Entry 6: Firenze!

As promised, Marci is there promptly at 3:30AM. Our plan was to take a taxi to the train station and catch the 4:42 Eurostar train, which will get us to Florence (Firenze) a little after 9:00. Any sleep we have missed by waking up at this ungodly hour, we can make up on the train.

Marci suggests now that, rather than pay for a taxi both ways, we drive to the train station and park in its parking lot. As I am merely a babe in the woods for this journey, and can find no compelling reason to veto the change, I readily agree.

It is not until we actually reach the train station that the wisdom of this new plan begins to be seriously called into question. Go to any airport, train station, bus station, whatever, practically anywhere else in the world at any time and there will always be a large collection of cars, left by people who are making overnight journeys, longer trips, or just waiting to pick up friends. Here in Naples, however, the parking lot is completely deserted. This is not a good sign. Not willing to be the only car in the whole lot, Marci and I find an open space on the corner of a side street and park there. She begins a low-grade anxiety that will stay with her more or less all day, worrying whether Naples's infamous thieves will help themselves before the day is through. I do my best to reassure her.

"It's Sunday, they all go to church the first thing in the morning and feel really good during the day. They don't want to put their souls in jeopardy right away. Besides, the streets are full of parked cars, and they can't steal every one . . ." I then have the good sense to bite my tongue to keep from finishing the thought: ". . . they will go for the best looking ones first." I congratulate myself silently for my discretion; on the block we parked on, Marci's rental car is far and away the best-looking of the bunch.

All the ticket windows are closed when we arrive. Instead, we can purchase our tickets from an automated kiosk. Problem #1: The 4:42 train is not listed, and the next departure is an hour later. Problem #2: The kiosk does not accept credit cards, and purchasing my tickets, including the return ticket, uses the last of my euros (literally; by the end I am putting in 10- and 20-eurocent pieces to make exact change).

Waiting in the train station for our new departure, we meet another Navy member, who is taking the train as far as Rome to meet friends who are arriving from America. Marci asks this sailor if she thinks the car will be all right where it is. The sailor begins laughing. Marci is visibly disturbed as we wait.

We board our train and settle into confortable seats, until the conductor points out that we are in the first-class area with second-class tickets. Oops. We pack up our stuff and head back to the second-class coaches. Our tickets tell us what car we are in, and we find open seats. Our new companion is a wealth of information, all of it bad: "If you have a jacket, place it over the headrest of your seat, otherwise you'll get lice." I can tune out immediately (as Darcy can attest), and eventually even Marci has to announce to Ms. Talkative that she is now going to sleep.

Changing trains in Rome, we are unable to find seats next to each other. Fortunately, after a half-hour the announcement comes that breakfast is served in the dining car. Marci and I grab our stuff (leaving our water bottles behind to save our seats) and head to the dining car. Marci buys me breakfast -- a croissant, cappuccino, and juice for 4 euros. I notice a gentleman at a nearby table reading a book. The title, as far as I can decipher, has to do with the Holy Grail, and I wonder if it is based on the current Da Vinci Code craze. Fortunately, his English is more than passable, and he hands the book to me. It is in Italian, of course, but it is a translation from an earlier English book that I have actually read. Its subject is not the Holy Grail, but rather an investigation into the disappearance of the Ark of the Covenant, and the theory that it is kept in an unassuming church in Ethiopia.

We pass the next fifteen minutes as the gentleman regales us with his plans to spend his upcoming vacation researching the Norman roots of his family. I was unaware that the Normans had invaded this far south in Europe, and Marci and I both listen, enraptured. The gentleman leaves to return to his seat. Marci and I decide to sacrifice the water bottles and remain in the dining car for the duration of the voyage. We compare CDs and each other's musical tastes. It is not the first time, nor will it be the last, that I notice the profound similarity between Marci and Darcy, and I expect the two would become fast friends easily. I propose that, since Marci lives in San Diego where the annual JAG conference is held in June, I should bring Darcy with me next year, and we can double-date with Marci and her boyfriend. This proposal meets with ready approval. We settle in for the remainder of the ride, Marci with her book and I with mine.

Finally, we arrive in Firenze a little after 10:00. From the Rick Steves travel guide, we know that nearly all the places we wish to visit are within walking distance from the train station. We pass through the various open markets, some of which are still setting up.

Turning a corner, I get my first glimpse of Firenze's famous cathedral. The cathedral's most notable feature is its 140-foot cupola, the largest in Europe, larger even than St. Peter's basilica in the Vatican and the U.S. Capitol. This architectural feature is the subject of the book Brunelleschi's Dome, which explains the political, economic, and engineering aspects surrounding the century-long construction of the cupola. I know Darcy's mother's cousin, Julie in Indiana, reads these entries as they are published. I now feel certain that her husband Willard, whose appetite for knowledge is insatiable, is even now heading to the bookstore to get this book, if he has not already devoured it.

The cupola, however, is balanced by the architectural designs of the rest of the cathedral. Unlike the cold grey granite of the Gothic cathedrals in Britain and northern Europe, this cathedral is a blaze of colored marble, reds and greens, accented with sculpture everywhere. Also noteworthy are the doors to the baptistry, set with Biblical scenes in gold.

A short walk from the cathedral and we are in another piazza with a sculpture garden. I can point out the mythological figures and explain their significance to Marci. I take a picture of a sculpture of a nude woman. The sculpture itself is unremarkable, but what catches my eye is the green metallic figleaf, which was obviously bolted on at a later time in an effort at prudery. Also present is a replica of Michelangelo's famous sculpture of David. Because of the construction and renovation, most of the surrounding buildings are covered in scaffolding.

This is a pity, because we are now outside the Uffizi, one of the most famous museums in Europe and home to the largest collection of Italian Renaissance art in the world. By conscious choice and prearranged plan, we will not be going in; even at this early hour, the line stretches for hours, and we cannot afford to waste a moment of our precious time. Fortunately, there are sculptures outside the Uffizi, representing the masters of Italian Renaissance art, literature, and exploration -- Botticelli, Vespucci, Da Vinci. I take photos of all the men I recognize.

At the other end of the Uffizi courtyardis the River Arno, and a short walk takes us to the Ponte Vecchio, which is considered the most famous bridge in Firenze. Personally, standing on the Ponte Vecchio I can see another bridge just upstream that looks like it deserves to be more famous -- more stately, somehow. I'm just saying.

Midpoint on the Ponte Vecchio is a bust of somebody famous -- I can't read the inscription to figure out who he was or what he did. More fascinating are the dozens of padlocks attached to the decorative fence surrounding the bust. Marci explains the local custom of sweethearts writing their name on padlocks, securing them to the bridge, and throwing the key into the Arno, thus making their love permanent. I tell Marci I have a cheap airport padlock in my traveling bag, but she says she isn't sure it will take unless my sweetheart is with me. So Darcy and I will need to return another time.

Across the Arno we poke into various shops as Marci strives to find gifts for everyone on her list. In a stationery store I buy a pair of unlined journals filled with cream paper -- one for D, one for me. While Marci continues to shop, I head outside to a fruit stand; Marci joins me a moment later and we buy some plums and fresh bottles of water. We then walk a few moments to the Palazzo Pitti, a former royal palace now converted into a museum. We apuse only to view the artists with their easels, creating magnificent watercolors. Again, our time is limited, so no musuem visit, but we sit in the shade and enjoy our plums.

After a cafeteria style lunch (seafood salad and pasta, with more water -- generally, urine the color of lemon jello is a clear indicator of dehydration, and urine the color of iced tea is cause to call a doctor right away), we head off to accomplish our main goal -- shopping. Marci's ultimate goal is to find a leather briefcase for herself, and one for Chris her boyfriend if possible. In order to get the best price, we will visit at least eight different vendors. Along the way, we stop at a shop that makes handcrafted glass jewelry, and I pick up a pendant for Darcy in electric blue. Marci tries on several. Her olive skin is similar in tone to Darcy's, so I grab one of the same electric blue, place it around her neck, and show her how it stands out against her skin. She is sold, and she will purchase it along with several others as gifts.

At the end of the day Marci finds her best bargain, and is able to purchase two bags for a total of 200 euros. In the meantime, I have purchased gifts of my own -- nothing quite so expensive, but a few new silk ties to go with some shirts I had bought in Houston, and a bargain at 5 euros each.

I also continue my tradition of purchasing a new pipe on annual training. We pass by a tobacconist and I pop in, while Marci is kind enough to wait and indulge my vice. I spy a pipe that immediately catches my interest -- the mouthpiece, specifically, look unusual. I beckon to the storekeeper and ask what the mouthpiece is made from.

He points to his head and says something that sounds like, "cardinale." I don't understand the Italian and ask what the word means in English, but he doesn't know. As he turns to ask his co-worker for a translation, I run through my knowledge of pipes and try to figure it out. What has to do with a head, but is used to make pipes? Then inspiration hits.

"Antler? Like a deer?"

His face lights up. Bingo. Unable to resist, I have my pipe. (Later, on the train ride home, I take a closer look at the "antler" and wonder if it is just a little too smooth, and is just antler-colored plastic. Either way, I am pleased with my purchase.

Our shopping now ended, and our bellies full of food, fruit, and gelato (and in my case, a Sicilian cannoli as well), we realize we still have two hours before our train leaves. We head to the train station and learn that an earlier train will be departing in ten minutes. Even better, our current tickets may be used, with a small payment of 8 euros each to the conductor. This is too good to pass up, and we are soon back in Naples.

Now is the moment of truth. Marci's anxiety level, nearly non-existent in the bustle of the marketplace, has been rising steadily since the train passed through Rome. We exit the station, walk a few blocks . . .

. . . and, miracle of miracles, the car is there, unmoved and unharmed. Marci announces that this has officially become a perfect day, and I agree, with the caveat that no day without my Darcy can ever be truly perfect.

Marci drops me off at my hotel, and we confirm we will meet again tomorrow night for the Naples After Work tour we have both signed up for. Nothing remains of my evening now but household tasks. I change clothes, start a few loads of laundry, and head next door to the trattoria for a pizza.

This has indeed been a fine day.