Night as a Wine Lover in Florence Part II

Part II of yesterday’s post

I take my first sip of this wine, and words that I’ve heard connoisseur types use to describe it, suddenly become available to me. It is complex on the nose, full structured and velvety, with rich perfumes of fruits and hints of flowers, and what I believe to be chocolate. It is the perfect temperature, slightly cool on this unusually hot October evening. After a few more sips I know there is no better place to be on earth at this moment than this rooftop in Florence.

The fact that I love this wine so well, so immediately, surely means that anything is possible. I know…we could quit our jobs, take the kids out of school and move here and make our own wine and olive oil! I will never be happier with a glass of wine again. I have the impulse to find a phone and call my husband to tell him about it, but it dawns on me that I’m where I’m supposed to be; and I’m meant to be by myself.

The famous changing Tuscan light does its sunset finale, gently illuminating the 360-degree panorama of postcard buildings in warm apricot glow. Bells ring from various churches, seemingly without rhyme or reason; Euro sirens blare and a single horse’s hooves clomp below, down a narrow street. A loneliness that doesn’t feel wrong passes my consciousness as I look down to a terrace across the street and see four women together on a girls’ trip laughing and raising wine glasses to the evening.

Lights twinkle from across the Arno River as darkness begins to dim the show. And perhaps most spectacularly, an occasional flash from a camera through a hole in the massive dome of the Duomo reminds me that I am but one of tens of thousands of tourists who visit Florence each day.

The wine server refills my glass, and I ask him what the name of the wine is. He tells me, but I know I’ll never remember it. I ask him to write it down and he says he will.

Other hotel guests begin to trickle up into what I was truly starting to believe was my own tower: the Birkenstock couple from California, a dressed up couple from Savannah, and a group of three that I can’t figure out. I listen as they compare their day’s highlights, plan their tomorrows and laugh. The wine server arrives to take their order, and I smile to myself when I see him raise his finger in the air and recommend something to the woman from Savannah.

The new arrivals are appreciative of the spectacular setting, but mostly seem to be exercising their traveler’s curiosity. Countrymen, united by shared foreign travel experience, are allowed to ask each other lots of questions. Where are you from? Oh, I know some people there…do you know so and so? What did you do today? Where else have you been on your trip? They eye me, trying to guess my story. Am I waiting for someone?

One or two try to bring me into their conversation, but at this point, I’m enjoying my anonymity, and politely retreat. I overhear snippets of their conversation and watch them take photos of each other. Another flash comes from the Duomo and I feel as if Florence is winking at me. The Italian wine server has been refreshing my wine glass and now, as the twilight becomes dark, my glass is empty and I know it is time to leave.

When I went up the tower, I wanted to spend the evening in my hotel room; when I came down the tower, I didn’t. I was in Florence, Italy for one night, and I thought I was just trying to get through to the next thing. Silly.

I returned to my room, put on a dress and heels and a nice man at the front desk, as if he could read my mind when I asked for a restaurant recommendation, raised his finger in the air in an exaggerated way and said, “For a woman dining alone, I have just the place.”

He produced a card of a restaurant and pointed me in the right direction. I still have the card of the restaurant, which did turn out to be wonderful, but I never did get the name of that wine.

Hotel Torre Guefla
Borgo SS Apostoli, 8
Tel: 055-2396338
(When I recently visited the Hotel Torre Guefla website, there was a picture of a person behind the desk in the lobby who I would almost swear is the same guy who sent me to the restaurant)

Giancarlo Avuri, the operator of the Hotel tells me I probably was sipping a Tignanello, a Supertuscan of Aninori. The Avuris also operate a wine bar in Florence, Pitti Gola and Cantina, on the Piazza Pitti.

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