Another travel day! But first…

Tuscan Takeaways

Matt noticed a “Saints” logo pretty early on, posted all over town. Upon further research, it turns out it’s actually the historic symbol of Florence and has nothing to do with saints. The Florentine lily represents the city’s name, Florentia, meaning “flowering” or “in bloom.” It has been used since medieval times as a civic emblem tied to beauty, identity, and religious symbolism.

I noticed that, overall, Florence has more toilet seats than Rome. Random, I know. But they seem very optional in Italy. Spain was similar when I visited a couple of years ago, which leads me to believe this is less of a coincidence and more of a European character-building exercise. This is why women’s strength lives in their thighs.

There’s a strong sense of pride in preserving original architectural features. Even when apartments are remodeled, the doors, windows, and exterior facades usually remain unchanged—and for good reason. It keeps the city charming and cohesive. As for the doors, the locals have clearly mastered the small inconveniences, like wrestling with a heavy door or coaxing an ancient key into a stubborn keyhole.

Florence is much, much smaller than Rome. If there’s a robust public transportation system, we somehow missed it. We saw plenty of taxis, but they mostly linger at the train station or only appear when summoned by app—like elusive little chariots. Honestly, that makes sense, because the city is absolutely flooded with pedestrians who spill into the streets alongside taxis and even street sweepers, turning every drive into a strategic obstacle course. When they do move, though, it’s impressive—they navigate through people with the precision and patience of an Olympic sport. We took one from the station to our Airbnb, but the moment we arrived, we felt a bit ridiculous for not just walking. So on our way out of Florence, we opted to walk to the train station instead—naturally stopping for coffee and treats along the way.

The Firenze Santa Maria Novella railway station feels worlds apart from Roma Tiburtina. Florence is crowded and a bit chaotic, and platforms are announced only minutes before departure—triggering sudden waves of people moving in unison across the station. In fairness, Tiburtina seems more like Rome’s secondary hub, with Roma Termini taking the lead, so the comparison may not be entirely even. We still haven’t ventured into Termini’s intercity section, which I imagine is a whole different level of organized chaos—but anyway, this is about Florence. Since we were a bit early, Matt started studying the patterns on the departure board. Based on timing and which trains were getting ready to leave, he guessed our train would be on platform 11—and he was 100% correct.

A la Venezia!

We shared a train cabin (business class, of course) with what felt like the Home Alone McCallister family—minus Kevin. Their seats were all split up, and “Kate” was frantic, clutching a stack of tickets and telling everyone where they were sitting, while the men tried to find spots for all the baggage. A handful of Italian passengers just stared in silence. Matt and I smiled at each other, telepathically exchanging jokes, though I may have butted in, pointing out additional storage compartments.

The train to Venice spent a lot of time underground—or in a mountain; either way, it was too dark. I didn’t like it. At one point I whined, “I want to see the sun!” and immediately we got a two-second flash of greenery and brightness before disappearing into a tunnel again. My face lit up and then frowned again within seconds. We were teased with a few more flashes of daylight, but it stayed mostly dark for the first 40 minutes of the journey.

We arrived at our hotel right at check-in time, dropped off our bags, and hit the streets/alleys/canals. Our mission was to check out Murano, the glass-blowing island, before the factories and shops closed. The hotel receptionist recommended we walk 20 minutes up to the Fondamente Nove vaporetto (water bus) stop and then take a short ride to Murano, and we took her advice.

We started our trek and noticed a very unique-looking pizza bakery that caught both of our eyes—Rizzo Venezia. We ordered a couple of square slices for takeaway to eat along our walk. The store attendant cut our slices into four before leaving, which made it a little harder to eat while walking but may have saved me a little later on…

I officially know how it feels to get bit by a seagull.

Yes, that’s right. Picture it. I was a few bites into my “quarter” slice of pizza, pizza in my right hand, Matt immediately on my right side… when out of nowhere, a monster seagull came from behind us, dove between us, bit my index finger, stole the remaining large bite of pizza, and flew straight ahead to a perch like nothing even happened. Matt and I both paused, trying to process what had just happened.

“Did he steal your pizza?!” he asked.

“Sure did. You saw that, right?”

All I can say is… the level of disrespect from that seagull was diabolical. Honestly, I’m certain it was premeditated. I bet that seagull had been watching me from the moment I first looked at that bakery window. He targeted me early. I bet the shop owners knew too. Maybe they would have warned me if they spoke English—or if I spoke Italian. I’m sure they meant well.

We decided to park ourselves under an overhang to avoid further attack, and just as we started repositioning ourselves, the monster returned and dove at me once more. I hastily ducked and covered, looking around to see if anyone else had seen that sequence of events. I made eye contact with a man sitting at a nearby café who was watching and laughing. He looked like he was positioned there with the sole purpose of watching seagulls steal pizza from tourists. Maybe even the seagull’s accomplice.

It took several minutes for me to stop being offended by this dumb seagull. I even tried to convince myself it was a mom trying to feed her kids. Sigh.

We zigzagged through Venetian alleyways, going up and down stairs while crossing canals, until we finally made it to our boat.

Murano was a lot more chill than the rest of Venice. In Murano, we headed to a glass-blowing factory and saw a really cool demonstration. The artist is referred to as a master, and he has to work quickly and with extreme precision. It was really cool to watch!

We popped into one of the glass shops and saw a really beautiful floral chandelier. The sales associate caught us admiring it and told us it was €6,250 after shipping and insurance. I had previously seen one of a similar size in another store for €15,000, so my face accidentally made that “wow, what a great deal” expression. And just like that, we had to commit to the bit that we were seriously considering purchasing it. Not gonna lie—I would love to. It was stunning and would fit perfectly in our home. But for that kind of money, I’d much rather book another trip to Europe. This is why we can’t have nice things.

We headed back on a different route, taking the vaporetto line that requires much less walking but more time on the water.

We had dinner reservations at Hostaria Osottoosopra, and it was a perfect end to the day. Sidenote: Aperol Spritz, which looks like an iced orange soda in a wine glass, seems to be the “IT” drink everywhere we’ve been so far—even more popular than cola!

We strolled back to the hotel, snapping some pictures here and there.

Tonight was a hair-washing day for me, and I opted to blow-dry it immediately after without letting it air dry at all. I don’t know if this was a coincidence or if I was the culprit, but as I was finishing up, we heard the smoke alarm go off in our room.

I immediately started waving a towel back and forth to try to get it to stop. Then I looked into the hallway and noticed it was going off and flashing there too. At that point, we quickly got dressed, grabbed our keys, and headed downstairs with the rest of the panicked guests standing outside in their pajamas. Just in case, I unplugged everything and pulled my room key out of the electricity port before heading out.

The lobby smelled faintly of cigarettes, and the receptionists kept telling everyone not to worry or panic. I kept looking at Matt, wondering if I was the problem and if I should confess. He insisted it was just a coincidence that I was drying my hair at the same time. The hotel staff eventually told us we didn’t have to evacuate and that we could all go back to our rooms. It took a few more minutes for the alarms to stop.

We opened the windows when we got back, just in case.

I think I will stay away from blow dryers for the remainder of our trip.