I do like Florence.

This is my apartment. It’s quite a big one-bedroom place, up fifty-six flights of stairs (admittedly I lost count after the first four or so, but believe me, it’s a long way to the top carrying a suitcase). This means I have a lovely view of the roofs of Florence, and Florence is a city with lovely roofs. It’s quieter than Rome, cleaner than Pisa, friendlier-feeling than either, and THERE IS A CHURCH WITH MASACCIO’S FRESCOES OF THE TRIBUTE MONEY AND THE EXPULSION FROM PARADISE within FIVE minutes walk from my flat! Sorry for the all caps, but one of my art teachers specialised in the early Renaissance, and it’s pretty exciting to see lectures and essays come alive on the wall RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF ME! Ahem.

In less artistically elevated news, there’s also a Salvatore Ferragamo shop down the street, lots of very fetching little shops selling paper and pastries and olive oil, and a market where nuns buy their asparaghi (and take forever doing it, might I add). I’m still looking for the shop where TLC says I will buy flowers every day. She said it would be next to the place where I meet the charming Italian violinist/pianist/something romantic. I reminded her that I was moving to Florence for two months, not into a Meg Ryan movie.