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| Our view of San Lorenzo from our room at the Hotel Paris, Firenze |
Hey, I’m back! I’ve missed you. This past month I’ve been traveling in Europe with my family. Our 21st Anniversary found us in Florence (or Firenze in Italian.)
Remember the
1985 film adaptation of
A Room with a View? Recalling Lucy Honeychurch’s despair, I’d booked a room with a view (#336) at the (confusingly misnamed)
Hotel Paris. What could be more romantic?
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| Henry Laurence |
One click later,
E. M. Forster’s original novel was downloaded onto my Kindle (most classics are free.) We popped mini bottles of Prosecco and pulled our chairs to the open window. Henry read out loud, with all the right accents, this Edwardian tale of class snobbery and passion.
The best lines and scenes from the movie were lifted directly from the book, although the cinematic Lucy (
Helena Bonham Carter) was more spunky and outspoken than her literary model. The novel was both more subtle and satirical. It was surprisingly timeless and humorous.
Like Lucy, I had traveled to Italy from the English countryside.
My British in laws had rented a house in Somerset to celebrate their 75th and 80th birthdays.
Happy Birthdays, N&T!
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| Our view of the Duomo from the Hotel Paris, Firenze |
Out our Tuscan window,
church bells rang
and a horse-drawn carriage
clopped down the road
towards the
Duomo
(our view with a craned neck).
Forster’s prose rose
above the din of American tourists.
(Snookie had been filming
Jersey Shore on location
only the week before,
sigh.)
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| My parents in Fiesole |
Borrowing a page from Forster,
“The first fine afternoon drive up to Fiesole.”
We joined my parents,
celebrating their 50th anniversary in Italy,
for lunch in this hill town overlooking Florence.
My dad and I might look Italian,
but we’re native New Yorkers.
From him, I inherited my love of Italy
and passion for exploring the world and photography.
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| View of Florence from the Pensione's terrace |
As we waited for lunch at
Pensione Bencista in Fiesole, dark clouds gathered over Florence ominously.
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed over the Tuscan hills.
My sixteen-year-old son, an experienced mountaineer,
pointed out that metal chairs under a canvas awning offered little protection from electrocution.
We moved inside as the rain lashed sidewise, whipping the olive trees into a frenzy and pelting the vineyards. Lunch was deliciously seasoned by the wild weather. From my mother, I inherited my love of storms and artistic skill for capturing them. The thunderstorm over
Fiesole cut short our excursion . . . just like in
A Room with a View. I thought of the poor Italian girl (evicted from the carriage for kissing the driver) and George (by his reckless choice) walking the five miles back to Florence. It could have been my son and I, had we set off sooner as planned.
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| View of Florence from the Uffizi Gallery |
Hours later, the sun returned, basking Florence in that particular golden glow of Tuscany. Our best meals were at
L'osteria di Giovanni and at Zibibbo. If I could eat only one type of cuisine forever, it would be Italian. Sometimes life is as rich and full as classic literature . . . at least in Italy.
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| South Harpswell, Maine |
Maine in summer isn’t bad either. Our first week back, we drove down to
Estes for lobster rolls and local brew on tap (the Italians don’t really do beer) by the sea. Then I fought jetlag to take my daughter and her friends to the midnight premier of Harry Potter (awesome!) Evenings find us enjoying sundowners on our deck after work. Friends stop by to chat and there is wifi. It is good to be back home.
