at the Duomo

photo by Áine

The step wound up through the bowels of the dome, a narrow spiraling course that made me think of the occult. The walls crawled with penned graffiti. Four hundred some steps we climbed that morning, so when we finally popped out on the roof of the Duomo we plopped ourselves down and took a rest. Florence stretched out below us, its red roofs on white buildings thinning out into the green hills at the edges of the city.

A steady stream of tourists poured onto the Duomo balcony. From the bench we had a better view of them than of the city, so we people-watched. When I'm around tourists my default attitudes are mild embarrassment, condescension, or outright contempt. It's the worst when I'm a tourist myself as I am here, afloat without much knowledge of the place. I came to Italy with only a rough plan, and it feels funny to merely follow the crowds to famous places. But here I was the the top of the Duomo, clueless as anyone.

We sat for awhile, probably an hour. We pointed out landmarks to each other, the domes and spires of the city rising around us like siblings. Kids begged Euros off their parents to play with the binocular viewing machines. People took pictures of themselves deep in shadow, pictures that would probably be washed out by flash. I tried not to worry about it. We watched the light pass from mid-morning glow to noon glare. It got hot. We had our picture taken -- twice, because my shirt was ridiculously unbuttoned the first time. And headed down.

I'm traveling with little knowledge, but also with no expectations. It's liberating, in a way. My itinerary is a mash-up of Áine's recommendations, random guidebook flipping, and mere whim. In a place like Florence I just focus on staying super, super open and observant, smile at the other tourists, and let myself be moved.