Firenze.

Florence. This is an excerpt from a Travel Writing exercise we did in class and I thought it might be more interesting to read then simple boring stories, its using descriptions with all 5 senses.

-Busy streets conversing by the roaring engines of cars and vespas, alleys echoing the voices of busy café and shop owners as they greet each other while still persistently hassling any poor passerby that might consider a purchase of there precious goods.

-Strolling through the streets, I’m embraced with a pungent odor of leather, consistent at every corner yet with a new individual punch, confronted with the enticing scent of rich leather my feet follow my nose while my wallet screams with anticipation of how much it may be affected in one single purchase, I decline. Wonderful excrements of the recent four-legged passerby hugs the cobblestones of the street with a warm aroma, forcing me to watch my feet rather than the beautiful antiquity I am surrounded by.

-Grasping my warm greasy pizza, followed by a careless wipe on my blue jeans, attempting to remove the evident grease on my fingertips, telling myself there clean enough now to touch the soft thick texture of the various expensive leathers surrounding me. My choice of rain boots as comfort was not well thought out this day, the continuous grip on the brick streets confronted my soles at every step, clunking as if they weighed more than jam packed back pack. Purchasing a new pair of boots brought much more then mental satisfaction, my feet have never loved me as much as they did the moment they slipped into the new, cream colored leather boots. My fingers consistently sealed to the plastic buttons on my camera as we turn down every street. One hand in my pocket trying to confirm, through the feel of the cold abundance or lack there of coins, that I have enough change for some gelato later in the day. Holding the cold stone walls of the bell tower as we trek our way up the spiral, narrow , hugging walls of the stairway, even catching a fall as I tend to trip over my own feet a bit too frequently. Minimal memory of the sensation of touch as we were confronted with the magnificent view at the top, wind was piercing every pore in my face and hands, keeping me huddled and confined, numbness overwhelmed my hands and toes.

-Clenching on to every last drop of water in my water bottle, as my mouth screams for more in exhaust from the days continuous travel. Grasping the warmth of the ceramic mug, my tongue feels loved with the sensation from the creamy white foam along with the sweetened steamed milk reducing the punch of the rich Italian espresso necessary for my day. Snug in a brick walled dwelling, complete with several tables and individuals serving home cooked meals. Softness in the sweet warm bread, complete with the array of cheeses and sharp cold bruschetta a top. At every bite I am content, finished with a sip of smooth red wine. Complete joy in every taste of my panna cotta and caffe gelato walking across the bridges watching the light play games on the midnight water, didn’t think my day could get much better.

-Overwhelmed with a flush of solemn yellows and maroon details, the glistening sun dances on the water highlighting the antiquity and individuality and the structures overlaying, each brick has a story.