Following your nose around Florence

“What is Italy?” my four year-old grand-daughter asked as I held her close and told her I was off to Italy for the year. How do you answer a question like that? That was back in Sydney, Australia, in February. But it wasn’t until last week, when she paid me a fleeting visit, that I was able to attempt some sort of answer. Her mum and dad (my daughter, Natali, and son-in-law Tony) had never been to Florence and suggested we all meet there for a few days. So after 24 long hours on a plane, followed by a train ride from Milan to Florence, there she was, eyes shining and full of questions. “How do you say ‘hello’ in Italian?'” she asked five minutes after arriving. “Buongiorno!” I told her. She mimicked me and her pronunciation was perfect. At long last, I could hug and kiss her, gestures not possible on FaceTime. She was also jet-lagged, so her energy levels rose and fell at odd hours. By 6pm most nights, she was pretty ratty, only to be expected after such a long journey. Throughout the year I have tried to maintain connection with her by sending regular hand-written postcards. Fortunately, I’d stumbled across some marvellous Pinocchio postcards published by Pantani in San Gimignano. They’re bright and colourful and full of the naughty deeds of the long-nosed wooden puppet and I thought she’d enjoy them. On our very first outing, while her mum and dad climbed the long winding steps to the top of the Duomo, she suddenly exclaimed, “Look Nonna, Pinocchio!” We’d only just left the hotel and were strolling around the touristy market stalls selling bags and scarves which are stationed all around the Central Market (Mercato Centrale) when shiny red and green Pinocchios started popping up everywhere, and not just as puppets, but as whistles and pens and pencils. Pinocchio was everywhere. “Please, please Nonna, can I have a whistle…and a puppet?” Despite admonitions from her parents not to spoil her, how could I resist? But it wasn’t until we visited the bookshop in the Palazzo Vecchio  (after coaxing her away from staring at the statue of David) that I realised Pinocchio was born in Florence. Thumbing through one of the books, I read that Le Avventure di Pinocchio was published between 1881- 1883 by Carlo Lorenzini, (pen-name Collodi), and that he was born just near the Central Market at Via Taddea 25. There was also a reasonably priced children’s pop-up book about Pinocchio’s adventures which I purchased. Suddenly, we were both distracted by a loud sound. Bang! bang! bang! “Nonna, what is that?” she asked, trembling. “Signora, don’t worry, it’s just firecrackers.  Someone has just been married,” explained the man behind the desk. We rushed outside just as the firecrackers finished to find the bride and groom surrounded by confetti and a crowd of people. My grand-daughter started collecting the coloured rice and pieces of paper strewn over the ground and put them into the paper bag along with the Pinocchio trinkets. Then it was off to take a look at the River Arno and the Ponte Vecchio before joining mum and dad for lunch at Borgo Antico on the other side of the river near the Santo Spirito church. Along the way we passed a rather terrifying statue of Perseus with snakes in his hair – not the 16th century bronze by Benvenuto Cellini – but a live mobile version who teasingly threatened to behead both my grand-daughter and me. At one stage, he placed a writhing serpent helmet on my head and I looked like a hideous gorgon. She was mesmerised, and for a moment I wondered if she’d turned to stone. “Nonna, why did he put those snakes on your head?” she asked. Fortunately she was distracted by a man throwing small brightly-coloured water bombs onto the paving stones, and then by the bride and groom clop-clop-clopping along the street in a horse-drawn carriage. They were later to emerge on the grassy bank of the muddy Arno River for wedding photos. Neither of us liked the crowds or the glitzy jewellery shops on the Ponte Vecchio and I had to hold her hand firmly to ensure we both arrived safely on the other side. There we paused while she intently watched a woman painting watercolour scenes of Florence. Once again, she was mesmerised and it was hard to pull her away. She was also tired from walking on the paved stones and we still had further to go. Despite promising her parents not to indulge her with gelato, I pointed to a nearby shop where the display was so gorgeous that she instantly complied with my requests to move. Ah, I mused, perhaps by the time we leave Florence, it’ll be me with the long nose. By the time we reached Piazza Santo Spirito, we were both exhausted but she perked up as soon as she saw the trees and fountain in the piazza.  A musician was playing Brazilian tunes near the fountain and children were chasing pigeons. Apart from the colourful Pinocchios hanging on market stalls and the carousel in Piazza della Repubblica, the historic centre of Florence is not child-friendly. It’s mostly stone, there are no grassy areas and you can count the number of trees on one hand. She perked up again when mum and dad arrived and we sat down to pizza and pasta at Borgo Antico. The next day, our last day together, I took her to Piazza della Repubblica where I’d promised her a ride on that gorgeous carousel. One ride turned into six as it was cheaper to buy six rides than pay for them individually. But do you think I could get her off after six rides? As difficult as that was, it was much harder to say good-bye. “Nonna, how do you say good-bye in Italian?” she asked. “Ciao bella!” I said. “Ciao bella!” she said with perfect pronunciation. Then she paused, looked at me and said: “Nonna, when are you coming back?”