Richard Turen
Florence is glowing in sunshine after several days of rain. We arrived on a weekend, and the streets were packed -- almost entirely with Americans, it seemed.
We are here taking our second annual vacation with a group of 33 clients. This will be a cruise aboard a Ponant yacht that has been chartered by Abercrombie & Kent. We will be sailing around the southern coast of Italy and then up to Venice.
But first, Florence for four nights.
We are staying at the Hotel Excelsior, where I think I would stay again -- even if I had to sleep in the lobby.
For me, as a former resident of Tuscany, the Excelsior Hotel lobby is less a hotel entrance and more a theatrical production in which you, regrettably, have been cast as the underdressed extra. The marble floors alone seem to whisper, "Ah, you wore those shoes? Bold."
Up to that point, I had been enjoying my hands-free Skechers.
It is the final day of our stay, and I am taking notes in the lobby greeting friends as they stop by.
Everything gleams with the kind of polished confidence only a city built by Medici money can pull off. The lobby furniture is plush in that "we spent a fortune on this, please don't actually sit on it" way.
The staff glide through the lobby with the serene, unbothered elegance of people who know exactly how many Michelin stars are within walking distance and exactly how little you understand about Tuscan wine. They greet you warmly, but with the faint, unmistakable air of professionals who have already assessed your luggage, your posture and your likelihood of tipping in euros.
In short, the Excelsior lobby is Florence distilled: beautiful, theatrical, slightly intimidating and certain that it is better dressed than you. It doesn't just welcome you; it evaluates you, gently but thoroughly, before allowing you to proceed to the elevators.
The hotel sits on one of those Florence locations, Piazza Ognissanti, with the St. Regis Hotel just across the square and the Arno River's right bank running alongside hotel rooms for the fortunate few.
On our second night, Angela and I had a night alone, and we crossed the Ponte alla Carraia bridge over the Arno to the Oltrarno side. This is my favorite part of the city because it is the dividing point where Florence stops behaving like it is an outdoor Renaissance theme park and starts behaving like a city where Florentines actually live.
We walked along the other side of the Arno and found a local osteria that was open on three sides. My young waiter advised me not to order the bistecca Fiorentina because "it is too much for one person." He suggested the ribeye "from the same herd, perhaps the same cow, but somewhat smaller."
It hung over the ends of my plate and fulfilled my needs. Later, we started walking back and saw bright lights in the distance. It was a gelato emporium on the corner of our bridge, one favored by locals rather than tourists. Outside the shop I saw about two dozen young people sitting on the stone wall that lines the river. They were eating, tasting, with small spoons.
In the background, a beautiful, bright orange sun was sitting in the distance as we stood in the middle of the bridge. There were golden ripples in the water and ripples of warm conversation all around us. There were images of Renaissance architecture reflected on the water. A simple moment, but a brief travel memory we will never forget.
And, like the locals around us, taking photos was the furthest thing from our minds.