This time around, I was forced to see things differently — to see Florence — differently.
Sure, for the most part, she was her same old beautiful self — the Duomo still standing tall and the Ponte Vecchio still packed with people. But I was forced to see certain things from a different perspective — a new perspective. And I think that’s what this trip was supposed to be for me… about perspective.
This trip I went in with no plan. Zero. To me, this wasn’t some destination trip where I needed to spend every waking moment in a new museum. It was a trip home — truly. I did absolutely no research for new restaurants or stores to check out. I just went.
Every time someone asked me what I was going to do on my trip alone for a week, I responded — live.
And I meant it.
I had no interest in doing anything new, but just wanted to spend time in places that once helped give me pieces to the puzzle of my soul.
I’m laughing a little right now… what confidence I had that everything that was 2 years ago would still be the same — would still be there. I guess I just had a deep trust? I also knew, in the event some of those places were gone, I would figure it out. I would reroute and find something new.
So, were all of the places still there?
For the most part. I mean — yes.
But they weren’t all the same.
My third day, I ventured to Castiglioncello — a small beach town on the coast. I went there at the end of my long stay in 2024 and realized I had just found paradise. The water was some of the clearest I’d ever seen in my whole life and it had seemed I had found a hidden secret — away from the sardine packed tourist world… I was one of 4 people on the beach that day.
When I bought the tickets to go back to Italy for a quick visit this year, I knew saying hi to Castiglioncello was a non-negotiable. Upon arrival, it was packed. The train — packed.
Most of this trip I refrained from using maps to navigate. To my surprise, the moment the bottom of my new cow print sambas touched the Florentine pavement at the airport — I was off and running. I quickly realized this was not a trip away, this was a trip back home. I spent the greater part of my adventure navigating from memory and when sometimes taking the wrong turn… used that as an opportunity to wander and discover.
And that’s exactly what happened in Castiglioncello…
As I hopped off the train and everyone paused pedestrian traffic to figure out the way to go, I breezed past all of them — confident I knew where I was going.
So, it turns out I didn’t.
Everything looked familiar, but I truly didn’t technically know the way… I continued anyway. I figured, this was a beach town and one way or another, as long as I kept inching closer to the water in the near distance, surely I would find the beach.
To my complete shock, I somehow got myself on the whole entire opposite side of where I’d been before. As I made it down to the water, nothing looked the same… I couldn’t see that pink house that juts out on that large mountainous rock. I couldn’t see the beach where I once laid my towel all those years ago.
Where was I?
What was supposed to be a 15 minute walk turned into an hour trek through balance beams and tight entryways all made of rock. There were cafes along the coast that I never knew existed and even a bit more civilization than I had previously discovered. It was a place I’d never seen before.
Determined to find my old beach, I didn’t stop until things looked familiar. Eventually, I saw the pink house, but there were still some differences… first of all, the beach was packed. I figured, this must not be the right beach… my beach, no one seemed to know about. It felt hidden and protected from the world.
So, I kept walking.
I walked until I made it to the other end of the coast. I quickly realized somewhere in between where I came from, and where I was, carried my old destination, but I couldn’t find it.
The beach looked different — I think the tide was perhaps higher? I’m not totally sure. All I know is I didn’t fully recognize it. So, instead I found a rock…
This rock was out in the middle of the water with no one on it. So instead of working to find a sliver of sand to place my towel to rest, I ventured to that rock — my rock (for the day).
I spent the rest of the afternoon submerging myself in the crystal clear saltwater, journaling, reading, and resting. Pure bliss.
But the point… the point to this long winded story about a beach I didn’t recognize is this —
Although I was back in a place that was familiar — a place I had already shaken hands with and I’d say even hugged once before — I got lost.
I took a different route.
It didn’t really go to plan.
But, do you know what did happen?
I discovered something — new places, sights, paths, etc. I expanded my world.
Similarly, back in Florence on day 4, I meandered over to the Odean — where I used to spend my days studying, writing, buying tickets for Viennese balls… you name it. The Giunti Odean is an old theater where they still play movies — old ones during the day and new ones you can buy tickets to at night. It’s also a bookstore, so as you sit on the upper level in the old gold velvet seats, you can observe the world below immersing themselves in literature.
Upon arrival I ventured to the top floor as I always used to do. There was also a cafe and restrooms up above which was always a perk. Having been venturing around for some hours before my arrival, I was planning to stop at the restroom as well — as I reached the top of the stairs, there was a velvet rope in front of the bathroom — “out of service.”
Darn. No worries though, I’d survive.
As I turned back around to choose my golden seat — another velvet rope… “this section closed.”
What?
How could this be?
“This section” ?! But that’s the whole section… I took that as my sign to leave for the day and give it another go on day 5 — my last day.
So, I did — I went back. The rain had just rolled in and so I figured it perfect — a nice little resting spot while the sky opened up on the world below for a bit. As I approached the stairs… a velvet rope.
This time I couldn’t even get up to the second floor… “closed until 3pm for a tour.”
It was 11am.
I felt a little defeated. It was now pouring outside and I didn’t really feel like taking another shower for the day… I knew I could kill 10 minutes or so moseying around the book store on the first floor, but I also just wasn’t feeling all that inspired to look at books. That morning a new tornado had started in my mind and I really just needed to find a place to sit and write.
As I made it to the front, I saw some seats — seats I’d never been in before. Heck, seats I’d never really even seen before.
So, I sat.
There was a silent movie on. A woman was elaborately dressed, sitting writing a love letter at a cafe table while wiping away tears — it felt ironic.
So, I hung out there for a while — in my new seat — observing the Odean from this new view point.
Like Castiglioncello, I still made it… I still was able to go back to the same destination as before — but it wasn’t the same. I saw it differently.
I was forced to — meant to — see it differently.
And like these places, I had returned back to Florence different. Shorter hair, slimmer face, an adult out of college, now officially out in the “real world”. Just as little bits of Florence changed, I had changed too.
But change doesn’t equal forgetfulness, does it?
I still recognized this magnificent city, and I accepted it for its change. In a similar way, as I walked the old streets and went back to favorite spots — I was recognized.
I couldn’t believe it.
And that’s what this trip was to me — juxtaposing the old with the new. Acknowledging and respecting the past but accepting the present and being open to new beginnings — to a different path with a new viewpoint.
