It was the last week in August and all the University students had left to go back and get geared up for school. The town was empty. In one aspect it was great -- I saw David without waiting in line, and breezed through the Uffizi gallery -- but there was a staleness in the air that was a bit unsettling.
Ever since I was a little girl I had always dreamed that my husband would take me on a tour of Italy for my 30th birthday. We'd sip wine, indulge in pastas, and take in the sites. Since the husband hadn't made his grand appearance by the time my 30th was approaching, I threw some clothes in a knapsack and hopped on a plane by myself. Italy was calling.
After falling in love with Rome, I headed to Florence to take in the Renaissance. Almost a week into my trip, I pretty much had a routine. Wake up. Get dressed. Go to a cafe. Have my latte and a biscuit. Take in some sights. Have lunch in a decent place with a good view. Take in some more sights. Go for long walks at sunset. Have a light meal, and then return home to plan out the next day.
Despite loving every aspect of Florence, the loneliness was starting to get to me. Especially since the birthday was fast approaching. So there I was, the morning I turned 30, in a church watching some local parish have their morning service in Italian. It was beautiful. I was melancholy through the whole thing. I hummed happy birthday to myself and headed out to the streets.
I figured that if I was going to do this alone -- the least I could do was numb the pain with a little vino. After all, I was in Italy. So I entered a local bar and sat at the counter. I ordered a glass of wine from the region and sipped it back -- trying to think about how I was going to kill the next 8 hours in solitude.
"Where are you from?", said the bartender. He finally took pity on me I suppose. I told him. He nodded.
"First time in Italy?" he asked. I told him it was. Then he asked why I was there -- and I said that coming to Italy was a birthday present to myself. He thought that was impressive enough to turn away from the television and ask, "when was your birthday?".
I thought about lying. After all, I was the loner sitting in a bar by myself in one of the most romantic places in the world -- desperately stringing together a barely-there conversation with Guido.
"Today", I said.
He nodded and turned his attention back to the television. Apparently I wasn't the first person to find myself alone in Florence sitting in front of him. He seemed unfazed.
I left my Euro on the counter (no tip) and walked out the door. Sitting there sipping wine didn't really make me feel any better. My mind was now made up. In the morning I would leave for Venice.
Posts
