Day 13, Part 3: One Last Morning

37 Days Across Europe  ·  Day 13 of 37  ·  Florence, Last Day

No agenda, no museums, no reservations. Just Florence doing what Florence does best — being completely itself, to anyone willing to walk slowly enough to notice.

Acoustic Sound Unit, Piazza della Repubblica.  A band setting up under the triumphal arch — djembe, guitar, the whole production laid out on the flagstones. The Pensione Pendini visible above, the Apple Store to the left. Florence, 9am.

There is something particular about a last morning in a city you have grown fond of. You are not trying to see anything anymore. The pressure of the list is gone. What replaces it is a kind of attentive drifting, a willingness to stop because a wall is interesting, or because a band is setting up in a piazza, or because a butcher has arranged two Chianina T-bones in a window framed with wine corks in a way that is so absurdly Florentine it demands to be photographed.

This is the day I stayed out until the streets went dark. It produced some of the best images of the entire Florence stay. I'm convinced that every city should be given at least one day like this — no itinerary, no obligations, because it's when a place finally reveals what it looks like when it's not performing for you.

The Porcelino and the Morning Ritual

Il Porcellino, Mercato Nuovo.  The bronze boar whose snout you rub for good luck — polished gold by a thousand hands. The smiling couple in the background have clearly just done it. So did I.

Every Florentine morning should begin at the Mercato Nuovo, if only to watch the ritual around Il Porcellino — the bronze wild boar outside the covered market whose snout has been rubbed to a warm gold by centuries of hands. The tradition is simple: rub the snout, let a coin fall through the boar's mouth into the grate below, and good fortune will follow. Whether or not you believe this is beside the point. The gesture is charming and the boar is genuinely magnificent as a piece of bronze casting, worth examining properly rather than merely touching in passing.

Wine Windows and the Bistecca

Florence invented the buchetta del vino, the wine window — during the plague of 1630, as a way for wine sellers to pass bottles through a small opening in the wall without contact. Most were sealed up for centuries and forgotten. A handful have been revived, and they are now among the city's most quietly delightful details: a small arched opening in a stone wall, just large enough for a glass and a hand, dispensing Chianti to passers-by at street level.

Buchetta del Vino, Pietrabianca. The façade — saffron yellow, iron-barred window thick with climbing plants, an arched wine niche in the lower wall.

A glass of Chianti Classico, collected from the window, on a grey morning. This is the correct use of a Tuesday.

And then the steak. Again. I make no apologies for this.

The Bistecca alla Fiorentina, as described in Part 1, remains the meal of this entire journey. On the last day I found a butcher's window on the far side of the Duomo whose proprietor had arranged two dry-aged Chianina T-bones inside an arch lined entirely with wine corks. A butcher visible in the reflection behind the glass, a chef's knife in hand. It is the most Florentine still life I encountered in three nights here, and I stood outside it for longer than is strictly reasonable.

The Bistecca in waiting.  Two dry-aged Chianina cuts in a window framed with wine corks, the butcher reflected in the glass behind. The meat is aged a minimum of 30 days. The arch is a detail that should not work and completely does.

Francesco Vini, Firenze 1977.  Dry-aged cuts framed between Brunello di Montalcino and Badia a Passignano in wooden crates. A Swiss flag visible in the reflection — fellow travellers, ahead of me in the window by a few minutes. Ristorante, wine club, and arguably the finest shop window in the city.

All'Antico Vinaio: A Queue Worth Joining? Not really

All'Antico Vinaio, Via dei Neri.  The queue at 11:30am — already extending past two shopfronts. The schiacciata sandwiches inside are worth every minute of it. Come before 11am if you want to walk straight in.

Inside the machine.  The All'Antico Vinaio counter — orange-tiled walls, schiacciata bread stacked, staff moving at a speed that suggests they have been doing this since birth. The energy in here is that of a place that has absolutely no reason to be precious about itself because the product speaks for everything.

All'Antico Vinaio on Via dei Neri is, by most accounts and by the evidence of the queue that forms before it opens, Florence's most famous sandwich shop. The schiacciata, a Tuscan flatbread filled with whatever combination of cured meats, truffle spread, and soft cheeses you choose, is the kind of food that makes you briefly suspicious of every other sandwich you have eaten. The line moves faster than it looks. Go, if you are a first time visitor, just because its there. #Markweins did. Was it overhyped? Perhaps it was because its competitor next door also served the same and had time to toast the bread which can be hard to bite into. Would I go again, probably not partly because I found one in the train station and also one in Paris. If you are not into long lines then yes give it a miss and try the other sandwich shops nearby.

The Street, the Gallery, the Leather Lane

The last afternoon was simply walking. No objective. The camera catches what it catches.

Art Gallery, Florence. A woman stepping into a gallery, a Sergio Bianchi bicycle parked outside, a "Oltre i libri c'è ForGlobe" poster on the neighbouring wall. This is a good Florence composition — beauty, transport, education, all in one frame.

San Francesco d'Assisi came here first. A wall inscription marking where Saint Francis arrived in Florence in the 13th century, with a woman leaning against it in a black leather coat, looking the other direction. The centuries are unimpressed.

Leather Lane.  An almost empty alley, a leather showroom with bags hanging in the doorway under a single warm light. €20 and €25 signs. Graffiti on the far wall. The contrast between the hand-stitched leather and the graffiti stencils is, in its own way, a complete portrait of Florence.

The Red Curtains, Palazzo Zeffirelli.  A man at the top of the steps of what appears to be a Baroque church, now a cultural venue — two scarlet curtains framing the entrance, a bicycle chained below, Franco Zeffirelli banners on the lamppost. He appears to be deciding whether to go in. The curtains suggest the answer should be yes.

Florence at Ground Level

The last hour before dark is when the city reveals its strangest details, a neon gelato cone in a medieval archway at number 31 (a cantina sign in carved stone above it, a small bench below), a woman in a Siena-coloured coat leaning against the most textured wall you have ever seen, an osteria with a pasta-maker visible through the window, the dough catching the light in a way that makes the whole scene look like a painting that isn't quite finished yet.

Cantina, No.31

Via without a name

Gucci, Via Tornabuoni

The wall and the coat. A black leather trench coat against five hundred years of eroded stone. This is what street photography in Florence looks like when the city cooperates.

Osteria Da Fortunata, Roma 1921. A pasta-maker working dough at the window — the chandelier and street reflected in the glass behind her. This is not staged. Florence just does this.

"You don't leave Florence. Florence lets you go — on its own schedule, when it decides the city has shown you enough. The last image it gave me was a dark alley, a green neon sign, cobblestones slick with the evening cold. Italy, right to the last frame."

The last frame.  A back alley near the old centre, after dark. Green neon, Italian flag, cobblestones catching the street lamp. An empty street. Whatever Rome promises, it will have to work hard to beat this.

Practical Notes: Florence to Rome by High-Speed Train

The Florence to Rome journey on Trenitalia's Frecciarossa takes around 1h30 on a good day — fast, comfortable, and considerably less stressful than flying once you factor in airports and transit. Book through Trenitalia's website in advance for the best fares; prices climb closer to departure.

If you are travelling with luggage heavier than a carry-on, note that overhead space is limited. Bags up to around 20kg will fit the overhead compartments if you travel light, but anything larger will need to go in the end-of-carriage racks. Keep an eye on those, the racks are not locked and the bags are not in your sightline from your seat.

A useful trick for solo travellers: look for Row 1 in the premium carriages. The first row is typically a single seat, no seatmate, and your bag overhead stays within your direct line of sight. Worth selecting specifically when booking.

Always note your carriage number before you board — Frecciarossa trains are long, and if you walk the wrong direction on the platform you will be doing it at speed with your luggage. The carriage letters are displayed on platform screens and on the carriage doors. Arrive at least 10 minutes early and position yourself where your carriage number will stop.

Train travel between Italian cities is, in every practical sense, the right choice. No security queues, city-centre to city-centre, a proper seat with a tray table and a window — and the Tuscan landscape for the first forty minutes before the tunnel. The espresso trolley comes around reliably. Italy does its best to make train travel feel like the civilised option. It succeeds.

Day 14. Rome. The Italian chapter isn't over yet.

Next — Days 14–18

Rome: The Eternal City Does Not Disappoint

Vatican City, the Colosseum, and the discovery that Rome is the only Italian city that makes Florence feel manageable by comparison.