Let me just say right now, that the Smiths throw the best parties in the known universe.
That's all.

Friday, June 8, 2007, 22:20
Hotel Atlantic Palace
Florence, Italy

After an obnoxiously long train ride, we got to Florence.
After oo-ing and ah-ing over mum and dad's room, we were informed by the concierge that not only was our room not ready yet, it was still vibrantly inhabited.
We could have told him that (he gave us the key).

Upon gaining entrance to our room, we promptly fell on the bed and turned on MTV, which is the only cable show in Italy that speaks English sometimes. The commercials were awesome, because they were all in a language we couldn't understand, so we didn't feel compelled to buy stuff.

Sunday, June 9, 2007 22:00
Hotel Atlantic Palace
Florence, Italy

Today was packed and exhausting and exhilarating and filled with old rocks and gelato.
First thing in the morning, we went to the Academia, where, amongst the old, the antique, and the Prisoners, we saw Michelangelo's David (YES! I SAW DAVID), which was about the only thing worth looking at.

On our way back to the Hotel, we were caught up in a big market, where we bought mounds of silk and linen and Pashmina scarves.
I fell asleep while dad went in search of a post office to mail out our billion and one post cards (if we didn't get one to you, it wasn't for lack of trying), and mum went back to the market in search of more bargains.
When I woke up, it was time to go to the Uffizi Galleria, but dad (who had gone in search of mum when she didn't come back from the market), was not with us.
We were outside the Uffizi for about half an hour (quite a while when you're on 24-hour time) waiting for our tour before dad turned up.
The tour guide was great. He had a bit of a lithp, and said, "believe me," and "by the way," a lot. We saw the Birth of Venus, and the Three Graces, and loads of Pieta, and a couple Adoration of the Magi. Afterwards, we had dinner at il Fratelini, a tiny sandwich stand across the piazza from the Duomo, and walked down to the Ponte Veccio.
It was crowded. Everybody was either watching the Harri Krishna parade that was noisily cavorting down the street, or hanging over the bridge, watching the sun sink into the Arno.
Mum disappeared on a mission of mystery, and the boys and I leaned out over the Arno while dad took pictures.
After about twenty minutes of this, mum reappeared, only to shang-hi me into one of the jewelry shops along the ponte, and after many tears, after much arm-twisting, and after hitting up my dad for a hundred fifty euro, we got a perfect cameo from a Russian lady who spoke English with an Italian accent.
We went back to the Hotel, and the boys went to the gelateria across the street from our hotel to get the Italian equivalent of ice cream take-out.