Shop owners struggle to make a statement in a miniscule space. This store owner wants customers to know the full extent of his goods, so he's clustered them on either side of his door. The entry was so crowded, it was difficult to push through the doorway.
They seem to have missed the fact that it is difficult to feel relaxed knowing this "garden" is on a major street in Florence where the chance of being mangled by a passing truck is greater than the chance of adding the latest fashion item to your wardrobe.
I am convinced the last time anyone in Florence had enough elbow room was Napoleon. And even he had to go to the bathroom to get it!
|Napoleon's Bathroom in the Palatine Museum of the Pitti Palace|
I've written before about my upstairs neighbors, a couple in their eighties who argue like children, often screaming at one another until they exhaust themselves and fall into bed. Now, after three weeks, I know even more about them.
He is evidently a former opera star because he often bangs out the beat with a metal spoon or with his foot on the floor as he warbles his vocalizations. (I never dreamed I'd find a man in Italy who "plays the spoons" as it's known in Appalachia!) She was a furniture mover in a former life. The medieval wooden ceiling transmits every screech of chair and table that she makes many times a day. These noises, of course, are interspersed with the screaming at each other or at the street in general.
|My Juliet balcony, with the yellow drape, is directly above above the actors' flat.|
So, I'm not ready to leave this dazzling jewel in Tuscany quite yet, but, when it's time, I'll be happy to return home to Arizona where I can sit on my terrace and enjoy, in true privacy, the beauty of pristine desert. It's a place where no one screams or rehearses movie scenes and the only sound is the plaintive cry of the mourning dove.
I'll be ready for that.
Just not quite yet.