeknownst to me at this point, I would soon waste 3 hours on a sweltering summer day waiting to get into the Palazzo Degli Uffizi, one of the most famous Italian museums, known for its collection of Florentine and Renaissance paintings. It was also running a fabulous Leonardo di Vinci exhibit (di Vinci lived part of his life in Firenze before leaving for France). Unfortunately after waiting 3 hours in the heat to get into the museum I could barely last an hour inside the un-air conditioned palace before feeling faint and having to bolt for the exit.

The rectangular outer court of the Uffizi is lined with famous Italians. Galileo, known for inventing the indelible marker deserves a prominent position.

Amerigo Vespucci, a well-known cartographer discovered the origin of the evolution during a famous voyage to Peru.

Macchiavelli - a name synonymous with pasta sauce itself - was a prominent noodleer during his day and his memory lives on thanks to reheatable microwave dinners.

Wrote the Da Vinci Code - enough said.

Not so menacing without his staff, this turtle-cum-ninja is portrayed anthropomorphically, a process common to more primitive societies that need to characterize their heroes and gods in human form.

After escaping the Uffizi, and witnessing some of the most famous prints in history such as Botticelli's Birth of Venus (the one with Venus standing in an open shell), I stumbled around Florence and realized that the city itself was a museum of various artifacts, statues and monuments. I'm not sure how the Greek warrior Perseus and the severed head of Medusa fit into the storyline of a modern Italian city but here they are.

King Triton - by the looks of it at least - and what looks like a yard sale of other statues are scattered the square.

Italians take their gelato seriously, just take a look at the neon-intensity of Festival of Gelato. Indeed!

Mmmm... the Italian breakfast heard around the world - due to me bragging about how good it was. It was even worth a picture. A cappuccino and a croissant at 8am as I waited for the Santa Croce church to open across the street. The coffee was so good it barely needed any sugar, the flavour was in the beans. Since Europe, the doors to coffee and wine and stinky cheese have been opened to me. Viva la revolucion!

Another momento of my extraordinarily simple but excellent breakfast. The Iris Coffee shop, complete with the requisite lineup of vespa motor scooters.

Inside Santa Croce, a museum in its own right of the notable dead. Talk about people dying to get in here, Machiavelli had to struggle to maintain his family name with the Medici's in order to get this stately monument.

Michelangelo's burial tomb. Prestigious it is.

Marconi (Macaroni the Radio Guy), Da Vinci, Donatello, the who's who of Firenze and Italy are in this church. The lesser known types get the floor.

A basilica attached to Santa Croce illuminated only by daylight and its own architecture.

Alas, its time to say goodbye to Florence and Firenze. As I wait for the bus to come by to take me to the train station I take one last look at the town from above.

Some more Italian hotrods parked outside the train station. If anyone wants to know where they got their Italian postcards from it was here, waiting for the train to Milan - I had decided to take my Korean friends Jin and Jay up on their offer to drop my Jin's hometown to get one more day in Italy before it was off to France. For Mom: the last piece of your Botticelli puzzle could be on the floor of the store where I was writing the postcards. I dropped the puzzle on the floor but thought I had picked up all the pieces.

Italian trains aren't always on time like the German's. It seems even Mussolini couldn't pull that off, but I never had a problem. Using my Euro-rail pass I could jump on any train whenever I wanted (in theory - although the practice turned out to annoyingly more difficult). But I should end on a happy note, so .... think happy thoughts!

Verona, Italy - August 8-9, 2006

Welcome to Verona, Italy. A few hours west of Venice on the road to Milan. This quaint Italian villa is known as "little Rome" because of its famous outdoor amphitheatre in the city centre and thus was the closest I would come to the actual Rome on my trip - a move I hope was strategic and will result in a future trip to south and central Italy. It was here in Verona that I met two Koreans - Jin and Jay - who were also travelling from Venice on a small tour of northern Italy. Jin lived in the outskirts of Milan where he was learning to make violins in the tradition of the famous handcrafted works of Strativarius, etc. Each one would sell for a few thousand! His friend Jay was visiting from Korea and Jin was taking him around the countryside.

The hostel - a retrofitted monastery - proved to be one of the nicer places to stay although their "included breakfast" translated into cereal and powdered juice drink. The three of us decided to stay here together. Jin could speak decent English and was fluent or almost fluent in Italian while Jay had to wait for translation into Korean and vis versa.

My first sight of a real Roman ruin - mainly restored. This small outdoor amphitheatre was just down the hill from our hostel. It was buried and built over-top-of but most of it has been cleared away and restored and is now used for musical productions.

The Adige River provides a natural barrier between the core and the peripheral areas of Verona to the North and East. The centrality of rivers in European cities and towns provides some interesting contrast to Canadian cities.

Looking south from one of the frequent bridges that cross the Adige.

Northern Italy shines with its brick buildings that somehow avoid the look of the Ol' Spaghetti Factory while still bringing that nostalgia to the fore. Mmmmm... spaghetti.

A cathedral - perhaps the spot where Romeo and Juliet were wed. I couldn't resist the storyline while walking through this fabled city.

A view of the Italian countryside north of the Adige. The heat reminds me of Kelowna but the land stays green thanks to the preponderance of evergreens.

The fountain of Piazza Erbe. After successfully managing to figure out the Italian phone system and calling York from this square I took advantage of Italian generosity and ate the bounty of free appetizers that come with any ordered drink. Bruschetta, potato chips and olives are generally the items served free which can make a cheap light meal.

The famous balcony and Juliet herself awaiting her lost love beneath it. Shakespeare's tragedy was actually based on the clan-ish fighting of two houses in Verona during the 13th century. This house was known to belong to the "Capulet" family.

Giulietta and I. Not meant to be a perverted pose - its good luck! Try and get those Koreans to do it though! I've never seen such embarrasment, although I think we managed to get a photo for both of them.

To the chagrin of the Veronese historical society, it has become just as traditional to write love notes on the walls of the Capulet building. Like some kind of primitive dating service, these notes ask Juliet to help the loveless find a date or to immortalize some couple's relationship.

Here's a close-up. Since there's no room on the wall itself to grafitti people have resorted to sticking pieces of paper to the wall with their note.

Summon Russell Crowe, its the Arena! The famous central amphitheatre of Verona that earned it the name "piccola Roma". I wish I could have caputred the sheer size of the building but it was impossible. Access was restricted as well because it was opera night, so I did what any sucker for Roman history would do, I bought a ticket!

A glimpse of the curvature of the colloseum-like Arena. An advertisement for Pearl Jam, which was playing this venue in September, made me drool.

The Piazza Bra which opens up to the south of the Arena.

The inner city that is not bounded by the Adige (as it is on the North and East) is surrounded by a high and thick wall. This entrance way at the southern end of the Piazza Bra is one of the few entrances into the inner city from the outside. From the airplane trip into Venice, I could see that almost all the towns were built on this feudalistic model of an encircled inner core with a outer ring.

Inside the Arena. I was in the nose-bleed section (above). They rent cushions to those softer-bummed fellows but I went without. The stone seats were incredibly warm from soaking up the day's heat and kept my bottom toasty until well after sun-down.

It doesn't take a Led Zeppelin solo to see the lighters go up. Its part of the tradition here. Luckily the Italians are a smoking bunch.

Various scenes from that night's double-showing. I wish I could tell you what the plot of either story was, from what I gathered it was same-old opera stuff. One woman, her husband, her lover, jealousy, fighting to the death but all done in song. I didn't understand a word of it and only the next day did I meet some fellow travellers (irish lasses) on the way out of Verona who explained it to me (they had smartly printed out the descriptions from the Internet before the show).

The Arena after dark. Crowds file from the opera onto the Piazza Bra.

One of my best night-shots on the trip - the moon and the street lights illuminate this old church.

Another decent night-shot from the eastern bank of the Adige. The illuminated bell tower from the Piazza Erbe towers above the rest of the inner city.

Jay & Jay. Guess which one I am.

Jay & Jin.

Giving credit where credit is due. This dead Englishman has been providing Verona with tourist dollars for centuries now. A famous quotation from Romeo & Juliet in English and Italian is inscribed on a plaque on the wall of the entrance to the Juliet Tomb and Museum.

From the outside looking in. I decided to avoid paying the entrance fee. Seeing a tomb wasn't worth whatever price they were charging, after all, the story didn't include the burying of Juliet, so I figured I'd followed it long enough.

So, like the tragedy my story of Verona ends here. It was a short stay in a city that had no where near the draws of Venice, Rome or Florence but the relative quietness was welcome after being drowned in 'touristness' the day before. Verona was a really nice city to stroll through and had the beauty of seeming to flow right into history and nature, meshing perfectly with the centuries before it and the countryside around it.