‘You can’t go home again.’ (Tom Wolfe)

I don’t know if any of my reading public have shared an experience similar to mine a day ago. Yesterday we decided to visit an old friend. I know her quite well, in fact we spent a month together when M’lady was writing her doctorate, and I was so excited to be catching up with her again after a number of years apart. The whole day was such a profound disappointment. The Florence we went to yesterday was not the Florence I remember.

Florence is still as beautiful as ever- I can only name Paris as a city that might shade her for sheer beauty. Around almost every turn in the old town centre holds the potential for another heart-stopping, absolutely breathtaking scene. Every corner brings anticipation. It is my favourite city in the world by far – when there are fewer tourists.

It was a struggle to walk there at times, such were the crowds. The Ponte Vecchio was shoulder to shoulder, the Duomo the same. The queue for the Uffuzi was probably 500 metres long and growing. Yes I do understand the hypocrisy because I too am a tourist. But yesterday wasn’t spent with the Florence I remember. It has changed, or I have changed. I can’t see myself visiting her again, and that made me inordinately sad.

Today, perhaps in an attempt to remedy that sense of loss, we went an hour by train in the completely opposite direction – not to a city but to a small town called Pietrasanta (St Petersburg would be the Russian equivalent). It is a medieval hillside town that looks out over the Mediterranean. There are remnants of its walls and watchtowers that still fill that role as protectors – not of people but of the olive groves that dot the western slopes. And more importantly there were no tour guides, no horse-drawn carriages, no ticket touts – no crowds at all.

There wasn’t a Santa Claus to be found and very few Christmas trees, but instead tastefully decorated streets and witch costumes for sale. (It is a witch, la Bafana, who brings gifts to the children on the 12th day after Christmas – the Epiphany is the day the Wise Men arrived in Bethlehem with their gifts.) The magnificent church that featured priceless artwork by Florentine masters was free to enter, and the few people inside appeared to be mainly locals. Our delicious lunch was shared with extended families enjoying the day out together. It was indeed a much needed day, one to refresh the soul.

I hope my three readers do get to Florence on a day when you have at least part of the city to yourself – but sadly now I won’t be your guide. No doubt you are aware I have been resisting the relentless pressure to lead pilgrimages to the very special sites around Rosewood and Tallegalla – a task for which I am uniquely qualified. The open-cut mine, the piggery, the bridge over the Seven-Mile are all attractions that must be seen with a guide to be fully comprehended. However our recent trip to Florence makes that journey with me as your host even less likely to happen now.

You just can’t go home again Remington because it won’t be the same and you won’t be the same. You can’t ever go home again.

F C-S

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---