Fantastico

Our apartment in Florence is rustico, primitivo, and fantastico.
About 50  meters from the Arno River, it's on an alleyway just large enough for foot traffic.

Our alleyway.  Usually there's hanging laundry.

It's on the third floor with no lift, so we're mainly eating salad, since arugula and radicchio are easy to carry up sixty steps.

There is no view, no dishwasher, no television.

This is exactly what we had in mind.

The landlady's grandmother once lived here. Now she is away, having left behind her lamps and electrical appliances, her old walnut dresser, her chipped dishes, her little drawings, and her extra hot chili peppers on a string.

Oh, and yes, her clothespins for hanging things out the window to dry.

Seriously, it is charming.

Salad, bread, wine. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Should we try to use this?

Today we walk-ran down the Arno at 8am, circled the historic center, and found cheap coffee.

The tourists weren't out so that gave us space to walk briskly on the narrow ledges that pass for sidewalks.

We're in training to climb to the lantern of the Duomo, which will be another day's story. Or not.

The Arno at the end of our alley.

Then we came home, put on respectful clothes, and spent a couple of hours at The Church of Sacre Coeur.  Everybody and his brother is buried here including Dante and Michelangelo.  Best part, the amazing Giotto frescoes and the abstract patterns in the marble.

Peaceful to just sit, wrapped in history and beauty, and to think of my sons during this first week in September.

Floor at Sacre Coeur.  In my heart I'm painting.