TRAVEL I MEMOIR
Beyond the Ponte Vecchio
A slow start to the Tuscan week immersed in warmth, art, and opera
“Under the shadow of a stately Pile,
The dome of Florence, pensive and alone,
Nor giving heed to aught that passed the while,
I stood, and gazed upon a marble stone,
The laurelled Dante’s favourite seat. A throne.”
— William Wordsworth
After an exuberant week in Rome, I arrived at the Florence station — and hopped into a taxi en route to the Airbnb for my weeklong adventure in the Tuscan capital. The taxi drove through a tranquil neighborhood, both sides flanked by the archetypal Tuscan homes. The houses are typically painted yellow or off-white, distinguished by their external window shutters in dark green, dark brown, or grey to carry the deep tradition. Later, I learned there are rules mandating these specific colors to preserve the cultural legacy. Beyond their cultural significance, shutters play a practical role in temperature control.
Finally, the taxi halted before such a building — the huge wooden main door had the regality of a centuries-old palace. As I pressed the doorbell, a warm tone answered through the intercom, “Ciao, Manali! I’ll be right there.” The door creaked open, and an elderly gentleman stood before me — stout, white-haired. His sturdy frame and wrinkled face hinted at a lifetime of stories, his solid shoulders bore the weight of experience, and his eyes, though tired, had a youthful spark — a portrait of paradoxical agelessness. While ascending the staircase, spotting my not-so-graceful limp (a souvenir from a toe injury a few weeks prior,) he swooped in and snatched my luggage, making me feel like a sidekick in my own arrival story! Amid my protests, he quipped, “You’re in Italy now!” That was Gabriele, an eighty-year-old chivalrous man and my host in Florence.
The apartment was beautiful, and I had a room with a view! Sunlight streamed through tall windows, bathing the room in a warm Tuscan glow. The cool terracotta tiles had worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. A sudden knock on the door interrupted my reverie — Gabriele stood proffering an icepack, pointing at my toe, “Manali, I thought this might help with the pain.” His kind gesture touched me. Gabriele then fetched a map and graciously led me through the streets of Florence while the icepack numbed my pain.
During this conversation, I discovered he is a retired chef who once owned a restaurant. His warm hospitality suddenly made perfect sense. He highlighted the noteworthy restaurants and underscored the must-visit basilicas with unmissable art. By then, I sensed my week would be full of stories and delightful experiences!
It was almost noon, and I set out to explore the neighborhood — the Boboli Gardens and Porta Romana, a few meters away. The local vegetable vendors were wrapping up their vibrant displays, the rainbow-hued scoops were shimmering from the gelaterias, and the charming roadside cafes were beginning to stir to life. As I wandered the cafe-lined streets, I was ravenous. Gustapizza, in that area, is known to be an institution — I entered an almost empty restaurant that quickly filled up. The aroma of fresh basil and oregano mingled with the smoky flavors of wood-fired ovens. My year-old vegetarian vow felt like a victory lap in Italy, not a sacrifice. Opting for ‘Gustapizza’ from their menu, with arugula, cherry tomatoes, and shaved parmesan, was a delightful choice, and the Spritz Campari added the perfect touch to the culinary combination — my Florentine adventure had just begun.
“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”
― St. Augustine
Just a stone’s throw from Gustapizza stands the Basilica di Santo Spirito, a gem a passersby could dismiss as just another church. But it’s more than meets the eye — it’s an absolute must-see! Santo Spirito is the epitome of Renaissance architecture and Filippo Brunelleschi’s final masterpiece. Brunelleschi was deeply fascinated with geometry and optical illusion — and was the master of perspective theory. His adept use of lines, symmetrical arches, and classical entablatures brought about a refreshing revitalization of architectural clarity and coherence — a departure from the previous chaos and embellishments of the Gothic style.
As I stepped inside, I was greeted by the grey Corinthian columns carved from “Pietra Serena,” a favorite of Brunelleschi. His mathematical precision ensured symmetry, creating a harmonious and austere interplay of gray and white, accentuating the structural relationship. Following Brunelleschi’s death, three architects took on the task of completing the construction.
While entry to the church is complimentary, one can explore the secluded monastic world of the cloister and refectory with just an admission fee of 3 euros. I wandered through the sun-dappled cloister surrounded by the incredible frescoes telling the story of St. Augustine. The frescoed Last Supper by Bernardino Poccetti in the refectory is stunning. One of the church’s most important works stands at the transept’s altar: Madonna and Child with St. John, St. Martin, and St. Catherine martyr by Filippino Lippi. And finally, Michelangelo’s wooden ‘Crucifix” in the sacristy! The crucified Christ was crafted by the young Michelangelo in the 1490s when he was residing in the complex to study human anatomy. This marked the beginning of Michelangelo’s in-depth study of anatomy through dissecting cadavers. He presented the church with this sculpture as a token of appreciation. (Photography is restricted.)
Santo Spirito is an experience with so many hidden gems that it is challenging to capture in mere paragraphs. I’m thankful to Gabriele for urging me to explore this Basilica. After almost three hours of hushed “wows,” I exited as the church closed its doors.
The street ahead was already alive with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Piazza Santo Spirito boasts some of the best trattorias of Florence — I made it a regular haunt during my stay.
As I moseyed along the streets of Santo Spirito, I noticed some small arched windows. Later, Gabriele enlightened me that these are called buchette del vino (little wine doors.) For ages, these little openings have been the ultimate loophole for selling wine without running a full-blown shop and dodging taxes. It’s like Florence’s OG tax evasion strategy, straight out of the history books! However, during the Italian plague of 1629–1631, these windows were a clever solution for residents to safely acquire wine without close contact with others.
While walking toward the Ponte Vecchio bridge, another not-to-be-missed church, Santa Felicita, is on the way. As I entered the church, on the right was the “Capponi Chapel,” designed by Filippo Brunelleschi. It houses two of Pontormo’s greatest masterpieces — “The Annunciation” and the gilded-framed “The Deposition,” one of the most recognized milestones of early ‘Mannerism.’ When Lodovico Capponi commissioned Jacopo Carucci, known as ‘Pontormo,’ to conceptualize and execute the chapel’s interiors, Pontormo took three years to complete the work, barring everyone, including his patron from peeking at what he was doing throughout that time. Finally, he finished the chapel in 1528. The Capponi Chapel, nestled in a corner of the modest Santa Felicita church, could be easily missed, but it is a must-visit if one is a fan of Mannerism.
It was almost dusk; the Holy Trinity Bridge is a captivating vantage point for the sunset. As the sky transformed into warm amber, couples strolled hand in hand, serenaded by the busker’s soulful rendition of “If I Ain’t Got You.” I paused for some time, immersing myself in the moment before grabbing my dinner at Il Ricettario ( highly recommended for Tuscan cuisine) and making my way to St. Mark’s Anglican Church, where I eagerly anticipated enjoying my favorite opera, “The Marriage of Figaro” (Le Nozze di Figaro) that I had booked online.
I last watched Mozart’s masterpiece at the Vienna State Opera almost a decade back. “The Marriage of Figaro” was the first of three collaborations between Mozart and Da Ponte, followed by Don Giovanni and Così fan tutte. When Mozart was seeking to make a name for himself among Vienna’s opera enthusiasts, he got Lorenzo Da Ponte to write a libretto based on the controversial play by Pierre Beaumarchais, which was banned by the French monarchy; the play only saw the light of the stage in 1784.
Adapting it into an opera was daring in the equally censorious atmosphere of Joseph II’s Vienna, where it had faced yet another ban. However, Mozart and Da Ponte managed to get past the censorship. Premiering in 1786 at the Burgtheater in Vienna, “The Marriage of Figaro” is the romantic saga of servants Susanna and Figaro that culminates in a blissful marriage thwarting the advances of their employer, Count Almaviva, a philandering nobleman who was trying to seduce Susanna. In the narrative, as the aristocrats meet their reckoning, Mozart and Da Ponte emerge victorious in capturing the essence of the human drama unfolding during Figaro’s wedding day shenanigans.
Watching the opera again but this time in a church was exciting! I was one of the first to arrive; a girl at the entrance led me to my designated seat in the first row with my name elegantly displayed — a personalized gesture. The setting was intimate, and the stage exuded the aesthetic of the opera’s original period in the 18th century. The seats filled up in no time, and the grand piano in the corner signaled the start of the overture.
The overture of Figaro is a symphonic delight, with a pianissimo tremor building up the suspense until it erupts into a vivacious trumpet call, setting the stage for hilarity. The church’s lofty arches added a distinctive acoustic quality. The solo pianist took sole command of orchestrating the entire opera without the support of any other instruments. The perfect synergy between the characters and the pianist built up the emotions — from the exhilarating crescendos of joy to the depths of poignant moments. In the opera’s climactic moments, the harmonious exchange of the Count’s sincere baritone plea and the Countess’s graceful soprano acquiescence conveyed a genuine resolution. The finale resonated with the overture’s vivacious vibe — Mozart’s timeless characters couldn’t have been more alive in the production.
I left the church feeling wholesome. Both the productions in Vienna and Florence left me mesmerized. Comparing a production in a church with a single piano accompaniment to one in an opera house with a full-fledged orchestra is like contrasting two unique pieces of literature by one master storyteller. The intimate setting of a church, accompanied by a solo pianist, is like a meticulously crafted short story where every word holds a personal connection with the performers. On the other hand, the production in an opera house reads like an epic novel, with each section contributing to a grand narrative accompanied by a full-fledged orchestra. Both are distinct flavors and deserve to be experienced.
It was late by the time I reached home. I didn’t expect Gabriele to be awake. I enthusiastically shared my day’s highlights with him — he added a few more offbeat experiences to my week. While chatting, I remembered Gabriele offered laundry services, so I asked about the washer and dryer. He calmly suggested leaving the dirty linen for him to handle! I resisted; how could I burden an elderly person with a personal task like my laundry? Gabriele met my gaze and said, “To me, you’re not your gender or age; you’re just a human!” As I retired to my room, those words lingered in my mind while I gazed at the glittering Duomo from my window. Reflecting on Gabriele’s simplicity and inclusive perspective, I thought the world would be so much kinder if we all embraced such a mindset.
The first day in the Tuscan capital was delightful, setting the beautiful tone for the week ahead.
“My father says that there is only one perfect view — the view of the sky straight over our heads….”
— E.M. Forster, A Room with a View
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