I woke up this morning to Derek talking in his sleep. I don't know what he said, but I think it was some odd combination of Italian and English.
We left the hotel around 8 and headed over to the train station in order to get our tickets for tomorrow.
Then, with great anticipation in my body, I briskly led Derek towards the Uffizi. Every street vendor that he stopped at filled me with a desire to get there sooner. It was already 8:30, and that was when the museum opened.
Luckily, we found the line to the entrance to not be that long. About 5 times shorter than the line to the Louvre had been. We found, however, that this was not necessarily to our advantage. Due to the fact that they were only letting groups of forty or so people in at a time, our wait still lasted an hour and a half.
Derek would like me to put a paragraph in here that while we waited in line, he whooped me at blackjack, Texas hold'em, and war. I would like to say that I held my own at baseball and 5 card draw.
Once we got inside the Uffizi, the reason for the slow entrance became clear: the Uffizi is small. The outside is relatively large, two three-story buildings connected across, however the art is only exhibited on the third floors.
Quantity is a weak rival to quality, though, and the Uffizi is filled to the brim with quality. Gazing at such beauties as The Birth of Venus left me filled with great wonder and awe.
Upon leaving the Uffizi, we headed (unknowingly) into the heart of Florence's street market, a great source of leather products. It was here that Derek fell in love. Not with any beautiful Italian woman, but with one of Italy's finest leather trenchcoats. After much careful thought, he decided to pass the coat by.
We found a nearby restaurant, sat down, and had some lunch. After this, we headed back to our hotel. On the way back, I purchased a phone card. Back at the hotel, I called Jennifer, and Derek went out to do some more shopping.
When he returned, we headed over to the home of Michelangelo's David: the Accademia. We never reached our intended destination, however, because of a giant protest that filled the Florinian streets.
Heading back to our hotel, we once again passed through the street markets. It was then that I learned what Derek had done while I was on the phone earlier. He had drooled over "his" coat (no actual drooling took place, folks). Apparently, he was much more smitten with his love than I had thought.
Well, it took him all day to make up his mind, but his resolve (and love) was great. In the end, the coat was his (and not at a bad price either. We managed to haggle the price down considerably.)
Time for dinner. The question on both of our minds was this: did all restaurants in Florence taste as good as Paoli's? The answer turns out to be no. Well, loved ones back home, you can be relieved to know that we will return to America.
And now here we sit, in the crowded Piazza della Signoria, surrounded by tourists and
side shows. These shows include Charlie Chaplin, a fire-breather, countless "statue"
people, and a Simon & Garfunkle-like singing group. Despite this busyness, it is a
beautiful plaza, and a nice way to relax, enjoy the mediterranean climate, and journal.
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