Bittersweet Strolls I

It was my last Monday of school and I couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness that the Florentine leg of my trip would be coming to an end soon. Then I walked into class and saw the object of my rage (briefly touched on here), who was the reason I switched classes, and realized that this was going to be a long, painful week. I had forgotten how much he liked to talk--and how much he talked about things that did not make sense to anyone! Our teacher began class by asking us what we did last weekend. She started with him and since he was so detailed and went on so many insignificant tangents, none of us got to describe our weekends. And only four of us had shown up for class!

In my bottled-up anguish, I reverted to tuning him out, looking away, and daydreaming--but the overuse (and misuse) of so many words with his emPHAsis on the wrong syLLAble...oh, it was just too much. As a resort I spoke in class more than I usually would so that I could prevent further monologues from happening.

Please don't get me wrong, I am not holding a superiority complex of my language ability over his because we're all here to learn to speak Italian better and I am still far from where I want to be. It's the fact that he treats our class like it's his private lesson, therefore impeding others from improving!

Oh yes, he deserves a big WTML?!

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I can talk about pleasanter things.

Unfortunately Posh has gotten a cold or virus (this is not pleasant to me) so she is going to be bed-ridden for the next couple of days. This is selfishly a blessing in disguise because I don't want to be in her way since we share the same room, and it's my last week, so I am propelled to go out and soak up every bit of Florence that I can. Luckily today wasn't as hot as it was the past week, making it easier to enjoy walking around.

The Great Synagogue of Florence (photo taken from outside the gate)

After a huge homemade Caprese pasta salad for lunch I decided to visit the Tempio Maggiore Israelitico di Firenze or the Great Synagogue of Florence since my first visit months back was a failed attempt. I brought Neru so that I could take pictures (Uzi is out of commission) and upon arriving, was told that no cameras, phones, or other metallic objects were allowed for security purposes. I had to put everything in a locker and take mental pictures instead (sorry you don't have access to these).

It was my first time that I can remember ever visiting a synagogue so I was very interested in the layout, architecture, and artwork. This synagogue is the largest in Europe and was constructed in the late 19th century. After the ticket office you immediately enter a large garden with palm trees (among other plants) and the sound of birds chirping. To the left of the garden is a large plaque listing the names of Florentine Jews who lost their lives during the Holocaust. I couldn't help but read each name and feel sorrowful, especially when it seemed that a whole family had been taken away.

The synagogue has a museum on the second and third floor (first and second floor to Europeans) with objects ranging from everyday Jewish life to intricate silverware used in religious celebrations. While I was looking at some beautiful book covers, one of the curators asked if I was Italian (to which I replied "Si") and said there was a guided tour happening very soon for a school group. After I spoke a couple short phrases he asked me where I was from because my accent was strange. (At the time, I took it as a bit of a compliment because he thought I was really from Italy; however, now as I'm writing this maybe it wasn't so great after all.)

So I got to sit in on a guided tour of the synagogue in Italian! When I first saw the school group I thought all of the teenagers looked American since they didn't dress or look stereotypically Italian--then I heard them talk and I realized how Italian they were. It made me wonder if teenagers are universally homogenous now--but that is the tail-end of another discussion altogether.

The inside of the synagogue was intricately decorated and devoutly beautiful. I can't describe the ornateness or the objects, I can only say that I felt a sense of peace and awe, which is exactly what I'd imagine you'd want to feel in a place of worship. The two notes of interests that I took away with me were that:

1. Men and women sit in separate sections (women are on the upper floor)
2. The "pews" have locked compartments in which male worshippers can store their prayer books and other items. These are labelled with the name of the owner.

The timing was perfect because I wanted to catch my last ever school-organized guided tour with the teacher whose knowledge and personality I have come to love so much. We went to la Badia Fiorentina and I won't repeat myself since I've already been--but it was two hours of captivating art history, as it always is with her. I identified a huge pet-peeve of mine though: people who use flash when taking pictures of paintings. WHY?!

It was 6:00pm by the time the tour finished. The sun was shining, I had my camera, and I was craving some gelato, so I walked to La Carraia and took some photos along the way, during which I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sentiment of sadness (only because it's like a drawn-out goodbye).

An oasis near the Ponte Vecchio

Lungarno between Ponte Trinita and Ponte la Carraia, where it is visibly less touristy

At La Carraia I decided to be indulgent (by my own standards) and get the 1,50€ instead of my usual 1,30€--meaning bigger portions of the two flavours. I've had the 2,00€ one before and that is always too much. They had a new flavour called pecorino e vino (pecorino cheese and wine) so I tried it but had to stick to my usuals.

Cookies and pistachio -- with a HUGE chunk of cookie!

I sat down under the tree-installment at Ponte La Carraia, ate my gelato slowly, and reflected a lot on my time in Florence. I thought about how the weeks have gone by like days and yet how Vancouver feels like so long ago. I thought about how Florence, contrary to what I said the other day, can be a city for the lone-traveller or habitant. I thought about how I should never feel alone because I will always have myself.

That being said, I wish I had brought a book because I am not a people-watcher by nature and that was the only thing I could do while sitting on the beanbag chair in the middle of the bridge. And what made it worse was that there was an Italian man sitting near me, reading a book, and I still cannot bring myself to look in the direction of men when I don't know them.

Today's word of the day is indipendenza, or "independence".