Take a few examples of Florence’s not so charming side. It is crowded. Always. Even in January, tourists with chattering teeth will knock their gelato-devouring bodies into you around every corner. In May, the summer crowds flock and the mosquitos come out to play. Lots of them. Every month, there is dog poop, and more dog poop, and more dog poop. I’ve never seen a poopier city. Apparently Italians have no concept of pooper-scooper.
Don’t even thing of finding a decent panini for less than 7 euros. And no matter how savvy you think you are at avoiding homeless people, street vendors, door to door salespeople, or any other entity scrounging for your money (or time of day, if you’re a woman…literally, Italian men often ask women in English for the time as a pick up line), you will be hounded. By all of the above, except maybe door to door salespeople.
Oh, and one more thing; forget any authentic Italian experience unless you really seek it out and refuse to speak English. There are so many outlets for American tourists to feel right at home, that’s its actually possible to weeks in Florence and only speak English, eat hamburger fast food, drink Coors, and see “Lord of the Rings” in its original language on the big screen. A certain Florence bar has even been known to import ping pong balls for a big night of Beirut (a big drinking game that involves ping pong balls, popular at some U.S. universities and colleges). I don’t mean to be harsh, but really people, beer pong? I know big cities with a huge tourist constituency can overemphasize their well-known, slickly publicized attractions through snow globes and t-shirts, but how does one of the most famed, historically rich cities in Europe manage to overemphasize attractions of another country entirely? It’s baffling.
So does the dirty, dog-trodden, slightly skeezy and American super-sized aspects of Florence’s personality grant it a big ‘F’ on the travel guide’s report card? Probably not. But if any of these not-so-rosy colored nuggets prickle your skin, reconsider not whether you want to make the journey, but how you actually approach the journey itself. For one, seek out what the guide books don’t tell you. But how will I know about it if it isn’t written down somewhere? asks the flabbergasted traveler. Believe it or not, those who discovered the places to write about in travel guides had to discover them first….and you can too! A few suggestions: Ask locals where to eat. Ask many of them because fourth opinions always matter more than second ones. Wander the streets within reasonably safe perimeters. Avoid the train station. Avoid the Uffizi on a Saturday morning. Climb to Piazza Michelangelo in the early hours of the day. Visit bars and clubs that don’t advertise Snoop Dog and tequila shot specials. Take a bus rather than a cab; it will humble you. Actually, don’t listen to me at all because I have no idea whether clubs or Botticelli are even your thing.
My point is, any city’s most popular attractions aren’t necessarily its best; the sheer numbers of others deciding to visit them each day can be cautionary flags in and of themselves. Afterall, the general population is well known for endorsing pure crap. And rose-colored or not, my memory knows for sure that any enjoyable experience in a place like Florence cannot be created solely by the tourist path. Too many tourists, not enough Italy. After all, it is everything Italian, not one single statue or painting or pasta dish, that creates Italian charm. So I answer my own question as this: the romanticizing of Florence derives from what the rest of the world knows and endorses about Italy by merely skimming its surface – like assuming that all Italians eat only spaghetti and meatballs. (That’s an American-Italian invention, by the way).
The romance of Florence lies elsewhere, but you have to dig to find it, through all the Roman costume-clad street performers swarming around the Coloseum, through the all-American bars with funny pictures of giant meatballs on the menu, through all the kitschy tourist shops and overpriced leather bags, and definitely through the doggy doo doo. The romance of Florence lies indefinitely in its Italian charm; the care and creation put into producing food and dishes, the way the locals laugh, the pride behind centuries of world-renowned art, and the way the streets curve and wind with almost an intent to get you lost. This is the true Italy, and the true Florence. As long as you can develop a sixth sense for the dog poop, you’ll learn to agree. Ciao bella.
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