Journey Into The Renaissance, Part III

Yet another attempt at travel writing…

I find that visiting Florence is as close to time travel as I will ever experience in this lifetime. However, there is a paradox of time periods overlapping at once. I do not only envision a past when I gaze out at the city through my bedroom window, but a present and a future as well. How do you look at Michelangelo’s David, setting the example for a perfect male figure in 1504, and say he is not still the textbook image of male physique? I remember the hype surrounding my visit to see the David. “You must see him! You’ll cry when you see him!” This was all I’d been hearing since I announced my acceptance to Lorenzo de Medici a semester and a half ago. It’s true that my expectations were high. Especially since sculpture is by far my favorite medium and I do have quite a taste for tall naked men.

Journey into the Renaissance, Part II

Another attempt at travel writing, late posting.

I have been in this fascinating city for over a month now and I am able find my way around much quicker than that first night, no map needed. The Arno River I cross on my way to class each morning has not lost its charm. Nor have the views of the Ponte Vecchio, the picturesque side streets, or the cappuccino and nutella croissant I regularly have for breakfast. Leaving my routinely visited morning café, I place my empty cup and plate on the counter and wave “grazie!” to the barista. Not having class for the rest of the day, I decide to take a walk over to the Piazza della Signoria.

Shower Smoke

Lite a cigarette

In the shower and smoke it

For over an hour

And the steam keeps my lighter

Burning desire yearning.

A Rather Lopsided Day

Bad days exist, with cause or without. Today I felt a gloomy little cloud above my head. He was as gray as the cobblestones beneath my sandals. I am walking in over seventy-degree weather in Florence, Italy. People are out, laughing and chatting and eating wonderful food outside accompanied by a glass of wine. Why aren’t I smiling?

Journey Into The Renaissance

A Crack at Travel Writing as a Genre:

If there was one piece of advice I gave myself before landing in Florence, the city where classical learning blossomed after a millennium of darkness… it was to avoid being a tourist. I came here to feel, to explore, and to learn. The aspirations for my journey were clear-cut, leave the selfie stick in New York and bring an open mind to Europe.

Describing Black To A Blind Person

Black is mysterious. She attends work every day in a scandalously fitting dress, the hem dangerously high above the knee. Her shoulders are back and her head is held high. Her hair feels gelled in a slick back in a ponytail, gripped by the tightest hair elastic.

Venice & The Carnival

She is otherworldly.

Hundreds of small islands connected by thousands of picturesque bridges, you cannot turn your head without dropping your jaw. Red, yellow, pink, and orange buildings against the bright blue sky and beautifully crafted gondolas cutting through the canals beneath your feet. Not an automobile in sight, not a care in the world. You begin to question whether or not the world outside still exists, then let the idea fade along with all other concerns.