Gelato, Tourists, Sun, & more Gelato

I’ve been a busy, little bee in Firenze for the past few weeks! Yes, exams are just around the corner... Unfortunately (for Holy Cross, L’Universita’ di Firenze, and my tutors) my Italian social life is a splash more exciting than Tuscan history and the reign of Vittorio Emanule II. Sorry dude.

Last weekend, Holy Cross invaded Florence, yet again.  I am SO lucky that I have seen so many friends all across Europe this year: sharing a tent in freezing Munich with the Holy Cross crew, hunting for chocolate con churros with Eva in Madrid, and visiting the Drapek famiglia in Umbria, etc etc, forever and ever. My friend Audrey and I met up four times over the course of the year. Get this: in four different countries. Honestly, that’s absurd. Anyhow, this weekend was double-trouble because not only did a trio from Holy Cross arrive (including my lovely roommate Kathryn) but Roxanne, one of my best friends, also made her way up to Florence!

Roxanne visits Florence...

...and so does Kathryn!!!

Family pictures were taken...

...and so were photos spelling H-O-C-R-O

We saw the city from Piazzale Michelangelo!

and Fiesole!

And boy were my amici in luck! This weekend was Gelato Festival! Things that made me love Florence more than I already did? The fact that Gelato was created here. Supposedly, the Medici family were the first to have some kind of freezer/storage unit in their backyard (also known as the Boboli Gardens) where they kept the good stuff. Of course they did. 

So the gang purchased gelato cards and were set loose among stands and stands of gelato vendors.  In a word, heaven.  I’m not going to lie, eating gelato with visitors is a little different from doing so with seasoned gelato-eating veterans (Lauren, Adair).  For some odd reason, after swiping the gelato card three times in the course of an hour, Roxanne was ready to call it quits for the day. Um really signorina? 

Thoughts running through my head: Okay, well I guess if that’s how much gelato, a normal-person’s stomach can handle...then..um...that’s enough for me too.  In all honesty, that's not the case. Proof? Adair, Lauren, and I have a new song that goes a little something like this:  “Gelato, you make me feel like I’m the biggest girl in the world.” (To be played to the tune of Rihanna’s “Only girl in the world”)  Serious gelato-conoisseurs just, plain cannot stop after 3 gelati, my friend.

Anyhow, we had a splendid weekend together, walking about 100 miles every day--not enough to cancel out the gelato calories, but still noteworthy.

After our visitors took off, the girls and I decided that it would be a wonderful idea to wake up at twilight and bike to Piazzale Michelangelo in time to see the sunrise.  These days, the sun rises at about 5:30 so in order to make the climb, I woke up at about 4:40. Yes, that is freakishly early. Poor Attilio (the host dad) was also up at that ungodly hour.  Sadly, I scared the poor little guy, half to death. Being friendly and all, I gave him a wave before departing and he jumped a mile, before harassing me with questions as to where in the world is Carmen Sandiego... I mean, where in the world I was going before 5am.  After the fact, he and Syliva (host mom) decided that I went to meet my Italian boyfriend. Oh... you guys didn’t know I had an Italian boyfriend? Me neither. Sorry to burst your bubble, host famiglia, but I just met the girls for some sun, bananas, and mimosas! 

Today was “tourist day” in Florence.  Well, it was “tourist day” for the Holy Cross students.  Spencer, Adair, and I raided the cheapo t-shirt box at the souvenir store and uncovered some true gems.  Add in some sneakers and a city tour bus and you’ve got yourself a full day of ridiculousness!  My host family didn't quite understand the concept... In fact, Sylvia asked if I was going running this morning when I was leaving the house in my sneakers and jean shorts. Really? Girl, if I try to go running in my jorts, please stop me. The mix of sweat and denim sounds horribly uncomfortable. 


The day was brilliant and we made complete fools out of ourselves, as planned. Tragically, the wonderful day ended with me tripping and falling off of the bus, onto my chin. (Appropriate.) Seriously, every fall I've ever taken involves me landing on my chin. Today in the piazza I had an incredibly realistic flashback to my most legitimate chin-fall-incident involving Nana's front stairs and fourteen stitches, circa 1997. Gross. At dinner, I was the target of some serious mocking from Signorina Nina who could not understand for the life of her, how the hell I landed on my chin.  Now, I'm stuck with a nice quarter-sized boo boo there. Adorable!  Anyhow, here are some pre-fall-photos:

All aboard!

Hey ponte vecchio!

Tomorrow, it’s time to get down to business. My stack of flashcards is actually staring me down as I write this, trying to guilt me as much as it is possible for an inanimate object to guilt a person. Sorry that I’ve been avoiding you, Tuscan History. Now, it's game time.