Florence: Galleria dell’Accademia

David and me

David and me

Our plans for Florence – see all the great galleries and churches in four days – didn’t go quite according to my meticulously organised itinerary.
First stop on the morning of the 3rd May was to find the Tourist Office ‘Just down the road,’ according to the lovely Cristina, but with such a small sign we walked past it several times. Procuring two Firenze travel cards, the aim of our visit, took even more time as cash was the only acceptable payment. ATM’s don’t always work in the suburban streets of Florence, as we soon discovered, but about twenty minutes later, cashed up, we got our passes for three days with a warning from the man behind the counter. ‘Some galleries are closed today because of rolling strikes; possibly all this week.’
Stunned, I asked for more information. He didn’t want to phone any galleries because it wouldn’t help. ‘They can walk off at any moment,’ he warned, ‘but the Accademia is open until 2pm.’

Galleria dell'Accademia.

Galleria dell’Accademia.

Michaelangelo’s David was, of course, high on my list, so we set off on the first of many brisk walks around Florence. The front of the building was closed, with nothing to indicate where one should try to enter. Around the corner we found a long queue which didn’t seem to be moving, so I left Susanne in line and went to investigate. Down the road and around the next corner was another line and the entry for Firenze card holders. By this time 2pm was getting too close for further dallying. We politely but firmly made our way to the front of this line and were allowed into the building.
‘Where is the painting called Madonna of the Sea, by Botticelli?’ I asked our ticket inspectors. Three of them didn’t understand English, although I think they understood ‘Botticelli’ and wanted to direct me to another of his works.
After several attempts I was permitted to enter the closest gallery, only to discover an empty space where my favourite Botticelli should have been.
‘It’s in Paris, on lone,’ I was informed by a forth attendant when I returned to the ticket counter and my puzzled sister.

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Eucalypt Leaves

Eucalyptus tree in my garden

Eucalyptus tree in my garden

I was inspired to write this poem many years ago, when we lived part time in London. It was a damp, depressing November day. I had finished shopping for groceries and was feeling homesick for sunny Perth. As I walked out through the doors, wheeling my trolley and hoping to find a co-operative taxi driver, I was overwhelmed by the scent of gum leaves. The trolley was discarded as I raced towards that smell, so evocative of Australia.

 

 

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Florence: Actor and Diva Suites

Arriving in Florence with no-one to meet us, I was nervous about getting from the station to our B&B, Florence Relais Grand Tour which sounded very grand for a B&B but was absolutely delightful. The taxi rank was exactly where Christina, our hostess had told me to go and the driver found the tiny street in less than ten minutes.  Double doors, two steps up from the pavement, displayed the number 21. After a couple of rings on the bell we were greeted by the charming Christina and our cases whisked inside and along the stone paved passage to our suites – Diva and Actor.

Diva Suite

Diva Suite

Actor Suite

Actor Suite

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Rome to Florence by Train

En route to Florence

En route to Florence

On May 2nd this year, we said goodbye to our friends at the Hotel Farnese (lovely hotel if you’re staying in Rome, see them at http://www.hotelfarnese.com ) and set off in a private taxi for the Central Railway Station. Richard, our driver, parked a long way from the entry. After waiting inside for half an hour, I understood why he had chosen that cheaper spot and was grateful for his willingness to remain with us.

Susanne and I had no way of knowing where our train would come into the station, and at 10.40 am, with departure time still listed as 10.45 am, we started to panic, despite the assurances offered by our patient assistant.

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Spring Has Sprung in the Hills

'She always wears a hat.' The sculpture of me was created by my daughter, Stephanie Burns

The sculpture is of me, created by my daughter, Stephanie Burns. On rainy days I seem to frown, but today, I’m happy in my garden.

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My first daffodil bloomed on the first day of spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Grevilleas grow amongst my rock walls.

After such a wet, cold winter, to walk out of my back door and bask in gentle sunshine, filled my heart with joy and my body with warmth. My fingers were itching to plant and dig, to gather my harvest, or just get down and dirty.

Birdsong filled the air as my feathered friends darted in and out of grevilleas that grow amongst the rock walls tumbling down from my house.

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My camera was busy that day, capturing colour.

A day earlier I spotted a bright blue wren, the first of the season to land on my patio—a  young male, eager for his first mating season, attacking his image in the glass doors. Unfortunately I couldn’t capture him on camera, but when one appears, I’m ready for the rest.

 

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Rome: The Capuchin Crypt

After our visit to the Domitilla Catacombs we were taken by bus to the Capuchin Crypt, which turned out to be the most unusual of all our Roman adventures.

Still operated as a spiritual community run by the Capuchin Franciscan Friars, the Museum and Crypt, as well as the chapel, are places of quiet, contemplation and respect for the dead. Although the information put out by Viator Tours (see them at  http://viator.com)  for this part of our afternoon tour didn’t try to hide anything, I hadn’t really expected to see human skeleton parts, especially not in the sort of arrangements that greeted us.

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