Florence journal
So I've been in this city for less than 24 hours and it is blowing my mind.

Even flying in to the airport was magical - first glimpse of the mountains bathed in that magical light which makes the jagged peaks effortlessly flow into hazy outlines and then into the infinite layers of cloudy horizon.

And then the city itself: a taxi ride past the Duomo into the city centre. I arrived about two hours too early to get the keys of my appartment, and attracted by what looked like frescoes on a wall, wandered past tiny trattorias and bars into the Piazza Santa Croce. And there, before me, the perfect black and white geometric facade of a pre-Renaissance church. A statue of Dante - what an omen. A tiny group of traditional musicians busking. People sitting at an open-air cafe (on a sunny November afternoon). A big open medieval irregular square, with on one side a large palazzo covered with C17th frescoes. What a hardship to idle away a Sunday afternoon waiting there.

Then a quick stroll to the river, past the Museo Horne, to catch a first glimpse of the view up to the Church of San Minatore.

Then back to collect the keys and climb the stairs to the tiny appartment straight out of a movie - plain white walls, high furniture, tiled kitchen. The cracks in the walls of the ceiling make me feel happier about the cracks in the wall of my flat which have appeared recently because they are babies in comparison to this. Thankfully there is also hot water and all the electrics appear to be working...

Then out for my first experience of shopping Italian style. All these centuries of civilisation and no fresh milk, only the UHT style. Just like France.

Then a stroll round the city. The easy thing would be the guided tour on a summer afternoon, jostling with other tourists. There is something magical about exploring such a city in the dark evening, at a time when all the shops are still open and the citizens are out for their passegiatura. To just be walking down the streets and stumble upon the Piazza dei Signori, to find the David without even knowing that you are looking for it, so that instead of an object endowed with status, it is just another sculpture, a little timid even beside the Hercules statue, a little simple and embarrassed to be caught in front of that grand building the Palazzo Vecchio. Even the passage through the middle of the Uffizi, every geometric design on the wall so perfectly proprortioned and perspectived, is beautiful. Then to the Ponte Vecchio, uncrowded with the shops shut, and back through the medieval city to pay homage to the Casa di Dante. To look for and not find the Chiesa di Dante, and then lost down a side street to discover it, for a wonder open at this hour in preparation for a concert, dark as it must then have been. In such European cities where churches for centuries agglutinated decoration, the few survivals relatively free from ornament are jewel-like in their simplicity. This is another such.

The tomb of Beatrice was covered with letters people have written to her. One said 'pray for us' which I find strange. Only Dante crowned her as a saint. Opposite her tomb is one of a 13th-century Theresa who founded an order of hospitallers. Her tomb by comparison attracts no attention. The woman who was the object of Dante's attention, who served as his inspiration, is revered. The woman who in those days went out and did something to help others, who organised and used her own capacity, is forgotten.

And then to crown the day, to the gelateria Vivoli, which lives up to all the praise of the guidebooks. I can see that I am going to have to budget 1 euro 60 per day for this.

The appartment has one window through which the cypresses and church on the hills can be glimpsed, and in the background that light which is captured in so many paintings and always seemed imaginary until now.