Review of holidaying in Florence.

Florence feels like one of those places you've already been to even before you get there. You have heard it in art history lectures you half listened to, seen it in films and textbooks, and on the social media pages of individuals who suddenly showed a strong interest in architecture for a long weekend. Thus, when you eventually arrive, wheeling a little luggage over old stones not meant for wheels, there is a weird sense of déjà vu along with a little panic about where all the people came from.

Florence's tourism isn't understated. Usually in the form of tour guides waving flags, parasols, or expressions of extreme exhaustion, it proclaims itself loudly. The historic centre is a lovely maze where every street appears to lead to something significant, or at least something that looks significant enough to photograph. Churches show up much too often, each one claiming to have a treasure, a relic, or both. You could find yourself nodding respectfully after the third or fourth while inwardly wondering if it's okay to sit for five minutes and check your phone.

Whether you like it or not, the people are a part of the experience. Florence is small and beautiful until you understand everyone else had the same notion at once. Assuming you appreciate world-class art and standing quite close to strangers while acting as though you don't see their backpacks, the Uffizi Gallery is a highlight. Torn between real respect and the awareness that there is gelato waiting outside, you move from Botticelli to Michelangelo with a type of reverent impatience.

Florence clearly captivates you most with food. A plate of pasta tasting like someone's grandmother is personally invested in your happiness will melt even the most hardened traveller. For cultural reasons, you tell yourself you'll eat little and then buy dessert anyway. Wine pours freely, arguments get heated, and you instantly see why so many individuals believe this is the place they might, theoretically, relocate and run a little leather goods store.

Being a visitor while mildly criticising tourism is ironic; Florence helps you to understand this at every turn. You appreciate realness, but you also want good coffee and visible instructions. You want to lose yourself but not too far. The city exhales during calmer times—perhaps early in the morning or right before dinner. The light strikes the buildings just right, the streets temporarily belong to residents again, and you sense like you are witnessing something genuine even if only for a minute.

Florence has accomplished what it does best by the time you go: a bit worse and a lot fuller. It has swamped you, fed you well, and made you swear to come back, ideally in the off-season, when fewer individuals are having the same thoughtful experience as you.