I could barely recall my trip to Florence 20 years earlier. I knew I’d seen the statue of David, and the Duomo, and loved its doors, and been surprised by how spare its interior was compared to its façade. I still wear the gold ring I bought on the Ponte Vecchio but long ago lost one of the gold hoops I’d gotten as well. Was there anything else?
The Youthful Adventurer and I weren’t 100 yards off the train when I remembered the narrowness of Florence’s streets, how much fun I’d had with friends jumping back up on the ancient sidewalks when a car passed. This time, he would be the one leaping up to the curb to escape the traffic or down again to let another tourist pass. Here in the land of gelato and pizza, we were brought back to the time of the Medicis, to Michelangelo. We wonder how tall they were.
The Youthful Adventurer proceeds from jumping off sidewalks to touching glass, flapping papers, knocking into shutters, and setting off alarms at the Palazzo Pitti. Walking the grounds, he can’t get into much mischief. He is awed in the Medici chapel at the church of San Lorenzo. I learn that as much—and as surprisingly—as he is attentive in churches, we need to stay away from museums. He is 13 on this trip. We speed through the Uffizi when I would like to linger. I’m going to have to come back to Florence again.