all before the parade that starts at four p.m., with the game starting after.
We put our stuff away in our rooms (of course, I have a room to myself while Vanni and Claudio share a suite), and then we make our way out of the hotel. In the lobby I pass a couple of statues that seem to have Claudio’s workmanship.
“Did you do those?” I whisper to him, jutting my thumb at the statues.
He shrugs, a humble smile on his lips. “Perhaps that’s why I get a discount when I stay here?”
I laugh, and we step out into the stunning expanse of the Piazza della Repubblica. Claudio leads us across the street, holding both me and Vanni’s hands because it is so busy here, holy crap, and then we see Lorenzo waiting by an old carousel.
“Claudio,” Lorenzo says as they greet each other warmly. They embrace quickly, a few hearty slaps on the back. If Lorenzo hits Claudio any harder, I think he might jostle a few organs loose.
Lorenzo eyes me and nods. “Ciao. Grace, right?”’
I nod, smiling, and then he looks down to Vanni and holds his palm out for a high five.
“Vanni!’ Lorenzo says. “Il mio piccolo amico!”
Vanni just stares and timidly gives him a high five. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him speechless before, and it’s adorable.
I also don’t blame him.
Lorenzo is a tall, hunky hulk of a man with darkly tanned skin, tattoos, and brooding look to him. His nose has definitely been broken a few times, adding a touch of rugged danger.
He’s also wearing billowing red pants that come to his knees, high red socks, and a red shirt that looks torn and dirty already. Not the most aerodynamic uniform.
“I only came to give you these,” he says to Claudio, slipping him three tickets. “I have to go back before some crazy fucker in a white shirt tries to fight me right here.”
“Grazie,” Claudio says, putting the tickets away. “I will see you after the game, yes?”
“It depends if I still have my head,” he says with a wild grin, and wags his brows at Vanni, who just gasps.
Then Lorenzo is off and running through the crowd.
“Wow,” Vanni says after a moment. “It’s like he’s going off to war.”
Claudio shrugs. “That isn’t a bad analogy. There’s a reason his nickname is The Warrior.” He grabs Vanni’s hand. “Come on, let’s get some lunch and see the Duomo before the parade starts.”
Vanni can never say no to food.
Florence feels hotter than Lucca, and there are so many more people packed in the tiny streets, I’m guessing even more so today. The streets are crowded and a little claustrophobic, and it’s a relief when we find a restaurant on a quiet alley to have some lunch. We take our time, eating a few courses, drinking a bottle of wine and some cocktails.
Then, when we’re refreshed, we head to the Duomo.
I remember the history of the cathedral quite well from my classes at university, so it’s positively surreal to be standing just below the famous red dome and the green and white façade. There is so much history in this city, so many artists produced here, that it’s a little overwhelming, and the Duomo is the focal point.
We decide to skip going inside the cathedral today, since the line is insanely long and we don’t have that much time, so we just explore the outside. Vanni wants to climb the 463 steps to the top, but I’m not even doing that when we do have the time.
Finally it’s time for the foot parade. Because it goes past the Duomo, we stand back in the shade and watch as men and boys come out in Renaissance style outfits, marching with drums, and throwing flags up in the air.
Then, Claudio takes us through tiny, winding streets to the Piazza di Santa Croce, where the game is held.
It is insane.
In front of a large, gilded cathedral with intricate architecture, is absolute chaos. I know that normally that church would be the focal point, but right now it’s the large rectangular square packed with dirt that’s surrounded by thousands of fans in red and white. The energy is off the charts.
“We will come back tomorrow and it will be quiet,” Claudio says, nodding at the church. “The tombs of Michelangelo and Galileo are inside. I always try to pay tribute when I am here.”
Then, with a steely grip on our hands, he leads me and Vanni through the pressing crowd until