Highlights-Florence Day 2
I had a very flakey and tasty pistachio pastry and flat white at Caffe San Firenze. Of course, I could have had a croissant, but why not try something unfamiliar? Filled pastries carry some risk as some goober lost control of the sugar during preparation, but not here. I noticed the same thing in Venice with a chocolate filled breakfast pastry. In Spain, those taste like someone misplaced their Hershey bar and it wound up in a croissant. Nasty. This was just the right amount of sweet. As I was eating, I saw a man not in “the uniform of the day” (all black) setting up furniture in the dining area and energetically wiping down walls and other flat surfaces. You could tell that he wasn’t a regular employee because he was wearing a football jersey, warm up pants, and a ball cap. I don’t think I was that energetic when I was 18! I broke down and purchased spray for my nose. Normally, I consider spraying stuff up my nose icky (generally a sensible precaution). My nose had been gushing like an Italian fountain since I left Venice. I thought, why suffer? I used an LLM to get advice and it recommended *A nasal spray with ipratropium bromide for watery runny nose from a cold.* I asked for some, in Italian, at a farmacia around the corner. I’ve got the “ask for strange medical substances in Italian” thing down. I went to Museo del Bargello, the primary location of the national collection of Italian Renaissance sculpture. The Palazzo housing the collection was built in 1255 (omigosh, at the time of the Aztecs!) to house administrative functions necessary to “safeguard the rights of the population and ensure its economic organization.” Right. Offices established to protect the rights inevitably suffer mission creep like the Pope (“we just want to provide spiritual guidance”). The next thing you know, someone decided to make a lateral move to the administration of justice and maintenance of public order. Jail cells always follow. People do scary things with their rights. Public officials who see more jail cells as an unalloyed good seem to value capacity more than art. In this case, they took the 13th century palace and art gallery and plastered over the frescos, permanently damaging them. And people complain about graffiti (probably because the police aren’t in charge). It didn’t help fresco conditions that the building was subject to fires, floods, and sieges. Those things are tough on frescos. The best sculpture is in just a few rooms. I race-walked through the displays of sharp implements, decorative plates, and other signs of wealth that lasted longer than the people who owned them (“this was the duke’s bowl before his death sentence”). On the way back to the apartment to keep administering doses of spray, I came over all peckish and decided to stop for a sandwich. Actually, the real reason I stopped was to get a tall plastic container of strawberries and whipped cream, but the place where I saw these yesterday was out. That or the person who made them got the sack for making them too big. Sandwich and drink in hand (no cover charge for this boy!), I walked past the line outside the All’Antico Vinaio sandwich shop. The end of the line was almost over the horizon! The shop is around the corner from the apartment and I’ve seen a long line every time I walked by. I’ve seen people eating the sandwiches. They’re just sandwiches for cryin’ out loud! I knew something else was going on. Some research explained it all. All’Antico Vinaio’s product is not a sandwich. It is bread, cheese, and cold cuts with a social-media fan base bigger than the Rolling Stones. The queue is not a reveal that the Florentine proprietor has solved how to stuff two pieces of bread. It is evidence that some sandwiches are consumed more by eyes on screens than mouths. People seem to stand in those lines so they can document that they stood in those lines. I noted that the posing comes before the eating. (“Here I am with my cute sandwich.” As sandwiches go, they would win no beauty pageant.) Three shops down, another sandwich, possibly equally good, sits less interested in fame (it’s hard to know what interests a sandwich), waiting for someone less committed to algorithmic ritual and more pragmatic about getting lunch. I get the feeling that a future archaeologist will examine the rubbish and conclude, “Early in the third millennium, a Florentine sandwich cult flourished here.” So much for great insight from garbage.
Rolling Bag Tap
Cobblestones look great until you roll your bag over a section like this and break a wheel
I’ll just have water
Then you get enough for a thirsty horse! Who drinks 3/4 of a liter of water at a meal? You wouldn’t get a block from the restaurant before desperately needing a bathroom.
Walk naked, carry a big stick
The fish he is stepping on is going to get whacked!