Morning in Firenze! (Florence)

I’m up early– my body’s internal clock is keeping Italian time now and it’s my turn to pay for parking, early–before the meter-readers check the cars, competing for scant parking places in a city that wears many faces.

This city is teeming with life, starting early but dwindling off earlier than some cities– earlier than New York, for instance.

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Italy’s Milano


Why do Americans shorten the city’s name to Milan? If the name has been Milano all these centuries, who are we to change a name? Wouldn’t that be like calling “Ohio”, “Ohi”?

It is a grand adventure, coming to Europe for the first time. Long awaited, I marvel that the trees, countryside and people look much the same–was I expecting Oz and orange poppies? Or people with Spock’s pointed ears, perhaps? I probably have “naive American” painted all over my face (it occurs to me that only 1 letter separates “naive” from “native”, after all).

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