By Lauren Mulvey
When I recall my first visit to Florence in January of 2012, there were only three main locations I thought the entire city consisted of. These included: the Duomo in all its wonder and mystique, Via Ricasoli, where my family’s bright Airbnb sat above the street, and Gusta Pizza, across the Arno.
Of course, when I was 11 years old, I knew that the city was bigger. But after our trip, the memories that stuck out were of these places. Why? Maybe because memory is always fragmented, especially at a young age. Perhaps I’m more likely to remember eating pizza in Italy at age 11 than I am to remember seeing the statue of David for the first time.
Looking back on this trip, there are very few memories of walking to and from these different locations. I figured that Via Ricasoli, which leads to the Duomo, was the only street we had been walking down each day. In my mind, we got crepes on Via Ricasoli, gelato, paninis, and pizza. Perhaps my prepubescent brain couldn’t handle the idea that nearly every street in Florence looks like Via Ricasoli.
Ten years have passed since my first visit to Florence. In those ten years, I’ve reinvented myself time and time again to reach the version of myself that now walks Via Ricasoli to attend class everyday. In the span of 10 years, I endured an adolescence of strict rules, good grades, and strong friendships. As a college student, I meandered through three years of studies, internships, and career development in college. But all the while, my sense of wanderlust was growing, lurking in the back of my mind.
My family returned to Italy in 2016 and celebrated the new year in Rome, but with the dense crowds and cold tourist-filled streets, I was saddened that our itinerary didn’t include a visit to vibrant Florence. It was only after we returned home that I had a new sense of my future. Suddenly, my primary goal was to return to Florence. I wanted to be a worldly, well-traveled person. I wanted to not just vacation in Italy, but understand the culture and customs.
When I started college in the U.S., I registered for Italian courses and began to learn the language. Soon, my favorite class was Italian. I studied hard, and declared an Italian Studies minor. I worked my way through Italian language and film courses. I was working toward a semester abroad in Florence. Throughout those years, those fragmented memories of the city drifted in and out of my consciousness.
But they came flooding back when my housemates and I walked from our apartment with fresco-covered ceilings to the Duomo in February. I was bigger than I was when I first saw it at 11, but the dome was even bigger. It was as if Florence had expanded while I was gone. But now, as I turn increasingly familiar corners on my way home from the grocery store, it feels small. Now, my memories are overlaid with new ones.
On sunny days, I’ll chase the sun through the piazzas, and one moment, find myself in Piazza della Signoria, the next on a bench in Santa Croce, people-watching. I’ll run into a friend and we’ll chat for hours in the sun. From my young eyes, Florence was the city of uneven cobblestone streets and chocolate crepes. But even in the cold winter months when the people of Florence were bundled up in trenchcoats, Florence smiled at me with its warm yellow and tan buildings and hazy blue skies. It seems that as my memories of the city expand and contract in my brain, not much has really changed after all.
Via Ricasoli, the Duomo, and Gusta Pizza are right where I left them. Now in my memory are the streets that connect them, every gelateria along the way. Places where new memories are taking shape. By the end of my stay, I hope to create a mosaic of memories, new and old, of my favorite city in the world.
