7th Invades The Mediterranean: Florence
Posted by Anzie Corgan on July 18, 2005

Hello there and welcome to Livorno, read my Adventures Ashore Port Guide. I quickly glanced through the three page leaflet that was placed outside of my door before tossing it aside. It was 6 am and I was in one of the largest freight ports in Italy, and apparently so because all I could see for miles was nothing but large storage bins stacked on each other. So much for a beautiful sunrise.

After equipping myself with my normal morning attire, I begin my journey to deck fourteen, where my all you can eat breakfast is waiting for me. I’m not a morning person and anyone who’s ever seen me in the morning knows that my morning persona runs parallel on the emotional level of Eeuore. Hunched over my high starch breakfast I look like the sad clown in the circus. Thank God for coffee.

After a nice cup of coffee, I head down to seven-deck where I meet my parents and recieve information about our tour of Florence. After our short briefing, we were escorted off the boat and onto a large Greyhound sized tour bus where we were introduced to our tour guide for the day.

“Hello my name is Giovanni,” said a petite and elderly looking Italian man in a worn suit coat and tie. “I ama going to be your guide today through the beautiful city of Florence.” His toothy grin reached from ear to ear. “We have about an hour and a half drive ahead of us before we reach the city of Florence so I would like to give you this opportunity to use the rest room and do whatever else you need to do before we leave.” No one got up. “Okay then let us begin our Journey into Florence!” And with that we were on our way.

This was about the time that I slipped my ear phones on. You know it’s a good thing that God invented Ipods for trips like this because heaven forbid I might pay attention to what Giovanni was saying. I rocked out for a little while but as I watched the beautiful Tuscan landscape spread out around my window I became curious and wanted to know more about the wonderful majesty that spread before me.

Giovanni was a very enthusiastic man with very enthusiastic gestures. As he talked he wildly swung his short stubby arms around as if he was swaying in the wind. He talked endlessly of the history, politics, and architecture of the hills and valleys that we passed. The man’s knowledge of the land we were passing was so endless it seemed he would nearly burst.

About one third of the way into our bus drive Giovanni shrieked with delight and pointed outside of the right side of the bus. “Pisa!” I look out the window and with the sun still rising behind it I spot the one and only Tower of Pisa. I laugh to myself as I think about how this small city used to be the mighty capitol of a commercial republic. Perhaps someday America will be remembered just like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, as a famous mistake. As I push my expatriate thoughts aside as we move on down the road. Gradually Giovanni’s voice fades out as my own thoughts rush in.

The rest of the bus ride is indescribable, and too complex for words. In fact pictures can hardly do justice to the beautiful landscapes I saw that morning, and sadly the only way you can truly understand this beauty is by visiting the Tuscan country side for yourself. I was a transcendentalist humbled by God’s creation so much that I can only compare the experience to an orgasm. It was here in the Tuscan valleys that I found my Walden Pond.

I could go on forever but my sponsor informed me that this marks the point in time that I throw the metaphors out the window and get back to the story. Enjoy.

“More then any other place, Florence, which means ‘the Flowering,’ is the jewel of the Renaissance,” said Giovanni as we entered through the city’s gigantic gates. Our first stop was de Galleria dell’ Accademia (the Academy of Fine Arts) the museum that housed several of Michelangelo’s most famous statues, including the David. As the bus maneuvered its way through the tight city streets, I got a glimpse of a city rich with history caught up in modernization. This flower of the Renaissance although still gloriously beautiful had been dug up and stuck in a pot. But even then it took my breath away.

We exited the bus on a crowded cobble stoned street packed with tourists and street vendors. We slowly pushed our way though the crowd being cautious not to step on the hand painted copies of famous artworks and nude women that were laid neatly on the ground ready for anxious tourists to buy.

Once inside the Academy of Fine Arts I became amazed at how small this famous museum was, it consisted of only two rooms. One featured countless paintings done by many of the most famous painters of the Renaissance, and the other dedicated completely to the statues of Michelangelo. It was there that we saw the David. Upon entering the long hall adorned by many of Michelangelo’s unfinished sculptures, the statue of David looks almost exactly as it does in any text book. His height and position seem almost normal due to the fact that I’ve seen so many pictures of this ornate piece of work. Amazingly however, as I walked closer to this ordinary sculpture it grew and came alive before my eyes. By the time I had reached the end of the hall my jaw had dropped in awe of this amazing creation.

Towering more then fifteen feet over my head stood one of the most ornate and intricate pieces of art work I had ever seen. Its sheer size and attention to detail more or less felt as if it dwarfed my mere existence. Standing there open mouthed I’m sure I resembled Sister Wendy Becket before shooting a PBS special on the work of Michelangelo. I must have gawked at the sculpture for at least a half hour because after awhile I developed a neck cramp which in turn forced me to leave. Before the group left, I was able to find the time to browse the gift shop but eventually gave up due to the fact that a twelve euro postcard with David’s rock solid member really wasn’t something I was about to send my grandparents.

Once Giovanni collected everyone, we were off once again. This time we would go by foot to Santa Croche church with only two scenic stops at the Duomo and the Babtistery. Giovanni promised that it would only be a brief walk . . . I should of shot him for lying. See for those of you not familiar with Florence the distance from the The Academy of Fine Arts to the Bapistry and Duomo is about eight miles, and the distance from there to Santa Croche Church is exactly fiften. Also keep in mind that, that day it was exactly 98 degrees out. Put the whole distance together and you’ve got over an hour and a half walk in sweltering heat.

Fast forward.

We’d been walking for about twenty minutes and we still hadn’t reached the Bapistry. I was hungry, tired, and it was so hot my balls felt as if they had permanently attached themselves to my thighs. Amazingly Giovanni was barely sweating even in that stuffy suit coat of his. I couldn’t help but wonder how this fat little man was able to walk so far in such heat. He just kept on waddling in that suit jacket and tie. Suddenly his waddle stopped and he turned around.

“It is this Cathedral,” Giovanni points to the arched dome of the cathedral, “the Duomo, that symbolizes the wealth and power of Florence in its golden age. It took fourteen years to build, and was paid for entirely by the cloth makers’ guild. The facade is decorated with multi-colored marble in pleasant geometric shapes,”Giovanni exclaimed happily.

I felt as if I was melting away. It was now twelve noon and already heat waves were rising off of the cobble stoned streets.

“Brunelleschi built the huge, lanterned dome using a revolutionary method that was later copied for St. Peter’s in Rome and St. Paul’s in London.

I was melting at this point I knew it. If this man didn’t hurry the fuck up I knew I was most likely going to pass out.

“The roof is supported by high Gothic vaulting, and the interior of the fresco of adorned with a fresco of the Last Supper and beautiful stained glass.

“HEY YOU HURRY THE FUCK UP I’M GOING TO DIE OF HEAT STROKE,” I wanted to yell in his face. Instead he just continued talking.

“Now over here across from the cathedral is the Bapistry, decorated with white and green marble.The magnificent doors present scenes from the Bible sculpted on a series of of bronze panels. Even Michelangelo considered the East Doors, the ones we are viewing now, so beautiful that he named them the gates of paradise.”

I was dying for sure, I knew it. I could feel my internal organs slowly melt away.

“Let’s move on shall we?” He smiled. I followed swearing under my breath.

An hour later we arrived at Santa Croche church. Flushed and over heated I ran inside and through myself on a pew. Softly I could hear Giovanni show the rest of the tour group the tombs where Michelangelo, Macchiavelli, Galileo, and Rossini were buried. My skin was clammy and white from dehydration and I knew I was only minutes from passing out. Luckily my father helped me to the nearest water fountain. Lucky for me I made it to the air conditioned bus before I passed out from exhaustion.

Nonexistent is the best way to describe the ride home. Fatigued from dehydration and the heat exhaustion I had passed out cold. In fact I really can only remember bits and pieces of the rest of that day. Scared, my parents took my into the infirmary where they rehydrated me and cooled me down. This was a cruise! I was supposed to end up in the infirmary for alcohol poisoning not heat stroke! I guess it was just my luck that something like this would happen. After being discharged from the infirmary I was taken up to my stateroom to rest and as the boat left port around six for the city of Naples, I was sound asleep.