Firenze in a Strange Place

This is the city. The city where the renaissance started, and modern banking was born. This is the city known for its long history of architectural feats. This is the city known for its painters, its sculptors, its power. This is the city known for its rich textiles, still supplying designers the world over with the highest quality leather. This is Florence.

Now, since its UNESCO world heritage proclamation, it is a beacon for tourists. It's a mix of the rich historical tapestry that influenced western civilization, and Disneyland. Its no longer Italy. You don't walk down the street and hear Italians talking passionately. You hear English. Everywhere. You cant get delicate Tuscan cooking. You get pizza al taglio, and pasta al Americano, which is to say covered in sauce.

But what a city.

I walked in wonderment. Every palatial church at the end of a crooked, cobbled street never wore thin. The museums with art, hewn by hands of legend, never grew old. The views - and what views - never ceased to leave me speechless.

If you need to step outside the city to really understand why this was a cultural hub, you only need to climb away, across the river, up the adjacent hill, and stand atop of the old city walls.

The other side of the ancient city is a sweeping countryside. The hills resemble quilt work, actually vineyard and olive grove. Each square of agriculture guarded over by towering cyprus pines, standing silently for centuries. Hill side after hill side. Its the Tuscan country side; capable of supplying a bustling city with all of its needs to eventually grant the rise of the Medici and Borghese, as well as the renaissance.

This is Florence.

What a city.