Renting a place in Florence = a genius move on my part. Not only is it cheap, and central, and gorgeous (see below), but I have my own kitchen, and tonight, for the first time since NZ, I had broccoli. Ahhh.
Mine is a life of small thrills.
Central Florence is super-small - I walked from the station to my apartment in about half an hour, in heavy foot traffic, dragging luggage. I meant to catch a bus, and took an underpass at the station thinking it would lead me to public transport, but instead I ended up in sight of the Duomo, and then with my great navigational luck at Ponte Vecchio, and then I was there.
This is the living/dining room. It's just lovely. My landlady is great too, she left me all manner of drinkables in the fridge (including an outsize bottle of Tuborg, "the beer of Danish kings"), and marked on a map the supermarket and the laundromat and the best gelato. You know, the essentials.
View down the street. Perhaps I'm leaving myself open to stalkers and murderers by posting my location so exactly, but the building is secure and I have a human shower alarm in the form of my landlady's brother, who lives in the apartment upstairs. Which is reassuring. Unless I actually do fall in the shower. Oh crap. Careful, careful. If you don't hear from me for a couple of days, someone let my mum know.
No real plans for tomorrow, probably just some gentle exploration and maybe a peep at the wedding - but DO NOT TELL MY DAD. We hate those jerks. But I want to see the dress.