"Under the Tuscan Sun"
On Explore 09 Nov 2009 - #316
Many others have taken such photos, at the exact point, from the exact angle. I couldn't be exceptional. It was the first time I'd ever felt what "a golden sun" in literature was really like. The Tuscan sun.
I hauled my luggage on five consecutive trips from 3am to 1pm to reach Florence from Barcelona: a short taxi trip, a 90km-something bus ride, a flight, another 90km-something bus ride, and lastly a 250km train ride. I was tired, and yet felt awesome. I asked the hotel receptionist for his advice about places to go within 2-3hrs before sunset. He replied, in his mellifluous English mixed with Italian, that I should take Bus 13 from the train station up to the top of the hill and right there I would know what to do next. Number 13, it sounded like a ride of fate to me, and it positively was. I dozed off a few times in the bus out of exhaustion while the driver was going at a crazy speed (bus rides here were the most scary rides ever!), then woke up to a view I'd never forget.
The sun over Florence was like an absolutely different sun from ours. It plated ancient buildings, towers, bridges and hills with sparkling genuine gold, then added on a thin layer of fog that turned every of those roofs into a magical one protecting mysterious Roman beauty dated back to before Christ. The sun was clear that afternoon; I could see sun rays trying to reach me through large palm leaves on the hillside. Despite that, it wasn't hot at all. The warmth crawled from my hands to my hair then my nose, so pleasantly that I felt as if I was about to receive a hug from behind.
I stood on Piazzale Michel Angelo for two hours, with Fort Belvedere blurred in the fog on my left, yellow- and orange-painted villas with graceful balconies of thin black iron bars on the hillside, Arno River on my right, and the famous Ponte Vecchio in front. I remembered somebody telling me before that besides the bridge Florence had nothing to look at. I'd had the same thought looking at this kind of photos on websites. Yet that moment, on the top of the hill, everything in "Under the Tuscan Sun" by Frances Mayes became live before my eyes. I was so overwhelmed I didn't take any more photos.
It got better and better the next day in Florence, but wait, I didn't take photos either. Nothing could take my camera off me, only Florence sweetly could.