Chapter Twenty-Five

June 11

SOON, THE DAYS begin to melt into each other as we fall into a rhythm and daily routine. With no set times that we have to be anywhere, we could easily have slept in each day and let the time drift away, but we both wake as soon as the sunlight hits our faces in the morning, ready to face that day’s adventures. We get into the habit of making general plans for our days the night before, so we at least have a sense of purpose as we stretch and yawn in the breezy bedroom. Sleeping with the window open wearing nothing each night in Italy is something I highly recommend, by the way.

We’ve mostly been sticking to areas close to Trequanda, so there is no need to rush, but on the days when we have to set alarms or stick to schedules, we find ourselves just as eager to rise and shine. One of those days is our day spent in Florence, where we want to arrive early for a full day of sightseeing, food, and art. We booked tickets in advance for the Uffizi, and as we pass the long entrance line that wraps around the building, I’m thankful we had.

“We’d better book our Rome tours in advance,” Carter says to me as we watch a tourist in line struggle to get a Romani woman to leave her alone.

“You can say that again,” I says, making a mental note of all the places in Rome I want to see.

I quickly forget about Rome as we walk the halls, taking in paintings, sculptures, and all kinds of beauty from the different eras of Italian art. Just when I think we must be toward the end of the museum, we turn another corner and I see that we’ve only scratched the surface. It’s equal parts breathtaking and overwhelming. It’s hard to appreciate any one painting when there are hundreds more to divert your attention.

After getting our culture on and feeling quite refined, we hop on a double-decker bus to see more of the city. Compared to the warm, crowded museum, this is much more my scene. I love architecture and Florence is an absolutely stunning city. We get a great view of the famous bridge at Point Vecchio and decide to hop off the tour to explore the area a bit more. We wind in and out of stalls where vendors sell their wares. I am trying on a pair of sunglasses in one of the shops when I catch Carter’s gaze in my reflection.

“What are you thinking about, staring like that?” I ask, turning around.

“Just that even with all the beautiful things I’ve seen today, this is my favorite view,” he says.

“Careful, mister,” I tease. “Talk like that is going to make me blush.”

But it’s too late. I know my cheeks are pink under his gaze and don’t really care. I have started to call that look his “Italy eyes.” Maybe it’s just how everyone looks at someone they love in such a beautiful place. Maybe it’s our time apart that makes him see me in a new way. Either way, I have never felt more beautiful than I do seeing myself through his eyes.

We hop back on the bus and make our way to the center of town where we have lunch in the shadow of the Duomo. Speaking of beautiful views, I find myself openly gaping at it as I sip wine and lean back in my chair.

“You’re so much happier outside here than in, aren’t you?” Carter says, laughing as I dribble a bit of wine down my chin in my stupor.

“How could anyone want to be inside on a day like today?” I reply. “I mean, the museum was great, but just look at this place.”

“So, you don’t want to go inside? And we should just skip David?”

“No, no. You know I love the inside of these cathedrals. And I’ve got to meet David.”

The David sculpture also resides in Florence and I really am looking forward to seeing it. We’ve been joking for days that you can’t really say you’ve been to Italy if you don’t meet David. There are other things on our list that we still need to do, but we’ve talked about the David as if he were a real person and I can only hope that “meeting” him will live up to my expectations. We’d discovered on our arrival that there are replicas of him throughout the city, but that doesn’t mean I want to skip the real thing.

And so, we made our way to the Academia Gallery after walking through the Cathedral de Santa Maria del Fiore, which we discover is the Duomo’s full name. It is striking and lovely as all Italian churches have been thus far, but I know we have a new friend to meet.

Walking through the Academia Gallery makes me feel genuinely sad for every piece of art housed there that is not named David. Michelangelo’s masterpiece is even more magnificent than I could have imagined, and it makes every other sculpture there seem less amazing by comparison. You first view David from about a hundred feet away and it’s clear just how massive a sculpture it is, even from that distance. But as you walk slowly toward it, you start to realize just how incredible it is in both size and skill.

“Wow,” breathes Carter as we make our way toward him through the molasses-like crowd.

“Hi, David,” I say. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

A tourist nearby who must also speak English turns to give me a weird glance, but I don’t care. This is so cool to see, and I don’t care who hears my reverent greeting.

“His eyes are facing Rome,” says Carter. “Look how defiant he looks.”

I smile, happy that Carter has done his research.

“He’s like us,” I say. “Clearly, no one can hurt him here, but he’s daring anyone who would try.”

My mind wanders for a moment back to home and the life we’re escaping from on this trip. I make a mental note to check in with Sam soon and post an update on the blog before bringing my attention back to the here and now.

“Take care, David,” I say as we make our way into the next section of the museum.

“Sorry for staring at your junk,” says Carter, causing us both to break into giggling fits. We get a few glares from the staff, but we both make like David and defiantly stare back.