Photo Pest: Florentine Leftovers

"Common Man" by Jean Marie Clet Abraham, Ponte alle Grazie

I guess you could say I had a room with a view at the Il Guelfo Bianco, the most expensive lodging of my trip, but I had to stand on my tiptoes in the bathroom to get it which was less annoying than the scarcity of usable electrical outlets and having to climb a small, narrow staircase after exiting the elevator to access my room on the top floor. I overheard the wife in an American couple next door put a positive spin on our inconvenient aeries: "Look, honey, they've put us in the penthouse!"

The Mercato Centrale, a short walk away, used to be the only place you could buy Levi's in Florence during the '80s according to the great guy who sold me the fresh fruit for my lunches, and schooled me in the proper Italian word for fig ("fico" NOT "fica" which means pussy).

I found the simplicity of the Trattoria Vecchio Mercato, just across the street, appealing and stopped to ask the Italian woman having a smoke outside what to order. "Pasta?" she said, shrugging.

Even though I discovered afterward that the truly tasty cacio e pepe was a Roman dish, it encouraged me to return for ravioli in a spicy red sauce, this time at the waiter's suggestion. Finding reasonably priced restaurants serving decent food where customers are more likely to speak Italian than English was a challenge I never met, so I ended up sacrificing the latter criterion.

For my big meal in Florence I crossed the Ponte Vecchio into Altrarno.

Butchers who lived and work on the bridge in the 15th century have been replaced by jewelers, souvenir salesmen and a constant herd of tourists wandering in both directions.

After the long descent from San Miniato al Monte and Michelangelo Piazzale, I put on a sweater to dine al fresco at the Osteria di Rocco, not far from the Ponte alle Grazie which, until the Allies bombed it to smithereens in World War II, had been the oldest bridge in Florence.

I could have made a meal out of the Tuscan crostini

. . . but continued stuffing myself with the tartare di manzo, identified as beef tartare on the menu, of course.

I paid a Saturday morning visit to San Ambrogio, the city's oldest market, apparently popular with two-wheeled taxi drivers. If only I'd had that bike when I dressed as a Checker cab during the early '80s for a Halloween party in Hoboken.

Ceramics vendors congregated on the nearby Piazza San Croce.

The interior of Basilica di Santa Croce had more to offer than several tombs of iconic Italians, including an original bas relief by Donatello, a Florentine native.

"Annunciation of the Virgin" (ca 1433-35)

His even more famous crucifix (ca 1408-09), an early product of his apprenticeship and unusual for its realism, can barely be seen hanging in front of the stained glass window. According to Vasari, Brunelleschi carped it looked more like a "farmer" than Christ.