Florence, Italy -"Imagine living like a native in Florence." Imagine studying Italian there and being able to practice your "Buongiorno!" at every turn. With a love of Italy, prompted by my Italian heritage and my career as a sculptor, and a longtime shared interest in the Italian language, my retired husband, Hal, and I enrolled at a language school in Florence for a three-week course. This also got us a snug apartment (with TV and washing machine) for a month's very economical adventure.

Along with the countless other treasures of the city, we experienced 360 degrees of the pink-white-and-green-striped marvel of the marble Duomo, Michelangelo's David in the Accademia, and the Botticellis in the Uffizi. But we also had a view of life rarely seen by tourists. As do most apartments in Florence, ours backed on a tranquil courtyard with trees and shrubs. From our windows we saw the rear of the neighboring buildings with their small, plant-laden balconies. Sometimes they were hung with laundry, or there'd be a dog sunning itself, or a workman scraping, priming, and restoring ancient woodwork.

Below us at street level was a "bar" where one could have the typical breakfast of coffee and roll, and where we used the phone. Beside it was a latteria for dairy products, where I had frequent brief Italian conversations with the padrona, the friendly proprietor. She was helpful on information on where a bus would stop, or a convenient place to change travelers checks. This was in a nearby bank which was a villa behind a high wrought-iron fence with exotic plantings outside the building and crystal chandeliers inside. And we found the exchange rate better than elsewhere.

The front of our building faced a rotary. In its center behind more iron fencing, was the English Cemetery. It was there that the movie  A Tea With Mussolini opened, as the expatriate women were honoring Elizabeth Barrett Browning at her grave. Crossing this rotary required care and patience, and we immediately learned that jaywalking would be a big mistake. Fortunately there were traffic lights.

The 20-minute walk from our apartment to classes at the school was more relaxed after the rotary hurdle, though we constantly had to be on the alert when crossing even the smallest street. On the way we'd see workmen hoisting heavy pails of cement on pulleys to upper floors of buildings where restoration was taking place, or craftsmen meticulously cutting stone pavers to repair a sidewalk. We'd pass vendors setting out rainbows of fruit and vegetables on their pushcarts, or a bakery with its tantalizing aroma of freshly made bread.

There were elegant apartment buildings with brass gargoyles on their huge carved wooden doors. From one of them would emerge a kind woman who put out daily rations of food for feral cats. We'd chat briefly with her, telling of our cat-nurturing daughter at home. We'd see young women dropping off their bambini at day care and groups of students engulfed in cigarette smoke, noisily waiting for their school doors to open. Then we'd come to the intersection where, looking right, we'd see the Duomo. Even though this matriarch of Florence was at the center of everything, it always seemed a surprise when we'd catch a glimpse from another vantage point.

Being students not only gave us the chance to attend classes in the language we've been studying and forgetting on and off since 1971, it also gave us the opportunity to meet people from all over the world and of all ages. Of the 29 registered last March, only five were American. Others were from Korea, Japan, Norway, Switzerland and elsewhere. They included a retired sea captain, a psychotherapist, an opera singer, and three students of fashion. With levels of ability ranging from "not a word" to "superiore", everyone was placed in an appropriate class.

When not at the school or enjoying activities connected with it, we had times for other things. Most night we ate dinner out, and it was common to be seated at a table with other people. The night we went to the Yellow Bar at 39 Via del Proconsolo, we were seated with a family named the Valentes. We struck up a conversation and before we parted, Michel Valente had offered to drive us anywhere the following weekend. This led to a great trip to the ancient tower town of San Gimignano and later a meal together as their guests. We often waited with others in front of 55 Via del Proconsolo, for the 7 p.m. opening of Le Mossacce, a small, informal, reasonable restaurant frequented by locals as well as tourists. One time we sat with a couple from southern Italy who were in Florence celebrating their anniversary. Another time it was an American couple who had been planning a fancy wedding at home, got fed up with the arrangements, and decided to elope to Venice. Occasionally we ate at a low-budget cafeteria called Self Service, one flight up on Via de' Pecori. There we ran into one of the many groups of children on school trips to Florence.

We had our trips, too. A short bus ride into the hills nearby took us to Fiesole with its Roman amphitheater, gorgeous view of the Tuscan landscape, and the Archeological Museum. Amis rolling farmland in another area of Fiesole, reached by bus and a half-mile walk, was Villa I Tatti, where art historian Bernard Berenson had lived. He donated the villa to Harvard, along with its extensive art collection and library and it now hosts serious fellowship students from many countries. To schedule a visit, one needs a written invitation from the Center for Italian Renaissance Studies at Harvard.

One day we took the hour-and-a-half train ride to Bologna, the city of arches and colors: oranges, reds and yellows. The tourist office at the railroad station provided an itinerary that conveniently guided us to the important churches, towers, and palazzi. We discovered that on the top floor of the Town Hall there was a museum dedicated to native son Giorgio Morandi, painter of bottles and one of my favorite artists.

Back in Florence we took time for routine activities: sending e-mail from the place on Via S.Egidio where one could rent computer time, or rushing to the outdoor food market off Via de' Macci, which was usually closing by the time we got there from our class, which ended at 1 p.m. The vendors were cleaning up then and thus eager to sell bags full of produce for relatively few lire. And there were great chances there for practicing Italian. Our regular food-shopping stop was Standa, the supermercato on Via Pietrapiana. It was custom there to put on thin plastic gloves, provided in a box in the produce section, before handling any food. When you had your purchase in a plastic bag, you'd put it on a scale, press appropriate buttons, and you'd get a label with price on it, to stick on the bag. Checkout would be quick. Two of my weaknesses are large Swiss chocolate bars and amaretti, the almond macaroon cookies, both much less expensive than at home and both light enough to carry a quantity on the plane to savor after the trip was a memory.

We continued to enjoy the many faces of Florence. We'd sometimes just sit on the crowded steps of the Duomo and watch the tourists or the white-faced clown or ballerina pantomimists as they slowly moved as if they were mechanical dolls, hoping people would put money in their pails set below. We'd pass a beggar sitting in the corner he seemed to own, with his dog and her brood of newborns who had grown noticeably each time we'd go by. We'd stop at a corner to return the stare of a glaring stone monster spewing water into a trough.

On a weekend it was restful to sit in the park near our apartment, where moms or dads would take their little ones to ride on the carousel or play ball or jostle with their dogs. One day we saw a huge tour bus starting to turn at a narrow intersection, but it got jammed because a small car was parked too close to the corner. What to do? Six guys appeared, lifted the car aside, and the bus went on its way to the sound of applause from the travelers.
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Lub Stubbs attended  Koinč Center  in Florence in March 1997

You may contact Centro Koinč at:
Via de' Pandolfini 27
50122 Firenze
Tel.--/055/213881  Telefax--/055/216949
E-mail: koine@firenze.net
http://www.koinecenter.com

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