A Florentine rhapsody

“Italy is beautiful. The food, places, history… but you need to be extra careful with your belongings especially since you are traveling solo. Wear layers of clothing and keep your Passport and money in some pocket in the layer closest to your body. Even while you are sleeping!” said my friend’s colleague. We were at a party hosted by my friend at her home in Cham, Switzerland. I had a train to catch to Florence the next day and I was taking turns getting all the gyaan from everyone at the party.

By then, I had been in Switzerland for almost a week, and I was in awe of the celebrated Swiss order and punctuality, besides, of course, the surreal natural beauty. I had sort of started to expect the whole of Europe to be like this.

Almost everyone at the party had experiences of being diddled in Italy, to share with me. I was already slightly apprehensive about traveling alone and the stories didn’t help. The only Italian word I knew was Bella and I didn’t think it would hold me in good stead in case of an emergency.

I arrived at Florence Santa Maria Novella station by noon and promptly like any regular self-absorbed male disapproving of asking for directions, decided to walk to my hotel room using just offline Google Maps. I got lost among the 19 platforms of the station itself and had to soon ask for help in finding the exit.

I had already booked a room in ‘Casa per Ferie Regina Santo Rosario’. I had selected it, not just for its location in the historic center of the city, but mainly for its fulgurous name. How can one not stay in a hotel with such a magisterial name!

Google Maps guided me through crowded streets and alleys and past the center square, Piazza della Santissima Annunziata. I finally reached the spot corresponding to the hotel on the maps. All I could see was an endless row of unplastered facades and an empty alley. Back home, I am used to shop hoardings, screaming out their name and address out loud.

The frisson of excitement of being in a new place rapidly changed into a sense of foreboding. I checked the maps again and walked to and fro. The only sign I could find was that of a University library. No sign of any hotel.

To my immense relief, a woman walked out from the library complex, and reckoning she might be an Italian, I showed her the address and gestured for help. She smiled and graciously hiding any amusement she might have felt, replied in fluent English, that we shall try finding the building together.

It took only a couple of seconds for her to find the name of the hotel embossed on a stone right next to where I was standing. She showed my uninitiated eye the door buzzer and how to use it. The door opened with a thud while I sheepishly thanked her. My enthusiasm for solo travel had taken a good hit from the unexpected bumps I faced in the first few hours of it.

I opened the door to find a nun Sister standing behind the reception desk of a well-furnished room. I had read that many Convents and Monasteries in Italy were letting out certain parts of their building as lodgings for travelers as a source of income. Since I booked online, I was expecting the place to be a proper hotel and was surprised to see the Sister.

I told her my name and that I had made a reservation. She took one good look at me and asked me where I’m from. On hearing India, she asked beaming, “Malayaali aanalle?” (aren't you a Malayali? — People in Kerala, a southern state in India, speak the language Malayalam)

In the 2007 Johannesburg World Cup Cricket final, Misbah Ul Haq’s (Pakistani cricketer) misguided paddle scoop was taken by Sreesanth (a player from Kerala) at short fine leg to seal the victory for India and the next day the correspondent in Malayala Manorama ( a popular newspaper in Kerala) had written that Misbah tried to find a gap in the field, but now he knows very well, that in any corner of the world, you would find a Malayaali.

How true!

(I visited Florence for the first time while I was doing my post-graduate residency in 2017.)