By Chrystalla Christodoulou
A student’s perspective on rainy days in Florence and learning to find something beautiful in everyday life.
Nothing is as pretty as the Duomo after it’s rained. The bright colors turn somber. Suddenly it turns from playful and boasting to wise. I drink it all in without stopping, I’m already late.
I bought gloves yesterday, the type with no fabric to cover your fingers. My friends make fun of me, asking me what their use is. It’s true, for most of the day my fingertips remain frozen. But the lack of fabric gives me freedom to write even if I’m outside or send a quick text.
Sit n’ Breakfast was the first coffeeshop we discovered in Florence, spotted by a friend who was here for only a few days. I used to come here every other day, determined to befriend all the baristas and practice Italian in what felt like a safe environment. I wrote in my journal: I am in love with coffee shops that feel like someone’s backyard; I am simply visiting a friend. I sat outside and revelled in the glorious sun, the same burning sun my friends complained about. I read my book and sketched for hours.
Then came a long pause, a time of intense budgeting and pushing myself to visit churches, museums, anything I could get in with my Uffizi card. I would quickly pass Sit n’ Breakfast, and the other hundreds of quaint coffee shops and try to ignore their call. But after I came back from Fall break I found my Florence different, moodier. Suddenly it actually rained, and I never needed my sunglasses. As someone who grew up on a Mediterranean island and has spent the last few years in Texas, it’s safe to say I don’t do well in “bad” weather.
But I surprised myself, not for the first time this semester. In the mornings I noticed the significant decline of tourists on the bridges as a result of the cold. I paused on the empty Ponte alle Grazie, my favorite bridge, looked at the almost silver sky, and enjoyed this newfound solitude. Almost in a trance, I found myself making my way into new coffeeshops. Without the promise of a long sunny day, that ridiculous guilt of not “making the most out of it” is gone and instead I can sit inside for hours. Speaking of ambiance is inherently cheesy, but I can’t help but smile thinking of the soft colors that accompany a fall evening in a coffee shop, the soft chatter and even softer music. Whether I’m reading, memorizing conjugations, or sketching, I can stay there until the music starts getting louder, and I know it’s aperitivo time.
To learn how to travel is to learn how to live, said Goethe. I learned that from my literature class I’ve been taking in Florence. I’ve learned that finding something beautiful and comforting in everyday life is easier than most of us like to think.
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