I'm sitting here lathered in olive oil, just like the tomatoes I'm eating (time for a grocery shop), having an inside cigarette for stoic's sake and wondering why the fuck I didn't move to Florence sooner.
Today marks one week of settling into my new home. Settling is a strange word that keeps getting thrown around, because I still can't quite comprehend that I get to feel settled in a place like this!!
I touched down in Firenze at 11:30pm and joined the taxi queue, immediately learning that Ubers here are a tourist trap. A devastating discovery for someone whose paycheque historically circulated almost exclusively through the Eats section of the app.
My first cultural adjustment.
God help.
My taxi driver didn't speak a lick of English but desperately wanted to chat for the entire thirty minute drive. Between us, I managed about four words of actual communication, all of which he talked over anyway. Turns out he was on the phone the whole time.
Stunning.
Ava met me outside, and with her Italian being far better than mine, the one thing she could make out from the driver was "you girls are trouble." Which, to be fair, isn't a bad shout. We began dragging my 30+ kgs of luggage up the eight flights of stairs, which is where I was formally introduced to the consequences of my own actions.
Prior to flying over, I'd convinced Ava that sleeping on the floor of our completely unfurnished apartment the first night would be "part of the experience."
An experience that aged poorly almost immediately.
Needless to say, our first destination the following morning was IKEA.
The next challenge wasn't buying furniture. It was figuring out how the fanculo we were getting all of it, not only to our apartment, but up it.
Enter Angelo.
Our saint.
Angelo is a friend of Ava's, met when she lived here last year. He was kind enough to do two full trips to and from IKEA, both Angelo and passenger flattened against the windscreen, seats pushed forward to make room for our necessities.
The necessities in question.
Muscles were used that had laid dormant since compulsory school sport, and it showed.
Thankfully, reinforcements arrived.
Our beautiful friend Harriet flew down from London to help us set up. A decision made while hungover in London, she booked a LDN -> PSA ticket, one way totalling to £15.
International travel on par with an Uber from one end of Swan Street to the other.
A few days later she found herself building IKEA furniture in Florence. Easy on the eye while doing it, I might add.
With fitness levels that have improved tenfold since arrival and a home that looks exactly like the one we used to joke about over cigarettes on our front porch back in Melbourne. I couldn't be happier.
To top it off, a housemate I’d do eight flights of stairs for any day. Not bad for two girls in two days ;)
All I can say is it's good to be home.
Ciao x (because it wouldn't be an Italian post without one)