By Lauren Mulvey
One of my favorite aspects of Florence is its walkability, the proximity of everything. At the end of a long day in Florence, I’ll settle into my apartment and check my Fitbit watch: “30,000+” reads my step count. And that’s not just one day, but many days since I’ve arrived in the city.
I am enamoured with the Florentine lifestyle, but a feeling of stress has encroached on my daily life. It is the sense of fleeting time. The feeling that I won’t see every corner of the city before I leave in May.
And so everyday I’m out in the city walking for hours on end to see every possible building and site. The first time I saw 30,000 on my Fitbit in Florence, I wondered how on Earth I could possibly fit that many steps into a 24 hour day. But after a few weeks here, there becomes a routine. My day in Florence begins like the days of many others living just beyond the green shuttered windows of the city’s streets, with coffee. Approximately 250 steps to reach a hot cappuccino for 1.20 Euro and I’m back on my feet, refreshed. When a lazy Saturday morning rolls around, I’ll venture further into the city, trying a new bar, a different pasticceria.
There is a consistency to days that end in 30,000 steps: wandering. Over bridges, going for a run, climbing stairs. Thousands of steps are spent strolling over the Ponte Vecchio and admiring the reflective gold earrings, past Pitti Palace and a slow paced walk throughout the Santo Spirito market. All the while, this feeling of the ticking of time pulls me down side streets and into shops. Early afternoon hits as I’m walking through a rose garden above the city. I gather myself and walk back across the Ponte Vecchio, past the leather market, to the edge of the city center for a break from the tourist traps and stride back stopping at little holes in the wall second-hand clothing stores. My feet carry me in and I drift off in its hidden corners, stepping, trying on sweaters and admiring leather bags. The ticking clock urges me to try on every leather jacket. Between my small afternoon adventures, I make attempts to rest. There are steps in my apartment, sweeping and cleaning or taking trips to the fridge. But the sense of guilt and loss of time creeps back in, I grab my keys and I’m off again. A free afternoon takes my housemates and I to the Duomo ticket office, and up the bell tower, to the top of the Duomo and to a nearby shop for a celebratory panino. Then up to Piazzale Michelangelo and back down the long way. Steps to the perfect aperitivo spot, dinner, to the gelateria pile up. We bounce from one neighbourhood to the next. But it is the steps home when my housemates and I chat and tell stories that give me relief from the fleeting time. Perhaps I won’t see everything in Florence before my time is up, but I can certainly try.