After a teeny tiny sleep-in, which is code for 7.02am (getting betterer by the minute bahahaha) we met our private guide to do a walking tour of Florence. We were supposed to do this tour our first day but due to a small glitch with the tour company (I can’t even tell this story without my left eye twitching and becoming stabby so I won’t) we had to move it. We had done so much exploring on our first day that I felt this guided tour ended up covering some things we had already seen but it did give us a better background and insight into what we were seeing so I guess it wasn’t a complete waste right?
The tour guide was a local woman who was rather eccentric *actually I’d say borderline ready for the insane asylum crazy* but in all the good ways. She had drag queen make up on (she would not have looked out of place in a cameo appearance in Priscilla Queen of the Desert) with mascara completely streaked down her face (clearly from a bout of tears earlier that day) and the buttons on her cardy were done up in the wrong holes which for an OCDer like me – made me almost crazy throughout the whole tour. It legit took all my self control not to go all mumma bear on her cray cray self and redress her and lick a hanky and wipe her face. Fortunately for husband and the horror he would’ve experienced I kept my maternal ways in check. She was hard to take seriously on first impressions haha.
But hold the phone bitches…..The best thing about this card carrying member of Crazy Town was when we got to Accademia to see The Statue of David. The crowds around the museum were so insane (imagine a David Hasselhoff concert in Germany or a Dolly Parton concert in Redneckville Tennessee and you are halfway there). I started to think it was bringing tourists to places like this that had sent Signora Cray Cray into her downward spiral from normality in the first place. I don’t blame her – I was ready to board that train myself just looking at the sheer chaos. The main reason I had wanted a private guide was to get us in to see David and another couple of highlights in the museum and then get us the hell out quicky, calmly and with no blood being spilt. Husband has the patience of a gnat (whateven is a gnat and why is he so impatient) so it’s all about smiles on faces with this stuff and damn the expense *plus I didn’t want to end up like Signora Cray Cray obvs*. The speed, ruthlessness and complete AMAZON AWESOMENESS with which she got our tickets and got us past the crowds into this place was the stuff legends (and happy tourists) are made of. Husband was horrified and thought she was rude with a capital “what the F”. Lisa, on the other hand, was down on her knees (only do this for special people and special occasions lol) bowing to the “Queen of Hustle”. She was hilarious the way she managed to part the crowds of chaos and as she bundled us through the door she laughed a witch like cackle and said “don’t look back at all the angry faces behind us”. Hahahaha, she is my spirit animal and role model rolled all in one.
I was in two minds when planning the Florence days as to whether we even really needed to go and see David. I knew we could stroll past the copy that is placed where the original used to be and I thought – meh that should be enough. But the more I researched and read the more people kept banging on about how you had to see him, he would change your life, you’d never be the same, yadda yadda yadda (what a crock). I thought to myself “man, this guy’s naked body must be something special, maybe he has some bits I haven’t seen before, the stuff G spot dreams are made of”. So I decided I better not miss out on a bit of gratuitous nudity and so here we are. Husband just went along with whatever but his care factor was pretty low.
Well … I have to say … I am very very happy we went to see the original Statue of David. He really is something to behold and all men should try to shape and mould themselves in his image. They should sculpt their bodies, just like Michaelangelo did with that big block of marble, and try to be more like him (obviously some areas of David are a god given gift and cannot be recreated by mere mortals or gym workouts or viagra). He really was truly something to see. The way the architect has designed the space with the dome above him pouring natural light over his every muscle and curve (and magic wand) was well, magical!!!! The guide whipped herself into an almost erotic trance when describing him. She made us stand and look at him from all sides, pointing out how he looks completely different from each angle, every nuance, every shadow and curve. Sometimes I swear she forgot we, and the other 4897 of our closest friends, were there. My favourite side of David was from the back. Surprised??? This guy puts new meaning into BUNS OF STEEL (or marble). I’m not sure I was much of a butt girl before this – colour me converted and reborn – because bums are now my thing and every man forever more will be judged against David when I walk behind them lol. All self control needed to be used not to jump up and have a little pat and squeeze of a cheeky cheek. Fortunately something told me that it would be wrong to grope the arse of a man old enough to be my….hmmmm….what is a man created in 1501 old enough to be to me???? Old enough to be gross. Old men and young girls are shudder worthy pedo moments so yes….I didn’t go there.
The “poster child for living in a mental health facility” showed us lots of other interesting things in the gallery as well, nothing too boring but just enough to engage us and keep us interested. Perfect!!!! That, my friends is what an experienced, history loving, not of this sane world, private tour guide gives you. Worth every FREAKIN penny – every single time!!!
Overall I was happy with this tour although wasn’t as thrilled with the glitch at the start but impressed with how the company fixed it. I was impressed with Crazy Lady Tour Guide’s chutzpa and entrepeneurial skills (husband calls it complete and utter rudeness) and our bang for our buck was pleasing.
We finished off the tour on the other side of the river with a recommendation for an authentic Florentine restaurant. When she said “authentic” we should’ve known our bogan Australian vocab and sensibilities would not be a good fit but hey – when in Florence let’s be pretentious gits and fake that shit till we make that shit. We asked for a table outside so we could people watch which I will say was awesome. The restaurant was situated on the corner of a little piazza in an actual “locals live here” area so you know, we kidded ourselves that we were like locals too, just hotter and OMG so much more attractive and stylish – obvs. Now folks, have I mentioned that “if a man walks into a bar” (or an amazon diva) in Italy, that it costs more to sit down to drink your pretentious bevvy than to stand but most especially, stand outside, like a derro in the street sipping your aperol spritz/wine … like a Queen (male or female). It is crystal clear (no psychic needed here) that the Italians are my PEOPLE!!!! Drinking alcohol in the street is only a tiny ballet step/nutbush move away from dancing in the street so you gotta know I need to apply for residency….and run for mayor.
Understanding the Italian menu – get ready to be SCHOOLED my loves!!!!
Can you live in Italy and be thin??? I think this is not possible. Every friggin thing on the menu is a carb (aka fat/kg/oompaloompa laden) and the most distubing thing…..pasta is the first course. It’s not the meal. These crazy Italians consider pasta the “starter” of the evening. Mains are called “secondi” and consist of mainly meat. Many a stylish and attractive foreigner like ourselves has ventured into a restaurant in Italy, sat down for the exquisite dining experience that everyone raves about, opened the menu, and been suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of confusion. If the menu is written exclusively in Italian (as was 437% the case here), the uninitiated are really in trouble. Consider us the UNINITIATED (did I spell that right, wth).
A safe decision would be to order something familiar, like spag bol, fettucine carbonara, garlic bread, you get the gist (actually not even one time did I see garlic bread on a menu, Australia what have you done). Or if you are my husband you might order Tagliata di Pollo and in your Aus-loser haste think that is Chicken Tagliatelle (in all honesty I thought that’s what he ordered too lol but shhhh don’t tell him).
When it arrives to the table, you might be surprised to find that it’s served with… ummm nothing else. It is JUST the FREAKING chicken! No potatoes, no nothing, just grilled chicken. If you’re like husband, then that piece of chicken (albeit delicious) is not enough to fill your belly. Is there something wrong with the Italian menu? Why is this not a complete meal? What are you missing, aside from the rest of your food? Insert husband’s sad face here.
Rest assured, there is nothing wrong with Italian menus, but they are set up differently from what we are used to and there seems to be an awful lot of courses. They are complicated for the “young players” on the Ausies in Italy Food Tour!!!
Ultimately, it wasn’t what we expected but we enjoyed it none the less. Food tasted delish (first salad of the trip, gag me pathetic bullshite) and we did the whole people Aperol Spritz skulling/watching heaven thing. Weather was exquisite, food unexpected but super nice, let’s call this a tick – overall!!!
Husband had been itching to whip out the credit card and make that plastic dance so we hit some shops. If you know me at all you know I’m a total “resting bitch face fun sponge” when it comes to shopping cause I hate it but hey…I just want my better half (nope can’t even say that with a straight face) to be happy so I trotted along behind. As punishment did I convince him to buy a woollen cardigan, did I tell him he looked European, fashionable and hot in it? YES I DID – NO I AM NOT SORRY.
For those of you who will see husband wearing said girlieness over winter you know what to say to him right….WOW, YOU LOOK SO EUROPEAN, FASHIONABLE AND HOT!!!! (I also may have spent 2 weeks nagging and trying to convince him to buy a linen scarf that all the cool Italian (gay) men were wearing, by saying how cutting edge and sexy they were but alas he was wise to my war games and wouldn’t. Dammit!!!!)
We went to a really trendy Italian restaurant for dinner. Not a checkered tablecloth or candle dripping wax down the old wine bottle in sight. It felt weird and space age but we hoped they could still whip up some carbs to make us smile. Insert my smiling face here. You won’t be surprised to hear husband ordered pasta (SNOOZE but he got it right this time) and I ordered pizza (SNOOZE and how many is that now for the trip – maybe 7?). Super cool decor but it did raise an issue I’ve been meaning to mention to all you Blog Lovin Legends from the the minute I arrived in Italy…..DOGS!!!!!
Food porn for ya’sWhat is the Italian love of DOGS all about???? Legit they are everywhere and apparently you are allowed to take them anywhere – including into restaurants – so clearly the whole hygiene law thing is not so much a thing here. I guess it saves on scraping plates cause peeps can just sling their leftovers onto the floor for the slobbery mouths of the mutts to devour. We saw people taking them into department stores, bars, up Leaning Tower of Pisa and we even saw one inside the Vatican. People get a grip and leave Fido at home so that I can eat my food without those puppy dog eyes boring into me begging for scraps.
Anyway, there was a dog or two in the restaurant and whilst we looked surprised everyone else in there seemed totes cool with it so we’ve decided next trip we will bring our little nutter of a mutt along too.
Another awesome days folks full of interesting moments….
Highlights – David of course
Lowlights – menus all in Italian
Weather – High 18/Low 9