So the good news is that I can still speak English. I met some fellow colonials at the laundromat and chat ensued. It went "Are you American?" "No, Canadian. Are you Australian?" "No, from New Zealand." Then we all high-fived each other to celebrate our great good luck. They are doing Italy in the reverse order to me so we had much to talk aboot (literally aboot).
The cold I've had for the past few days has reached the gooey all-in-my-head stage, but I cured myself with the beer of Danish kings and sallied forth to regions over the river (side note: trying to navigate the historic centre of Florence, which is closed to cars but not really, with a beer buzz: not recommended).
Piazza della Repubblica.
Various shots of the Florence Cathedral. I love that the facade is all quirkety - it's pre-the smooth uniformness of the Renaissance.
Sometimes you turn your head and see a street vendor selling boxer shorts with David's junk printed on the crotch. Sometimes you see something worth seeing.
"Fancy a carriage ride?" "Neigh."
A little cross.
From the terrace of the Uffizi gallery. 'Tis a lovely night in Florence. The Uffizi itself (no photography, or scary gallery attendants will yell at you, yes you, Mr Strutting Korean), highly impressive. I looked at rich, voluptuous, idealised paintings until I came over all lightheaded and kind of started to wish for a Picasso to poke me in the nose or a Dali to melt my eyeballs. My favourite was Il Sodoma's St Sebastian, who has a freakin' arrow through his neck and an expression on his face that says "Pfft. I'll walk it off." (Probably a misinterpretation.)