It was love at first sight. From my first glimpses of Tuscany in a travel magazine feature as a teen to the peek-a-boo views I caught of the red-tiled roof of Il Duomo as I arrived in Florence in ‘98, I have been utterly besotted with this part of Italy. You only have to say ‘Florence’, or Firenze, and those who have been there get a far-away look in their eyes. The art, the architecture, the very atmosphere of this city – birthplace of the Renaissance – all draw you in and invite you to place your own feet upon the cobblestones once trodden by Dante and da Vinci. 
And then, of course, there are the lucky few who get to call Florence ‘home’. I was one of those lucky few in my early twenties; I’d spent a few weeks travelling south from the Netherlands and ended up in Florence, where I lived and worked as a nanny for almost a year. Then, a year or two after West and I got married, we returned to live in Florence for three months. And now this was an opportunity to spend a short time living in Florence with our family. As it worked out (because of when airfare deals were available), we had five weeks in Florence, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. We arrived after the end of the summer hiatus and the highest peak of the tourist season; Florentines had returned from their August exodus to seaside places, and schools were back in session. The city was perfectly itself. 
Weather-wise, we were spoiled during our Florentine sojourn. We enjoyed a lingering summer heat – it was unseasonably warm – which meant that our boys (and we, too) got to experience the city’s tempestuous summer thunderstorms, sunny days and balmy evenings at the beginning of our stay, and then the freshness of the cool autumn weather in the weeks before our departure. All the guidebooks will tell you that it’s cheaper if you stay on the periphery of town, but being within walking distance of the main attractions was of paramount importance to us – I had to be able to walk with the kids to the Duomo, the Uffizi and the mercato, and we felt that we needed to be right in the historical centre to have a properly authentic experience. We opted to spend a bit more on our accommodation in Florence and balance out the expense by staying somewhere cheaper later on (Malta), and this splurge afforded us an appartamento on via Cavour, less than 500 m from Piazza del Duomo. This was the longest stay we had anywhere during our travels, and as such we settled into routines of work, school, grocery-shopping, church; in short, we experienced ‘life’ as a family in Florence.
D, modelling the latest in Italian fashion
Why yes, we DID eat a lot of pizza!
And how different our family’s life in Florence was to our life on Vancouver’s North Shore! In Canada, we’d load up the minivan at the grocery ‘superstore’ once a fortnight and then pick up the odd thing at the local supermarket to tide us over between mega-shops. We got our milk delivered. In Florence, two to three times a week (usually in the evening) we’d all walk just over a kilometer to the supermarket (there was a closer one, but as it was in the centre, the prices were about double what they were at ‘our’ supermarket) for basics like milk, coffee, red wine, and pasta; and every other day or so the boys and I would head to the mercato centrale (the central market near the San Lorenzo basilica) to pick up fresh bread, fruits and veggies. Unlike in Canada, we wouldn’t pick our own produce (in fact, if you do touch the fruit, some vendors will take umbrage at the intrusion). Instead, we’d ask the gentlemen running the grocery stall for what we wanted, and they would weigh and bag it for us. They were very kind, and every single time we went there the boys came away with some free pieces of fruit. After a couple of weeks, the boys also started getting caramelle (hard candies) from the generous Halal butchers whose stall was next to the vegetable stand – even though we never bought any meat. It’s great having the personalized service –unless you’re in a hurry – and we grew friendly with the guys at our regular stall (as we did with the bread-and-cheese lady in the mercato); the only downside to having someone else pack your groceries is sometimes ending up with softer fruit being squished by heavier items placed on top! When we went to the supermarket, we’d occasionally pick up the odd bit of fruit or veg (always feeling guilty for diverting our custom from our friends at the mercato), and even that process was different from how we’d have done it ‘back home’. In much of Europe, when you pick up your produce at the supermarket, you weigh it yourself and print a sticker with a bar code to place on the bag; failing to do so will generally earn you some very surly looks from the checkout staff – and you will have to scuttle off to do it yourself while everyone behind you in the line stamps their feet. Consider yourselves warned. We could only ever buy as much as we could carry, of course – and the boys really rose to the occasion when it was a question of ‘can we manage to carry all the essentials PLUS a jar of Nutella?’ Joking aside, though, their willingness to help surpassed our expectations almost every time we went shopping; each of the older three would end up with a small bag or two, and sometimes the older boys (A&B) would vie with each other to see how much extra they could carry, staggering home thus burdened along the darkened streets of town. 
Even though we’d missed peak tourist season in Florence, the sidewalks in the centre were still full of pedestrians, especially during the day. I’d find myself herding these kids of mine – who’d never even crossed the street on their own before – off the sidewalk and along the side of the road to bypass the crowds where it was busiest. 
When I had D in the buggy, I often needed to go ‘offroad’ (well, actually ‘onroad’) because the pedestrian paths were just too narrow. Fortunately, we had brought the front pack on our travels, and we used it a lot! The boys and I refined our ‘single file’ formation; and where there was space, we’d go two-by-two, holding hands. I’d call out to them, “Buddy up!” and my little ducklings would dutifully pair up with me or a brother and off we’d go. They got so used to this that D started to echo my instruction, or even initiate the order: “Buddy up!” 
When we weren’t out running these errands we were busy with homeschool, washing dishes, doing laundry, and generally living life with a family of six in a small apartment*. We quickly found routines that worked and ditched the things that didn’t. We learned. We adjusted.
Apartment life is endlessly entertaining…
In general, things just took a little more time and effort in Florence than they had in Vancouver. It wasn’t always easy – but it was always beautiful. By the time we left, we’d seen what we most wanted to see and done what we’d most wanted to do – but most of all, we’d enjoyed living in Florence as a family. And I was still in love. 
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(*More posts on Florence are on their way – stay tuned!)
Have Kids, Still Travel 