Letters From Florence

Observations on the Inner Art of Travel

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Photos from Letters From Florence (not in order)

 “I am in my Florence abode following a hellish entrance to this city. Where are the bloody Italians? It has everything but Italians—every nationality, including lots of Spaniards. Where I am, behind the train station, Florence looks much like a third-world country. Although the streets are cleaned each night, it looks dirty, perhaps because I just arrived from Munich, which is incredibly clean. The tall glasses of German beer are replaced by small cups of coffee, with pizza and pizza and pizza. My room is not the palace one pictures when thinking of Florence, but the narrowest of rooms, barely wide enough that I don’t hit the walls on either side. A whole family lives in the tiny kitchen with a computer and a TV on. The kitchen table and related things are all in the narrow corridors. I am staying on the top floor, great for lugging all my stuff—forty pounds of books, a laptop, clothes, and my pocketbook. I carried all that stuff around Florence after leaving the train station about 11 p.m.” – page 1 from Letters from Florence