It took a little while to get accustomed to the cobblestone streets in Florence, Italy. The stones served as a repetitive foot massage as we passed
back and forth between the northern and southern sides of the street, eyeing gelaterias (ice cream shops), cafes and shoe-lined windows. We dodged
taxis and city buses whose drivers were quick to honk to alert pedestrians like us as they inched down the one-way street in front of our hotel on the
Via Nazionale.
I scream, you scream...We all scream for gelato!
The colored walls of one of those gelaterias caught our attention on a late weeknight. The bright periwinkle tones of this balloon-fresco-walled
gelateria attracted local kids with their grandfathers, as well as the appetites of sweet-toothed tourists.
In front of me at the queue for the gelateria one night was a grandfather-esque gentleman with a couple of young children, presumably his grandchildren.
While I couldn't understand what they were saying in Italian, I could easily pick up that the kids were wanting ice cream, and the grandfather was all
too willing to treat them to it. The little boy was too short to see over the counter, but he eyed the gelato through the windowed-case, spying every
scoop and movement by the gelateria attendant.
I was unsure of how to ask for ice cream in Italian, but, following the lead of the little boy in front of me, I timidly asked for 'uno gelato.' Barely
knowing the word for ice cream, I was at a loss as to how to describe the flavor I desired, so instead I pointed to the mint chocolate chip.
As an American wont to a cup of ice cream being pretty equal to about a measuring cup size, I was taken aback when the short-haired, blond, middle-aged
gelateria attendant used a large spatula-inspired spoon to scoop the ice cream. She then added a cloud of whipped cream that seemed to equal the size
of the rest of the ice cream itself!
It was a lot of ice cream. The taste, though, was heavenly - a delicious swirl of mint with chocolate pebbles, smoothed by the whipped cream. But,
boy, there was a lot of ice cream! Had it not been for the distinctly Italian experience, I probably wouldn't have eaten the whole cup - but it was
worth it! The taste sticks with me, even now!
The gelateria was part of an experience...an experience that started as a walk quite literally around the block from our hotel. How fortuitous and
rewarding promenades in Italian cities can be!
Not far from the gelateria, we fixated our attention to a side street that seemed to be gathering a lot of people. We were still close enough that we
could spot children who had carried their gelato out of the store, but we had left the realm of thirty-one or so flavors and were called to one of
Florence's greatest attractions that has nothing to do with a Church or a museum: the street markets.
We were lured to the street markets by the Aladdin-esque canvas-covered carts that lined several Florentine blocks.
Each cart boasted specialty items like leather coats and accessories, as well as beaded items, clothes, and other rare finds.
As we shuffled down the blocks, our hands ready to grab for our wallets at any moment, I couldn't help but think, Is this a tourist trap? Are the
prices jacked up?
Before buying anything, we consulted David, the owner of some local hotels. As a native Florentine, surely he would know!
David assured us that the locals really do shop at the markets, as he pointed with pride to a leather belt he had bought there last year. He warned us
to be careful, of course, but told us that the markets are not necessarily a tourist trap.
With that peace of mind, we went searching for gifts for friends and family. The market turned out to be the perfect place! I found stationary and
Pinocchio pens for many of my friends. For my mother, I found a wool/cashmere blend scarf for only ten dollars (American).
As competing vendors set up shop literally a few feet from each other, each was out to make the biggest sales. Their prices varied, but that didn't
matter much: the prices at the markets were negotiable. I felt like I was the host of 'Let's Make A Deal.' I rarely accepted the sticker price, and
instead tried to make reasonable offers. The vendors, of course, vying for business, were generally very willing to compromise.
The Walk Home
Carrying several plastic bags in each of our hands, we made it back to the hotel as the sun's light was dwindling against the sky. After several hours
of walking and exploring Florence, it was time for an early evening nap.
This article was
written by Karyn
Dest.
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