With a roar and rumble, we climb out of Heathrow. As we break through the clouds, I realise it’s the first time we’ve seen the sun in almost two weeks spent in London. We’re bound for Florence on a small British Airways plane, and it hasn’t quite hit me yet that I’m returning to my spiritual home, Italy.
By that, I don’t mean in an ‘Eat, Pray, Love‘ sense where people “find themselves” while visiting incredible locations. I mean it in a more authentic way than you could ever imagine. It’s as if I’ve lived a past life there.
I did, in fact, live in Italy (in what feels like a past life) back in 2003, when I studied Italian in Perugia. It was a quintessential six months of sipping cold beers, sitting on the steps of ancient cathedrals, sharing pizza, and chatting with other students as we gazed out into the ancient piazza, watching people ‘fare la passeggiata’ (go for a stroll), carefully licking gelati on a balmy Italian summer night… God, it is sounding a bit Eat, Pray, Love now.
I feel as though I’m returning with the excitement and anticipation of a child on Christmas Eve as we touch down at the nondescript Florence airport. We queue for immigration which takes some time, but I smile at the fact that Italians are never in a hurry. ‘Dolce far niente’ is a famous Italian expression meaning “the sweetness of doing nothing,” and they take this philosophy quite seriously.
With a staccato clatter, we wheel our (many) suitcases across ancient cobblestones before falling into a small taxi. Here we go… the first test of my Italian in many years. When I’m rusty with Italian, I usually speak well but then become paralysed when they talk back. Instead of listening to what they’re saying, I start an internal panicked (English) dialogue in my head about the embarrassment of potentially not understanding… We’ve all experienced those moments when someone asks an open question, and you reply with a “yes” or “no,” generating puzzled looks as the question wasn’t of the yes/no type!
I tell the driver, “Andiamo a Hotel Della Signoria,” and I’m pleasantly surprised by the rich Italian conversation we have on the drive to the hotel, all of which I understand—even joking about the amount of shopping Jen’s done so far.
We’re staying at the B&B Repubblica, which is run by the Hotel Della Signoria, so we go there to check in but then have to walk 200 metres to our room. 200 metres doesn’t sound like much, but that distance across ancient cobblestone streets, amongst weaving Vespas and street vendors on a rainy Firenze morning is a logistical challenge that requires us to take two luggage-laden trips.
We arrive at our hotel, and the location is sensational. We’re right on Piazza Della Repubblica, lined with fantastic alfresco restaurants, local markets draped in colourful Italian leather handbags, and high-end shopping (the latter is not for us!).
In Europe, I always book a room with a balcony, and this does not disappoint. We enter the room, and I immediately open the giant double shutters, revealing a cute little balcony overhanging the street below. To my right is the ancient Chiesa e Museo di Orsanmichele, on the street that leads down to the famous Ponte Vecchio, and to my left is the main piazza lined by typical Italian buildings with colourful shutters and plant boxes, like a sea of eyes watching the action below.
We are starving, having woken at 5 am for our flight, and the British biscuits on the plane simply didn’t cut it. Being familiar with Florence, I’ve based us between the main ‘Duomo,’ the ‘Piazza Vecchio,’ and the ‘Ponte Vecchio.’ so we’re spoilt for food choices and really can’t go wrong. ‘Vecchio’ means ‘old’ in Italian, and given how much history Florence holds, it’s fitting that the word appears in so many landmarks.
It’s still a bit wet, so we can’t sit outside, but we wander into the warmly lit Il Bargello and ask for ‘Un tavolo per due’ (a table for two). The waiter ushers us into a space that feels as much like an ancient church as it does a restaurant. Toward the back, an Italian man in a stiff-brimmed straw hat slices prosciutto and cured meats with a broad smile. Between us and him, a glass hole in the floor reveals an ancient well—just one example of how old ruins blend seamlessly into daily life in Italy.
The menu overwhelms us with choices, but I go for the Ragu, and Jen decides on a Carbonara. We start with a charcuterie board (carefully prepared by the man in the straw hat) and a glass of Chianti – “when in Rome” – (or Florence!). The food is incredible—wafer-thin meats full of gusto (flavour) and cheeses as diverse as the restaurant’s decor. My Ragu is typical Italian: no fuss, simple, and yet the best I’ve ever had. Jen’s carbonara is bright yellow (no cream in an authentic Italian carbonara) with pancetta and guanciale providing a bold flavour that cuts through the creamy egg yolk perfectly.
We finish all of this off with a delicate glass of limoncello—a famous Italian digestif that’s the perfect bitter-sweet ending to a big meal. It’s so good that I find myself closing my eyes as I sip as if to close off any other senses in a spontaneous infactuation that’s a testament to the fact that I haven’t had good Limoncello since the last time I was here – 13 years ago.
After dinner, we wander down to the Ponte Vecchio. The only main bridge to survive the wars, it still features ancient shops and dwellings that overhang the bridge, giving it a colourful blended boxy appearance. A narrow pathway cuts across the bridge, and at its centre, there’s a break in the shops where you can capture a perfect photo of the Arno River.
As we walk, a busker plays guitar and sings, adding to the already overwhelming, soupy romantic atmosphere. We stand and listen for a while, sheltering from a sporadic rain shower as the crowds sing along with him in a spontaneous non-self-indulgent way… something that simply wouldn’t happen back home unless everyone was well drunk!
We follow the warm glow of the lantern-lit pathway that hugs the Arno River walking through ancient arches and corridors before pausing to get the iconic shot of the bridge from a distance.
The streets are filled with local shops and snacks. Jen looks at clothes while I sneak into another shop selling drinks. There’s a small fridge filled with alcoholic options with a sign that says, “Si, you can drink and walk.” That sounds very civilised to me, so I grab a couple of bottled Aperols and, indeed, sip as I walk.
We wander back to Piazza Vecchio and snap some photos in front of the famous Fountain of Neptune. You can get some great pictures of the fountain with the medieval Palazzo Vecchio in the background. At night, it’s lit with warm light, and a slower shutter speed of around 1/30th of a second can capture some beautiful water movement even without a tripod.
Now, it’s time to see ‘Il Duomo,’ and I’m excited as Jen has never seen it.
After twists and turns through iconic Firenze laneways, the landscape opens up into Piazza Del Duomo, and there it is—the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore (Il Duomo), lit up brightly against the misty rain. The intricate carvings and artwork create a tapestry of texture against the black sky. We stand, staring up at it in silence before taking more photos (of course).
We do a lap around the whole cathedral, circling the large dome at the back before returning to the tall, skinny bell tower at the front. I’m looking forward to going inside in the morning.
By this point, we’re ready for a rest and stumble into the Move On Bar, which is both a bar and a record shop (why not?). I’m loving being able to use my Italian again, and I chat with the waiter, who’s watching what seems to be an Italian Idol-style singing contest on a large screen. We’re tourists and clichéd, so we sip Aperols and Negronis before asking the waiter if there’s anywhere open with live music. To our delight, he recommends a bar in Piazza Della Repubblica, right outside our hotel.
After some much-needed rest, we wake and head straight to a quintessential Italian café. I mean the real deal—no cafés with photos of the food or menus in English. I want the true Italian experience, complete with the confusion that often comes with it. In Italy, it’s customary to order and pay at the cashier, then take your receipt to the barista, who will prepare your order. Most Italians don’t even sit down; an “espresso bar” is quite literally a bar where locals stand and sip their espresso while chatting to the barista. It’s a no-nonsense coffee experience—straight to the point and, without question, the best coffee of your life.
We do, in fact, opt for a small table at Cantinetta dei Verrazzano and sit eating croissants (called “cornetto” in Italy) and drinking coffee. It’s a small, slim, rustic wooden café with a long counter flaunting sweet and savoury treats. I enjoy sitting and listening to the conversations of the locals who come in to say “Buongiorno!” and get their espresso fix.
Now we’re caffeinated and fed, it’s time to explore, and we start with the Chiesa e Museo di Orsanmichele, which sits opposite our hotel. The church and museum date back to 895, originally serving as a small oratory. It was later rebuilt in the 14th century as a grain market before being transformed into a church, now renowned for its Gothic architecture and statues by some of the greatest Renaissance artists. It’s one of those places where you can feel the weight of history in the musty air. I lean against a wall, touching the stone, as if hoping to glimpse life a thousand years ago. Its giant arched roof, frescoes, and ornate pillars create an overwhelming experience of history and artistry.
Next up, it’s time for the main event: The Duomo. We wander back to Piazza Del Duomo, which is even more impressive by day. As we round the corner, a street performer belts out the aria ‘Nessun Dorma.’ This brilliant man isn’t just a busker; he’s so much more. He draws in the cold, fresh Firenze air, pulling his arms back as if to inflate himself before building to the chorus—“vincerò.” I stand there tingling with goosebumps, even a little teary. He’s standing right in front of the cathedral, and the moment is all too much.
We queue briefly before entering the cathedral. Entry is free, and no ticket is needed. The interior is, at first glance, simpler than the elaborate exterior, but just as grand with its giant arched roof and beams. The silence is peaceful as we make an offering and light small tea-light candles, placing them on an ornate candelabrum.
Finally, we make our way underneath the giant dome. I first gazed up at this in 2003 and again in 2012, but standing here now, it feels even more impressive than I remember. Sometimes, sharing the experience with someone seeing it for the first time makes it even more magical. This is Jen’s first trip to Europe, and she’s never stood under this enormous, warmly lit fresco depicting The Last Judgement. Painted collaboratively by Giorgio Vasari and Federico Zuccari, it’s a dramatic and vivid portrayal of heaven, hell, and purgatory.
Like so many moments on this trip, we stand in silence, gazing in awe at the dome. The level of detail requires time to digest, and every angle reveals a slightly different story. A zoom lens is a must-have if you want quality photos of the angels, saints, sinners, and demons depicted in specific scenes.
Beside Il Duomo is another great restaurant called ‘Osteria Del Fiore.’ It offers alfresco dining with stunning views of the cathedral, and the food (of course) is fantastic. Here, we opt for the truffle ravioli and a Diavola pizza. The ravioli is quite simply sensational—sometimes, truffle can be overpowering, but the thinly sliced fresh truffle atop the creamy sauce is divine. In a scene straight from a clichéd Italian movie, we sit at a table draped in a red-and-white checkered cloth, eating and sipping Aperol Spritz, all the while overlooked by the cathedral as the bell tower chimes through the ancient streets as it has done for the last 665 years… eerie.
Florence is renowned for its leather production, and a wander down any laneway will reveal shops selling leather handbags, wallets, keyrings, and more. There’s a leather market near our hotel in Piazza Del Mercato Nuovo, but we found the prices significantly higher than those in regular shops along the streets. The market boasts “real leather,” but honestly, genuine Firenze-made leather seemed to be everywhere—so be sure to shop around and don’t just rely on the market.
What usually happens on these trips is that I hit the wall with shopping at some point, but Jen doesn’t. So, I head back to Piazza Del Duomo for a refreshment while she looks at bags. It’s starting to get dark now, and the ambiance is brilliant. I’m once again at a quintessential alfresco table, looking at the giant cathedral from yet another angle—each perspective just as impressive as the last.
Sadly, this is our final night in Florence. As we head out for dinner, we agree it needs to be somewhere sensational (though honestly, everywhere has been). Well… let me tell you about a lasagna that will blow your mind.
Right outside our hotel is Fiorini D’Oro, a typical restaurant with a covered alfresco area and incredibly friendly staff. We couldn’t have picked a better place for our last night. I had pesto (which was wonderful), but Jen’s lasagna was, without question, the best we’ve ever tasted.
After dinner, I crossed the piazza for one last limoncello and some live music, reflecting on what an unforgettable experience this has been. Once again, I’ve fallen in love with Florence—its culture, history, food, and ancient laneways. For Jen’s first time in Italy, there’s no better place to start (in my opinion) than Florence. We’re sad to be leaving but excited for the next chapter—onward to Roma in the morning.
