Forsaken, Almost Human, He Sank Beneath Your Wisdom Like A Stone

On Thursday afternoon, when I reached my next of many places to call home, I stopped and stared for a moment at the great big wooden door that separated me from my CouchSurfing host’s apartment in the city that birthed the Italian renaissance, Florence, and wondered whether the two of us would get along as well as Ken and I did. After all, when you’re CouchSurfing, you never really know for sure who you will be spending your time with or what kind of place you will be sleeping in. Each city I reach is like a brand new leap of faith. But lucky for me, I have yet to be disappointed by the company I’ve kept throughout my travels.

Alberto, My host in Florence, is a seemingly introverted Italian man with kind eyes and an impeccable taste in music, film, and literature. His taste in music alone was enough to know immediately that we would get along just fine. So without hesitation, following a few minutes of introductions, I dropped my bag on the floor, picked up his well-aged classical guitar, and strummed it softly while he grabbed two cold Coronas out of his fridge. As I churned out old time blues riffs and Led Zeppelin tunes, we sank deeper into his couch and talked about life and our aspirations for travel until the beer slowly emptied into our bellies.

Later on, I tried to convince him to let me make us dinner with the half empty bag of spaghetti I purchased at some second-hand grocery store outside the train station in Latina. But my attempt to “teach an Italian how to make pasta” only resulted in his laughter. So I set the table and drank red wine while he made us an amazing pasta dinner that I’m sure would have put anything I threw together to shame. After dinner, we met up with his friend Andrea and a few other CouchSurfers for a local Florentine celebration in honor of the city’s saint, San Giovanni. After picking them up in Alberto’s car, the five of us drove down to the city center to watch the fireworks and partake in the local festivities. But due to our late arrival, we couldn’t get close enough for the big sparkling explosions to truly capture our attention. Nevertheless, I was Still heavily entertained-just not by the fireworks. Standing next to me on a small bridge above the river was an incredibly old but outspoken woman with a tiny little dog, who sparked up a conversation with anyone that made even the slightest eye contact with her-including myself. Throughout the entire show, she continued to laugh wildly while yelling angrily at people because they were “clapping for a bunch of shit” (Translated by Alberto). However, due to her Italian tongue, I had no idea what she was saying, except for the three or four times when she grabbed my face exclaiming “Multo bella!!” and a few other words I understood here and there. I’m going to miss that crazy old gal, and her little dog too!

The next day, Alberto had to go to work and I was left in the company of my iPod, camera, and my thirst for new discoveries. As much as I enjoyed having a travel buddy in Rome, tackling a new city on my own was something I have not yet experienced, and I immediately fell in love with the challenge. I decided to head toward the Piazzale Michaelangelo, a large square located just south of the Arno River, where you get an amazing view of the entire city. But since I did so without using my map, I ended up taking the longest route possible;following street signs to be sure I was heading somewhat in the direction of the square, winding slowly up and around the sizeable hill it rests on instead of up the stairs that lead directly to Piazzale Michaelangelo. But despite the strenuous task of taking the long way up, I’m glad I did. After I crossed the river and started heading up the hill, there wasn’t a soul in sight and I had the whole place to myself. The only sounds I could hear other than the few cars that passed by, were the charming chirps of the Florentine birds and the wind blowing through the incredibly tall and beautifully bright green trees. Before I reached the top, however, my luck began to turn as the sun hid itself behind a gang of ominous gray clouds, and it started to pour down on me before I had a chance to scramble for shelter. I waited for 20 minutes with my camera under my shirt, hiding beneath the protective branches of the trees until the rain let up. But when I finally reached the square, the view was absolutely worth the walk-and the rain. I snapped a few photos, grabbed an ice-cream as a reward for my tremendous effort, gazed into the eyes of the centrally located and incredibly daunting copy statue of Michaelangelo’s David, and then head back down (the easy way!)

By the time I got back to the heart of the city, I was hot and tired and ready to head home. But as I crossed through the last main square leading to the train station, I heard one of my favorite Leonard Cohen songs flowing inconspicuously into my left ear. When I turned to see where it was coming from, there was a small, curly haired man with a funny accent and a guitar, playing “Suzanne” for 50 or 60 people sitting in the courtyard in front of the Santa Maria Novella church. And as if I were under some kind of spell, I instinctively changed course for the center of the square, and I sat and listened as he sang heart-wrenching covers of songs by Simon & Garfunkel, Bob Dylan, The Beatles, and many others. I laid in the grass and watched the clouds pass over me while he serenaded me for about an hour, until all of a sudden my concentration was broken by hundreds of people shouting over loud punk music coming from the other end of the square. When I finally ran over to see what was going on, I was facing hundreds of bright red flags and angry faces;It was a full on anti-fascist protest march, right before my eyes. There where hundreds or young punks and old anarchists alike, waving their red Commi flags high while The Clash played from the van that led them. As they tried to cross into one of the main streets on the square, they were met by police in what looked like riot gear, blowing smoke bombs into the air that sounded like gun shots, attempting to scare away nervous protesters and easily influenced young teenagers with nothing better to do on a cloudy Friday afternoon. So to avoid any police brutality, they took over the square and stayed there, ignoring the young song writer and his following of peaceful listeners. The irony was too much to take, so I head back home to rest for awhile before heading out for the festival taking place at night.

White night is a street festival, very commonly celebrated throughout Italy, where beer flows from the taps at every corner of each cobblestone street and musicians are present everywhere you look. I heard so many types of live music there that I was overwhelmed with joy as I listened to the Jazz, African, Gypsy-folk, and Rock and Roll musicians that were in attendance. Very often, according to Alberto, people just bring there instruments from home, making the festival a city-wide hootenanny where all are musicians and all the city’s a stage. There were also stands to purchase food outside each restaurant, and while the big hunks of strange meat they offered didn’t look all that tasty to me, the smell made me crave whatever it was all night. However, the more drunk I got, the less I focused on the food and the more I focused on dancing in the street. So the five of us spent the night dancing and drinking until we couldn’t dance anymore, and finally made the long drunken walk home down the moonlit, Tuscan streets, back to my cozy fold out couch. It's nights like this, that make me truly love CouchSurfing. Because if it wasn't for the locals leading my way, I would never have known about White Night. It made for a perfect ending to my time in Florence, and I can't wait to return.