The Curation: Volume 54

First impressions from Florence and The Goring hotel review.

Hi from Florence!

Today, we have a first diary entry from Florence, with my first impressions. Then, a full review of my stay at a London hotel institution, The Goring.

Fret not, places farther-flung have not been forgotten, nor have the itineraries I’ve been teasing.

Any requestions? I typed that word by accident, as my brain often works faster than I can type, but I think that’s a word I can work with. It makes so much sense!

xMarissa

So you know some of what’s in the works: an updated UK Hotel List, a Namibia itinerary, a Maine itinerary, a Corsica & Sardinia itinerary, and a spotlight on Bahia Brazil (so many good hotels).

Just Landed, First Impressions

I’m not usually one that looks for signs from the universe, but I got a very big one en route to Florence.

I’m deathly allergic to all nuts, and was flying business from London to Florence on British Airways as I had so many bags and that was the most affordable way to get my luggage here. I have always liked BA’s light lunches, and I was starving. I ordered the chicken dish, and I was so excited to be en route to Florence that I, for the first time, forgot to tell them about my allergies. I took one bite and it was, in fact, really good (for plane food) and then realized that there might surely be nuts in here, how could I not have asked. So I did, and my worst nightmare was confirmed – peanuts, walnuts, macadamia nuts, cashews, pistachios, and one other that I’m forgetting. Yet, I had no reaction whatsoever. The flight attendant freaked out and I got my EpiPen out so she knew where it was and I freaked out, too. Typically, that would be enough to make me feel like my throat was getting tight, even if it was psychosomatic and there were no actual nuts. But there were, and this wasn’t, and I didn’t. Quite literally, it was a miracle. And I took it as a big, glaring sign that I was about to land where it truly makes sense for me to live, at least right now.

I had been stressing about how the hell I was going to get all my heavy luggage on to yet another luggage cart and then up a flight of stairs to my apartment. And, they made me check my hand luggage as well, so I had 5 bags I was anxiously hoping was going to make it to Florence – I don’t like lost baggage anymore than anyone else. Again, it was smooth sailing. As soon as I made it through passport control, my bags started to pop up on the carousel. One by one, check, check, check – they all made it. And of the three airports that I had been to at that point, it had trollies that were legitimately low to the ground and designed to actually help people wrangle their luggage. What a novelty! I got it all on, no problem. I got to the apartment, went to the cafe downstairs where the keys were waiting for me, and the realtor kindly said just to leave my bags downstairs inside the door and he would help me when he came to tell me about the place later. PHEW.

I was also nervous that I wouldn’t like the apartment as much in real life as I did in my head. I’m thrilled to report that I do, I really do.

It has hardly any natural light, but that’s the only downfall. The space is magical, made for someone close with the Medici family during the Renaissance. The ceilings are as beautiful as they were in the photos, with the original hand-painted motifs. Same with the bottle glass windows, which don’t let in much light but are so pretty to look at. And the bathroom? Epic! Painted with the most beautiful Renaissance motif, in fresco style. I’ve never wanted to drink so much water.

And then two other little signs that this was right. First, the sheets are the exact shade of pink that I was trying to find to bring to Italy, as I had this idea in my head that it was now or never in terms of pink sheets (I’ve always been staunchly on team Only White Sheets). I didn’t find anything the correct color, which I wanted to be like the ones at Hotel de la Boetie in Paris. Well, they were waiting on the bed. The exact color.

Second, two very small tables that made me feel very big feelings of gratitude. I should have probably texted one of my graphic designer friends as they would definitely know the name of the designer, but there are two small stacking tables, from the…60s’, I think. They were and are my dad’s favorite. He first got them for his Paris apartment, and then eventually they made their way to our Mill Valley home. When we sold the house, most of the furniture went to storage as I didn’t have space, but I took those to my apartment immediately. I love them, so much so I made sure that they were the last thing packed in the U-Box storage unit so they wouldn’t be scratched. There are two of the very same tables in my new bedroom.

I went for aperitivo at Palazzo Guadagni, as a welcome treat for myself and called my mom and stared at the skyline, so glad to be here. I was going to walk around and do x, y, and z, but then realized that I’m so tired and that I am not short on time. I can go “home” and watch Love is Blind and write this. There will be so many tomorrows for me.

When tomorrow became today, I woke up to the church bells and realized in shock that I’m really here. I think internally I was expecting myself to somehow pull out of this plan, in fear of something or everything. I’m so glad I didn’t.

I got dressed and headed out the door with no plans, my favorite type of morning. I walked and walked, which is somewhat novel to me as I do not walk in California. Just as the last time I was here in July, I didn’t need a map and could navigate myself around, which thrilled me as I have a heinous sense of direction.

As I approached Piazza della Signoria, I decided why not have a touristy stop at the institution of Rivoire for a coffee and toast. I sat inside, as I always like to, started a new book, stared at the beautiful walls and many beautiful people. I’m on a mission to gain some weight (something that’s always been very hard for me), so I will be ordering all of my morning coffees con panna (with whipped cream) until further notice. Again, with the realization that I had nothing but time, I sat there for well over an hour. Oh, how I love to linger (as long as there is not a line and I am not hindering a business from doing business).

I went to a few churches as I walked by them, and all the stores that caught my eye and were open on a Sunday. I said this on Instagram Stories, but I am so very doomed in this city, as there are so many great independent stores in all categories.

Eventually, I was ready for real lunch and decided that Cammillo should probably be my first Sunday lunch. My ears were quite cold by that time, and tortellini in brodo sounded just about perfect. It was exactly as it always is – wonderful in all the ways. They even made me fried artichoke in corn oil instead of the usual peanut, which thrilled me to no end. I admired all the Florentine families sitting at their usual tables, as well as the fact that everyone in all languages was treated equally.

On my short walk home, I stopped at Palazzo Pitti to get my annual pass, which also gets me entry to the Uffizi, the Boboli Gardens, and the newly opened Vasari Corridor. This was my only real goal for day one. It’s important to me to actually see the art I love so much in this city, on a regular basis.

Undoubtedly, not all days will be like this. Firstly, in that I won’t be going to only my regular places. But also, life is life and it will continue to ebb and flow regardless of how much I love Florence.

I have to get a codice fiscale in the next few days (similar to a social security number), so I’m expecting the bubble to burst in that process.

But man, I’m so glad to be here. I think I finally feel like I can unmute myself because I am not on American soil and don’t feel the inner turmoil of talking about anything besides politics. But also, I think I fit in here much more than I did in San Francisco. And despite being an only child and loving being the center of attention, everyone likes to fit in.

Hotel Review: The Goring

I landed at Heathrow, wrangled my many bags onto a luggage cart, and got in the taxi line. I pulled up the address of the hotel I had booked for the night, The Princess Royal in Notting Hill, and then quickly realized that…I had booked it for the night before. It turns out that having a career in hotels does not negate the infinite tedium of moving and the human error outfall.