After exhausting ourselves in the museum, we decide to take an early lunch. For that we head to the Mercato Central which is fascinating in itself with its deli's, butcher shops, vegetable shops, olive oil shops, wine shops, etc. We grab a seat at one of the food stalls in the building and the owner remembers me or pretends to remember me from my visit in December. What does it matter? I am charmed by his friendliness and Tom and I celebrate the situation by eating and drinking more than we should.
After lunch we visit Santa Maria Novella church. It is not nearly as interesting as Santa Croce and has rules about wearing shorts, even for men. It also has lot's of places visitors are supposed to stay out of. We meet an angry German guy with a church supplied shawl around his waist to cover up his legs. Frankly, he looked a lot more fey and irreligious in the "skirt" than he would have without it. I get busted for taking pictures, even though our guidebook says it's permissible. The attendant is incensed that I would even try to take photos and stares at me the rest of the time I'm in the place. We don't stay long.
We note that there is such a different atmosphere from Santa Croce where picture taking is encouraged. Since Santa Croce is a Franciscan church and Santa Maria Novella is a Dominican church, I immediately generalize as to the probable differences between the orders - Dominicans intellectual and forbidding, Franciscans emotional and accessible like their founder, St Francis of Assisi. I recall the many years of my childhood under the tutelage of Dominican nuns and decide I have the right to generalize about them.
In addition to my usual nap, I spend part of the afternoon in Internet frustration since I can't seem to access my e-mails. I keep getting a "timed out" message before the Netvigator site has a chance to load. I try to change the settings but am locked out and the clerk is no help. I finally figure out how to import all my Netvigator mail into Yahoo Mail and am not only able to read my messages; I get to feel like a technological genius.
At dusk, Tom and I begin our search for a suitable happy hour site. We settle on the Trattoria San Lorenzo, a very friendly place. Our Romanian waiter is a jokester and we meet a family from Washington D.C. and another wandering soul from the same area. After a number of beers and a long discussion of music and art, we decide to go back to Thursday's restaurant the Trattoria Alliense for dinner. Perhaps because of the beers, we get lost trying to find it and after a buzz busting half hour walk, end up less than two blocks from where we started. As a last resort, being males, we ask for directions and manage to find our way to our destination.
We are not disappointed with either the food or the company. There is a cross-cultural family from Oregon. He's French Basque, she's American - kind of a stereotypical do-gooder but much more open-minded. They met in Togo doing good works and have two beautiful daughters. We also meet an architectural student from Washington University in St. Louis returning from a field trip to Barcelona. The conversation is scintillating (I think) especially since I own property in Oregon and recently spent a week in Barcelona.
We get our buzz back drinking the excellent house Chianti and almost wait too long to order. Tom has a single huge pork chop which he announces is the best pork chop he's ever eaten. This from a mid-western meat and potatoes guy who, if he's like me, at one time, thought fish swam around with breading on them. I have a scrumptious grilled veal steak, a dish almost never found outside of France and Italy. Both meats are accompanied by home-made tagliatelle pasta with a sauce directly imported from heaven. We both agree we will miss Florence and not just because of its cultural attractions.
A gelato on the way back to the hotel completes the evening on a high note. I fall easily asleep looking forward to tomorrow when we will be traveling to Venice.
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After lunch we head back to our hotel, ostensibly to read and relax. Hah! Actually, I take a long nap and awaken after dark, ready to enjoy the evening. We decide to find an outdoor caf� on the Piazza della Republica and watch the free and never-ending entertainment. We snag a ringside table. Bands are playing, one on each side of the piazza, each trying to outdo the other. Jugglers are juggling. Flame eaters are eating. Acrobats are acrobatting. It's a hell of a scene. We drink wine mixed with a little bit of mineral water to lessen the wine's effect and continue our discussion of the nature of existence which now appears to be the ability to drink wine and enjoy the passing parade on the piazza.
Three hours later, Tom realizes he must return immediately to the hotel while I'm not exactly ready, having napped much longer than he did. He goes to grab a taxi but soon returns because he can't remember the name of our hotel. I give him the name but I can't remember the address. Tom leaves anyway and I wish him luck and return to the job of finishing up our last bottle of wine. I am unequal to the task so I pay the bill, cork the bottle and head for the hotel. I manage to find my way back but cannot raise Tom on the phone. I finally go to his room and knock on the door to find he had been in the shower. It evidently took him and the taxi driver a while to find the hotel and as soon as he got to the room he jumped in the shower and stayed there until he felt better. Such is the nature of existence.
I tell him a few embarrassing stories from my own past and finally go back to my room to finish the bottle of wine we had started and find out how quickly I can fall asleep - turns out to be quicker than I can drink. The wine is still there in the morning.
I am now habituated to the coffee bar experience. This morning, Tom and I sit there sipping our cappuccinos, nibbling on our pastries and just drinking in both the passing scene and the activity in the bar itself. Wonderful! To make it even more charming, the owner undercharges me again. I've learned my lesson. I say nothing.
We start with the The Opera del Duomo Museum. This is one of the most delightful, entertaining and educational museums in Florence and it's seldom overcrowded except for the occasional tour group and even then, you can leave the area and come back later when the group has moved on. It has the restored panels of Ghiberti's Baptistry doors, the door on the Baptistry itself is a copy. There is much sculpture to see including Donatello's carved wooden statue of the suffering Mary Magdalene, a statue people either love or hate. I love it.