There comes a point of course when the signposts to "Centro" give out. I'm probably there, but where is the Piazza della Libertá from here?
I follow my nose in a generally leftwards direction, remembering the map, and suddenly stumble upon it. The huge Roman arch and the fountain are unmistakable.
And after circling the piazza a couple of times I spot a sign off to "Parterre" with a large blue P sign. The only drawback is that the sign is in a slip road parallel with the main route round the piazza and I can't see any way on to that sliproad.
I pause and ask a taxi driver. He is extremely helpful and says something like "I wouldn't start from here if I were you". I have to leave the Piazza and with some fear and trepidation (I may never find it again) go off on a circuitous ratrun round one-way streets to get back into the traffic stream he has pointed at.
I come off on the wrong street, twice, do U turns where no U turns have ever been attempted before (to judge from the uproar of hooting it arouses) and after about ten similar faux-pas I get into the slip road I've seen and find that it seems to be a dead end with no further signs to the carpark I need. I pause and ask a kind looking man in a doorman's uniform where the Parterre carpark is. I am causing a traffic jam on this slip road now - and it does have an opening at the end. He waves across the road. "It's behind that palazzo there."
And sure enough, with no further signposts, that is where it is. It has taken me about 30 minutes of causing traffic mayhem to find it. Thank goodness there have been no traffic police about during that time.
The Hotel Colorado is in the Via Camillo Cavour, diagonally across the Piazza della Libertá from the Parterre. I take an overnight bag and leave my main luggage in the car. It's five miutes' walk once I've crossed the Piazza. And it seems to be locked up - it's only 5.30 so I bang on the door. Then I see a phone number on a notice next to the bell and in response to my call the owner comes down and unlocks the door. He seems surprised that it was locked.
The Colorado is very reasonably priced (50 euros for one night and a breakfast that I can't use because I am leaving so early next morning). It's round the corner from the Piazza San Marco and an easy walk from the main historic centre and Santa Maria Novella railway station. My room is small but very quiet, with a little balcony overlooking an inner courtyard. The plumbing is new, though there's no shower tray which does make having a shower rather a paddling experience. There are very nice white fluffy towels and soap provided. I'm very happy with it.
I have allowed S to know my Italian mobile number and he has phoned once or twice while I've been out of Florence. I've missed his calls aand now when he calls again I wonder if I should answer. But his help on my first night was so kind and got me out of a very difficult situation (paused on a junction of the autotrada on the edge of Florence, with no idea where I was). I decide that I should buy him a dinner on my last night, to say "Thank you". So I answer his phone call and we have a conversation of which neither of us understands much. We agree to meet in the Piazza San Marco.
It's too early for dinner - only 6pm - so we walk down to the Duomo area, and across to the Uffizi. A friend calls S on his mobile. I'm asked to say a few words to the friend, A, who speaks a little English. We laugh together into the phone. S is keen to make a party of the evening and it's planned - A will get his girlfriend and thay will meet us near the Pitti Palace. We walk across the bridge, S telling me about the time when the Arno flooded to a height of several metres, so that the Piazza Della Signoria was flooded. It was a flash flood, and according to S many people drowned. He was about six years old, in 1966, and remembers it vividly.
We meet up with A and his girfiend at a pizza restaurant near the Pitti Palace and have an excellent evening. S. won't let me pay for his dinner though I contribute a few extra euros towards the wine. Both S and A work in the leather trade. A makes prototype handbags for a top designer. His girlfriend, R, is a lovely girl from Madagascar. She has lived in London and speaks more English than A. We all get on very well, in a mixture of my terrible Italian, S's strong Florentino accent, and the English that A and R can speak. There's a lot of laughter which fills any gaps in the conversation.
I have to be up and at the airport at six in the morning, so I can't have a late night. But I wouldn't have missed this cheerful last evening for anything. Looking back on it next day, it makes up for the pain of getting up at dawn and trying to find my car - and my suitcase which I've left in the boot - and sleep-driving my way to Peretola airport to catch the plane at 7.55.
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