‘Keetchen closed,’ he repeated and turned away.
Mrs Elwes turned to us and rolled her eyes.‘OK. Line up girls and get your room keys from Mr Johnson. I suggest we go and dump our bags. Have a quick wash, then meet back here and we’ll go straight into the centre for a bite to eat.’
‘Fantabuluso,’ said TJ as Mr Johnson handed her a key.
‘Now we’ll get to see the real Florence,’ said Nesta. ‘Firenze. That’s Florence in Italian!’
I hoped we would, as my first impressions of Italy from the bus had been disappointing. Motorway, building sites, traffic, and
the hotel looked like any other hotel in the world on the outside – a five-storey building in a busy suburb. The weather was grey like back in the UK and it was nothing like the Florence I’d seen in the film A Room With a View.
I followed the girls up to the first floor, which is where our room was, and wondered what Teddy’s hotel was like. If it was anything like the limo, it would be spectacular.
‘Oh,’ said Izzie, as TJ unlocked our door and we stepped inside a room the size of a broom cupboard. There were two bunk beds crammed in on either side, a tiny wardrobe, an ancient-looking TV on top of a rickety cabinet and a set of drawers. The only nice thing in the room was an antique lamp with red beading around the shade.
‘Bagsy the top,’ I said as I slung my rucksack on the top bunk on the left of the room.
‘OK,’ said Nesta as she headed straight for the cupboard under the TV set. ‘At least it’s got a minibar.’
Two minutes later, she was handing round pieces of chocolate she’d found in the minibar. I munched on my bit, then got up on to my bunk and lay back to enjoy our new surroundings.
‘Ah, luxury,’ I said as I gazed up at the ceiling. The paint was peeling off in places and the shadow in the right corner looked distincdy like damp.
TJ slid open a door to the side of the room and stuck her head in. ‘Well, at least we’ve got a shower and loo. That’s something.’
‘As long as we’re not expected to sleep in it,’ I said. ‘Although it might be more comfy than this.These pillows are really lumpy’
‘Never mind,’ said Nesta through a mouthful of chocolate. ‘We won’t be spending much time in here.’
Izzie peered through a small window behind the TV. ‘Oh the beauty of Italy,’ she sighed.
I got down to go and look. I laughed when I saw that all that was visible from the window was a brick wall opposite. ‘So much for a room with a view.’
A moment later there was a knock at our door.
‘Reception in five minutes, girls,’ Mrs Elwes called through.
‘But we haven’t unpacked,’ said Izzie.
‘We won’t need much,’ said Nesta as she threw her hand luggage into the minuscule wardrobe. ‘I’ve got a few Euros that Dad gave me – enough to last us this afternoon, then we can change the rest of our money later.’
‘Shall we take mobiles?’ I asked. I was really chuffed because Nesta’s dad had had all our mobiles upgraded so that we could use them abroad. I was dying to phone someone on mine, even if it was just Izzie in the next bed.
Izzie pulled a face. ‘Mine’s at the bottom of my bag. Let’s leave them. We’ll all be together so we won’t need them.’
I pulled a few things out of my rucksack and threw them in the wardrobe with my hand luggage.
‘Why have you brought that load of stuff?’ asked Nesta as she spotted my sewing basket on top of my clothes. ’We’re supposed to be on holiday’
‘A true artist never travels without the tools of her trade,’ I replied. ‘You never know when inspiration will strike. I might see some fab fabric and, according to the schedule Mrs Elwes gave us, we haven’t got much on in the evenings.’
‘You’re here to relax,’ said Nesta as she locked our money up in the small safe that she found in one of the drawers. ‘Give yourself a break and buy some ready-made stuff. I’ve heard that the markets are full of fab stuff.’
Ten minutes later, we were back on the bus and on our way into the centre. As the bus made its way over the River Arno, down busy streets lined with shops, Florence started to look more interesting. I felt my eyes popping out of my head as I took in the brightly-lit windows displaying gorgeous-looking clothes and designs, and I couldn’t wait to start exploring. The bus stopped on a street in the centre and we got off and headed straight for the nearest pizzeria. After a Coke and a slice of pizza, Mrs Elwes and Mr Johnson announced that it was time to start the tourist trail.
‘First stop, the station,’ she said and marched us off down a busy street.
‘She’s been before,’ said Mr Johnson, who took up the rear of our group. ‘Knows her way round.’
I’m glad one of us does, I thought as we followed her down a busy street.
As I battled to keep upright in the jostling crowds, I couldn’t help but feel that there must be more to the place. I’d seen great shops, great window displays, loads of cafés, but I wondered what the fuss about Florence being a magical romantic place was all about. It looked like any big, bustling city to me.
At a kiosk, Mrs Elwes bought tickets for an open-topped sightseeing bus and we all piled on and upstairs.
‘Fantastic,’ said Nesta, as the bus chugged off and we sat back to take in the sights.
‘Easily the best way to see the city on the first trip, even though it is a tad chilly,’ said Mrs Elwes, who took a seat in front of us and wrapped her coat tighdy round herself. ‘When I first came with my husband, we wore ourselves out walking all over the place. This way, you can see it all, get your bearings and you cover more ground than you ever could on foot.’
‘Nice one, Mrs Elwes,’ said Izzie, who was never one for long walks.
The bus tour was definitely the way to do it, especially for a shortie like me. On the street, I felt like I was going to be crushed at any minute but, up on the bus, I could see clearly. Every street seemed to have something worth looking at. We’d turn a corner and there would be a glorious building, a group of amazing statues or work of sculpture. This is more how I imagined it, I thought, as I sat back to take it all in.
‘That’s the Duomo,’ said Mrs Elwes, as we passed an enormous golden cathedral with beautiful carvings on the doors. ‘It dates back to 1294. And that marble building in the square opposite, that’s the Baptistry. Look to your right as we go past at the stunning door. It’s called the Gate to Paradise.’
‘Oh, wow!’ said Nesta. She pointed down towards the Duomo. ‘Definitely a place to investigate.’
I looked to where she pointed, and saw that she wasn’t looking at the magnificent doors or the architecture, but rather at the steps where there were hoards of teenagers hanging out.
‘Over there, over there,’ said Nesta waving madly at a bunch of cute-looking boys who looked up and waved back.
‘Ding dong,’ said Izzie and gave her the thumbs up. ‘Magnificent examples of early twenty-first century sculpture, I do believe. Why, they almost look alive!’
Mrs Elwes looked at Izzie and smiled approvingly. ‘I’m so pleased that you appreciate art,’ she said.
‘Er . . . um, yes,’ said Izzie. ‘Art.’
‘Imagine how it must have been before the traffic and the tourists,’ said TJ. ‘It must have been fab.’
Nesta pulled a face. The tourists, of the male variety, were clearly what she found most interesting.
After a while the bus passed back over the River Arno where Mrs Elwes pointed out a bridge with houses on it in the distance. ‘PonteVecchio,’ she said. ‘That’s where all the jewellery shops are.’
‘Lead the way,’ said Nesta, smiling. ‘Sounds like my kind of sightseeing.’
The bus wound its way up a hill, past stunning old villas in shady grounds and up to a square that Mrs Elwes told us was called Piazza Michelangelo. The hilltop view was panoramic. Stretched out in front of us was the river, the Old Town, the Duomo, towers and churches, red-roofed buildings. It looked wonderful. The light
was just starting to fade and the whole city was bathed in a rosy glow. Now this is more like a scene from the movie, I thought as I gazed around me. It’s just a question of finding the right places. Like in any city, there are the old interesting bits and the new bland bits, like the area we drove through on the way to the hotel from the airport.
‘From here, it looks like a place from a different era,’ I said.
‘It is,’ said TJ. ‘The Renaissance.’
‘Old you mean,’ said Izzie, but she looked well impressed.
‘Anyone seen the movie, A Room With a View?’ asked Mrs Elwes.
I nodded.
‘Remember the scene where the Helena Bonham Carter character, what was her name in the film? Can’t remember! Anyway, she opens her window in the beginning and we see Florence for the first time?’
I nodded again.
‘Well that was filmed from somewhere around here,’ said Mrs Elwes, pointing to the left of the square. ‘From just down there, I think.’
‘I thought so,’ I said.
On a plinth in the middle of the square, gazing out over Florence, towered a giant statue of naked man. It looked as though whoever made it set out to create a perfect face and body.
‘He looks like he worked out,’ said Nesta as she took in the fabulous muscles on his legs and arms.
‘That’s Michelangelo’s David, but not the original,’ Mrs Elwes told us. ‘There are two copies of it, in fact. One here and one in one of the squares in the centre. The original is in the Galleria dell’Accademia.
Nesta looked the statue up and down. ‘Nice butt,’ she said and took a photo.
Mrs Elwes rolled her eyes. ‘You’re looking at one of the greatest works of art in the world and all you can comment is “nice bum”.’
‘Well it is.’ Nesta shrugged.
Mrs Elwes looked again. ‘Yes,’ she said, grinning. ‘I suppose it is.’
‘This is my favourite bit of Florence so far,’ I said as I looked around. ‘It’s how I imagined it would be.’
‘What looking at David’s bottom?’ asked Nesta.
‘No stupid, the view, the sense of history. You can really feel it up here.’
‘Ah, but there’s so much more,’ said Mrs Elwes with a smile.
I took a deep breath. So much more, I thought. I hoped so. I’m almost fifteen and I’ve hardly seen anything of the world and yet there is so much to see. Cities like this in Europe, America, the Far East. Places filled with people all living their lives in locations so different to my familiar one in North London.
As the bus continued its tour, it took us back down the hill past more stately old houses and villas in their own grounds. I pointed to one that looked like a grand country house with shuttered windows and beautiful terraced grounds with statues and fountains and trees.
‘That place looks the business,’ I said as we passed by.
‘Villa Corelli it says on the sign,’ said Izzie. ‘Someone very posh must live there.’
‘Villa Corelli?’ I asked. ‘I think that’s where Teddy said he was staying. Is it a hotel?’
‘Grand Hotel Villa Corelli. One of Florence’s finest,’ said Mrs Elwes. ‘I went there for cocktails once. That was all we could afford. I can’t imagine what it costs to stay there.’
I looked to see if I could see Teddy anywhere in the grounds, but there didn’t seem to be anybody about. ‘Maybe we could sneak in for a Coke one day,’ I suggested.
‘A Coke?’ asked Nesta. ‘Somehow I don’t think it’s just a Coke that you want there.’
I punched her. ‘I told you. I am not interested in boys on this trip and, anyway, we’ll probably never see Teddy again.’
‘Teddy,’ Nesta said with a laugh. ‘What kind of name is that?’
‘I like it,’ I said. ‘It’s a cuddly name.’
Nesta raised an eyebrow at me.
‘Stop it,’ I said. ‘His name is cuddly. It doesn’t mean I want to cuddle him.’
‘Yeah right,’ said Nesta and gave me one of her knowing looks.
The bus drove back over the river, into the centre and let us off outside an ice cream shop.
‘Now this is what I really call art,’ said Izzie as she took in what was on offer. There was every flavour imaginable described in English and Italian – pineapple, banana, strawberry cheesecake, raspberry, kiwi, pistachio, vanilla, coffee, chocolate to name only a few.
‘Fab, fab, fab,’ I said as TJ handed me a double pecan fudge and I took a lick. ‘Art. Culture. History. Statues with great bums. Fashion. Great ice cream. This place is growing on me.’
‘It will if we keep eating these ice cream gelato thingees,’ said Izzie. ‘Literally, it will grow on your bum. But . . . well, I can’t resist. Yum.’
‘And now to my favourite place,’ said Mrs Elwes. ‘Just a quick look before we go back to our hotel as we’ve had a long day.’
Mr Johnson didn’t have an ice cream and I saw him looking longingly at a man at a bus stop who was smoking a cigarette. Why want one of those, I thought, when you can have ice cream instead? They smell disgusting and make you ill and make you miserable if you can’t have one. I hoped I’d never get addicted.
Mrs Elwes led us down a street, then turned a corner and we found ourselves in a large square lined with open air cafés. To the far right, there was a collection of statues. They looked unlike so many of the statues back in England, where the subject was still. These looked animated – arms reaching towards the sky and limbs bent as if ready to take off at any minute.
‘This is Piazza Delia Signoria,’ said Mrs Elwes. ‘It’s where the Uffizi museum is and is my favourite of all the squares. The Uffizi is over on the right near the statues. We’ll visit there tomorrow. Now, Mr Johnson and I are going to get a drink in the café over there and you girls can either join us or have a wander. Don’t go out of the square as there’s enough to see here for now. Meet back here at six on the dot. Have those of you who have upgraded mobiles got them?’
‘Oh no, I left mine at the hotel,’ I whispered. ‘It’s in my hand luggage.’
‘So did I,’ chorused TJ and Izzie.
‘And me,’ said Nesta. ‘They barely gave us a minute to get organised. Just nod and smile. We’ll be fine. We won’t need them.’
As Mrs Elwes and Mr Johnson headed off for the café, Izzie, Nesta, TJ and I made for the statues. On the way we passed a gold statue of an Egyptian mummy.
‘Strange that this is here,’ said TJ going up close to get a better look. ‘All the other statues are white and look Roman.’
The statue turned and winked at her.
‘Woah,’ she cried and leaped back in shock.
‘A mime,’ I said.
‘Brilliant,’ she said as she recovered. ‘I don’t know how they keep so still.’
‘Must be very boring,’ said Izzie, ‘standing like that all day.’
The statue gave her a deep bow, then clapped. Whoever was behind the costume must have understood English.
After the mummy, we went to look at the statues. Like David in the Piazza Michelangelo, they were all enormous and naked. It was awesome to gaze up at the great, sculpted bodies towering into the sky.
‘Perseus by Benvenuto Cellini,’ said TJ, who had brought along a guide book. ‘Rape of a Sabine by Giambologna, Hercules and Cams by Bandinelli . . .’
I couldn’t resist it. ‘Urn . . . I wonder if she was,’ I said.
‘Was what?’asked TJ.
‘Bandy. You know, Nelly. I wonder if she was bandy Bandy Nelly. Not a very kind nickname.’
TJ patted my head. ‘Just keep taking the tablets, Lucy,’ she said, then went back to her guidebook. ‘Judith and Holofernes by Donatello.’
‘I wonder if Bandy Nelly had a sister. Knock-kneed Nellie,’ I said and I began to walk about as if I were knock-kneed.
Nesta and Izzie cracked up, but TJ rolled her eyes and went to look at a statue that looked just like the one we’d seen in the square earlier in the afte
rnoon.
‘The second copy of Michelangelo’s David’, she said as she gazed up. ‘These statues are so old. Don’t you think they’re impressive? Some were done in the fourteen hundreds, some in the fifteen.’
‘Not exacdy shy back, then, were they?’ asked Izzie as we stared up at the statue of Poseidon, to the left of David.
‘Not exactly well-endowed either,’ said Nesta staring at the statue’s willie. ‘At least not in proportion to the rest of him.’
‘Maybe the artists weren’t allowed to make the willie big in the old days,’ said TJ. ‘I mean if it was in proportion to the rest of him, it would be enormous.’
This set us off laughing which attracted the attention of a group of Italian boys who came over to us.
‘Bella occhi,’ said one to Izzie.
‘What did he say?’ she asked Nesta.
‘Shhh, I’m listening,’ she whispered back.
The boys were burbling away in Italian and, even though I didn’t understand any of it, I could tell by their expressions and body language that they were talking about us. What they didn’t know was that Nesta understood. Having an Italian dad, she’s been to Italy to visit his relatives here a few times and, though she says she doesn’t speak the language fluently, she says she can make out what someone is saying. When they’d finished, she put her hand on her hip and said something to them in Italian. They scurried off like mice.
‘What did you say?’ I asked.
‘I said that we were nuns and that our mother superior was watching from the other side of the square.’
‘Brilliant,’ I said.
‘Shame,’ said TJ. ‘One of them was quite cute.’
For a short time, we sat on the side of a fountain by the statue of Poseidon and watched the world go by.
‘The Italian women have such style,’ said Nesta, as an elegant woman dressed in head-to-toe black walked past with a white husky dog. ‘I think I’m going to dress in black from now on.’
I glanced over at the café where Mrs Elwes was. I could see her sitting at one of the outside tables and, like us, happily taking in the view.
‘What’s the time, Nesta?’ I asked.
She glanced at her watch. ‘Almost five.’
Mates, Dates and Great Escapes Page 6
