Goodbye Florence

My month in Italy was nearly over. So, I planned one last trip to the Tuscany countryside. Dicomano is just an hour train ride from Florence. I spent an entire day walking along the river, window-shopping, and enjoying the local cuisine. This bridge on the outskirts of town spans the Sieve River.

Back in Florence, I stopped at my favorite Cake Shop, Pasticceria Anna, for one last pastry, some friendly conversation, and a cup of Earl Grey with a slice of lemon. This corner shop is one of the few places open during the Riposo. Riposo is when small shops and restaurants close for a long afternoon break. When I had a small business, I slogged my way straight-through those ten to fourteen-hour days. In Italy, the Riposo gives shop owners time to run errands, take a walk, socialize, or take a nap. When they reopen, many will be there until eleven pm.

I also made time for one last pizza at another favorite place, Cru ~ Pizza Bistrot. Their eggplant and basil pizza was fantastic. The toppings were delicious, but my favorite part was the crust. It was thin, crisp, almost like eating a cracker. The perfect dinner before traveling to Germany in the morning.

The train ride to Frankfort airport was a bit of an adventure. The fighting between Israel and Hamas caused authorities in Italy, Switzerland, and Germany to beef up security. A week earlier, you might have seen a few police officers as you traveled. Now, teams of two-three patrolled every train, station, and airport. At a train station in Switzerland, three armed officers checked passports as passengers sleepily waited for their connections. It was unnerving, yet reassuring.

Thankfully, everything went smooth, and before long, I was on Delta flight 87 bound for Detroit. As we flew over the English Channel near Shoreham-by-Sea, I noticed some tiny white dots on the water 39,000 feet below. They were wind turbines! As I tilted my seat back and settled in, a funny thought came to mind, “I haven’t driven in eight weeks. Hopefully, I’ll remember how!”

Nine hours later, I nudged my trusty Toyota into Detroit’s snarling I-94 traffic. Trial by fire as usual, I hadn’t lost my touch. Traveling west, I turned north on U.S. 23 and started running through my mental to-do list. “Tomorrow I’ll visit family in Grand Blanc, then turn around and drive south to Fort Wayne to see my daughter and mom. I’ll rest for a day, then drive to Charlottesville Virginia for November. ” Along the highway where U.S. 23 makes a sharp hook around Ann Arbor, I started humming an old Harry Chapin tune. The lyrics I’d memorized long ago started to roll out, “No straight lines make up my life, and all my roads have bends… There’s no clear-cut beginnings, and so far no dead-ends…”