11/22 The mustached man at the hotel didn’t speak a word of English, when we arrived, but he ushered us upstairs. We went out to buy beers and drank them in the streets (which is permissible in Italy and most of Europe,) relishing the feeling of being in a city too small to have a metro.
We sat in the shadow of the Duomo, my favorite church yet. Its teal, cream and red-tiled beauty was spectacular. Still no Stenhaul syndrome, though.
11/23 Florence is a beautiful city and had a peak we could hike to, a river, a park for us to swing. The cobblestone streets are trodden by foot and bicycle more often than they are by car. But the city’s greatest appeal, we decided, was the food. 
Dinner one night began with complimentary champagne flutes.
Next course: bruchetta, bread slices baked with olive oil, tomato and herbs. Also, fresh bread to dip in olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
Next course: a side of grilled vegetables to share, potato pasta for me, ham tortellini for Nick.
Next course: Tiramasu to share.
Finishing with: A bottle of red wine. Complimentary limoncello shots.
<On the walk home we stopped at a photobooth.
The next day in Florence was overcast with news of Lesley’s mom passing. I wanted to be home, to bake a pie and go to the service… be there for her in a more tangible way. The day was wrought with reflection and feelings of helplessness. Alas, Lesley is one of the strongest women I know, and I know she is surrounded by love right now. I can only send good thoughts from here.
Death is ever humbling. Amidst it, all petty gripes melt away to reveal pure gratitude. I relate any new experiences with death to the most jarring one in my life thus far, that of my cousin Evan a few years ago. In the wake of such unthinkable tragedy, I felt like I understood a crucial and beautiful human reality. I felt helpless. I felt finite. My family clung to each other. Friends cooked and comforted and came to the funeral to pay respects before Evan was ushered to his final resting place by a John Deere tractor. Words didn’t mean anything at the time. Presence did. For weeks, It felt so wrong for the world to go on, for people in my dorm room to be laughing at stupid internet videos or complaining about the size of their thighs.
Ultimately, you can let death defeat you or you can embrace the inevitability and humility of the grieving process. On the eve of Thanksgiving, this reminder of death makes me wish that I could be home with family and friends. I feel acutely grateful for all of you at home.
Our last meal in Florence was what we had been searching for… a place with no English on the menu. Only Italian in the air… words and scents. We followed suit in ordering a cariff of cheap house wine, which no table was without. The cook behind the counter kept doing shots of it as he casually prepared the food. A man came in to sell flowers and the child of one of the restaurant owners bought one and gave it to his mom (at the bidding of his dad.) Everyone in the kitchen and at the tables were boisterous, happy, vibrant. We ate hot bread with cheese, and ravioli. I sat back in my seat in full understanding of why people come to Italy on culinary quest.