I just had a traumatizing experience: I took on Florence alone. Not just going places, I’ve done that a lot before. I mean actually trying to accomplish things, things I had never done before. Of course I chose a Saturday, at almost 6pm. This meant that at least I didn’t have to wait in line for anything, but it also meant that what I was trying to do was impossible.
I ask “Biglietteria?” He says yes, go through security. No one else around. Security lady tells me I can’t bring in water, I try to explain that I don’t really want to go in. Talk to Biglietteria-man, ask about Amici Degli Uffizi pass, he tells me “Chiusso.” Ok, so when are they open? “Di la”, beckons with hand. I try and go around. “No!” other way. “Parla inglese?” Yes, yes, do you? “Go there and see when they are open.” Oh, ok. That should be easy. I go to the other window, start to read the signs. “No, no, over there.” Finally I see it, a banner with Amici degli Uffizi on it, next to an open doorway. As I procede towards it, another sign appears and I begin to read that. Then out of nowhere a woman appears. My poor, already frazzled brain is ready to die, and now this. “E chiusso!” I know, already, leave me alone! “Chiude alle 5. Five.” (Holds up fingers in my face.) Ok. (I have no idea what time it is.) E domani? “No, martedi.” Ok. So my trip here was in vain, utterly worthless, because I still don’t know which museums it’s good for, or even the hours of the place. Well, I’ll just go to the library. But wait, I’m still inside the building, and no exit in sight. The woman simply removes a rope and exits. I but on my bambi eyes (a temporary replacement for my deer-in-the-headlights look) and gesture that I want to leave that way too. Finally, freedom. “Your lucky that I was here.” You know it lady, without you I don’t know what I would have done, freak out maybe, or just run through security. Whatever.
So I made it outside, my trip inside having been entirely futile. Before I can leave the terrace and dissolve into the anonymity of Piazza Signoria, I am accosted by hoards of vendors. Not Italians, but even shorter, darker, and more insistent with their ploys to draw one into conversation. It is too long of a walk, I want to run, disappear into the crowds of tourists. Though a barrage of heavily accented Italian, which I luckily don’t understand, I finally make it to safety. The first time I was thankful for tourists.
I chose the quietest allies to meander my way toward the library. At one point I am about to cross a main street, and then: a protest! Of all things… I guess I’ll take the long way. My poor nerves. The bags of Haribo looked so enticing, but sugar is not the answer to my problems. I avoid the posse of Carabinieri following the protest, wind my way up the stairs. I’ll get a library card later, I just need to sit down. Then, oh! So many people! But there, a table, a chair, upstairs, open-air, just for me. I sit down, relax, take a deep breath, *cough, cough.* It’s the smoking section.