The train ride to Florence was easy. There were no delays, the air conditioning was refreshing, and it actually seemed as if we were really skimming along at 300 km/hr, leaving cars on the autostrade in the dust, which is saying quite a bit. We were able to look out the windows the entire time, unlike our first trip, when a man sitting across from the boys yanked the shade down without the slightest acknowledgment that three others were sitting at the same table. Okay.
Small towns appeared along the way, their terra cotta roofs clustered on hill tops in the distance. Fields of sunflowers stretched away from us one after the other, but their heads pointed down and away, revealing only a yellow fringe in the midday sun. I wondered if I’d have the chance to drive through that countryside some day to explore those towns.
From the moment we arrived at Stazione Santa Maria Novella, it was different. The area inside the walls of Florence is traffic controlled, allowing only those with a special permit the opportunity to enter. Yes, there was traffic, but far less. And absolutely, we had to be wary crossing streets, but not as if we were taking our lives in our hands each time we did. The streets seemed more organized, neater. Less frenetic. And… not quite as intriguing as Rome, nor as quaint as Sorrento.