Arrivare a Firenze.

Arrival in Florence.

It all worked out: the train I grabbed to Ventimiglia headed straight to Florence, so I never had to get off — bought a ticket on board. I shared a six-seat compartment with Robin Kaloc, an art student from the Czech Republic. Our French was about the same, so we talked a bit, then tried our best to sleep. After only a few minutes of lying down, a man burst in yelling at us, first in Italian, then in English: "Two tickets! You pay for two tickets, not six! You only get two seats!" We sat up, and he went away. In a little while we each lay down again across the seats we hadn't paid for, but he never came back to hassle us.

The area of Florence around the train station was just a dirty city, but minutes into my bus ride, the buildings all got centuries older. Florence is in a river basin, and the bus wound up the hillside, pausing at the Piazza Michelangelo. From that piazza, you can see every single rooftop, none more than three stories high; extending above them are a few steeples, neat enough, but dwarfed in size and majesty by Il Duomo. I've seen pictures, but to see it tower over an entire city is something else. Look, you'll have to believe me for now. I'll get a picture and you'll see.

I am now in Nate's little kitchen, chilling with Angelico the cat. In a few hours Nate will be awake again, and we'll head out into Florence.