Happiness Is Florence in My Rearview Mirror
View of the Duomo of Santa Maria del Fiore
When I first arrived in Florence, I was seduced by the historical grandeur and artistic legacy that the city boasts. The cobblestone streets and majestic cathedrals seemed to whisper tales of a bygone era, where each corner promised new discoveries wrapped in layers of history and culture. However, it didn’t take long for the luster to fade, revealing the less romantic reality of expat life in a city that pays lip service to its foreign residents while subtly yet perpetually nudging them to the fringes.
In This Mussolini Reboot is Terrible: Italian Fascism Redux, I wrote about some of the direct and indirect aggression I experienced as a new resident of Florence, and I can safely say after two years that my opinion of this city hasn’t improved one bit.
Anthony Bourdain once mused, "Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart." His last completed episode of “Parts Unknown” was filmed in Florence, but thanks to the Asia Argento scandal (you know, because she sexually assaulted a minor), it will never air. His untold story in Florence serves as a poignant reminder of the intricate tapestry of complexities that underpin every city's facade.
As we contemplated leaving Florence in late 2023 and were deciding upon our next new city, we had the pleasure of meeting Zamir Gotta, the late Anthony Bourdain fixer and comrade. As our family and Zamir meandered through the labyrinthine alleys during our last few months, I was constantly reminded that we're all here on borrowed time—a truth the city’s beauty masks well. Seeing Florence through an expat's eyes is an exercise in managing disillusionment and learning to traverse its more unforgiving aspects.
Ponte Vecchio
Despite the relentless prejudice, the feeling of existential loneliness, and the countless moments of enduring despair, surviving this journey through my own Inferno and Purgatory sculpted me into a version of myself I never envisioned. Florence, with its unyielding beauty and cultural richness, paradoxically became the backdrop for some of my most harrowing experiences. Each alleyway bore witness to acts of silent suffering, reflecting the worst memories of dealing with xenophobia and other forms of bigotry — not just within the city but as omnipresent shadows that had trailed me across continents. However, it is through these shadowed corridors that I learned to navigate the path towards my personal Paradiso.
View of Florence near Piazzale Michelangelo
As my modern-day Virgil, Zamir, continues his journey as a peacemaker, I, too, must get back to work. Zamir embodies the essence of perpetual movement, a philosophy rooted deeply in our shared experiences in Iraq. The notion of constant motion isn't just a strategy for survival; it's a way of life that fosters resilience and adaptability. My oft-repeated adage, "a moving target is harder to kill," resonates strongly with both of us.
Palazzo Vecchio at Piazza della Signoria
During my time in Iraq, this principle was not just a tactical maneuver to evade danger but a profound metaphor for navigating the unpredictability of life in a conflict zone. Perpetual movement allowed us to remain elusive, to adapt quickly to shifting realities, and to stay one step ahead of the chaos surrounding us.
Zamir, ever the peacemaker, adopted this axiom and transformed it into a guiding principle for his journey. By constantly moving, he not only avoided physical threats but also the stagnation that can come from staying in one place too long, both geographically and emotionally. This relentless quest for progress, for change, is part of what defines Zamir. Whether it's navigating the streets of Baghdad or the intricate tapestry of human emotions, his commitment to movement ensures he's always evolving, always growing, and perpetually surviving.
As we packed our belongings to move from Florence to our next destination, I couldn't help but reminisce about Anthony Bourdain's ghost. It was my dream to live here, and this city provided the backdrop for his last full piece of art, which will never be shown, like a treasure tucked away quietly in the Uffizi. Florence, so steeped in art and history, remains striking yet enigmatic, often withholding its layers to those who try to uncover them too eagerly.
The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli | Uffizi Gallery
However, akin to the fleeting nature of dreams, even the most enchanting reveries dissolve into the waking world, leaving behind a delicate, wistful trace of their ethereal beauty. Experiences are ephemeral, and reality awaits with its stark truths. For every awe-inspiring fresco and glorious sunset over the Ponte Vecchio, there were moments of acute realization that Florence, like any other city, is flawed and human. The layers of Renaissance beauty conceal the socio-political snobbery and the hypocrisy that many expats encounter. It's not just the city itself; it’s who you thought you could be within it, which often remains a ghostly apparition of misplaced idealism.
In the rearview mirror, Florence recedes like a ghost of a dream, and while I do not miss the city itself, I find myself longing for the memory of who I once believed she was. The dissonance between the ideal and the real becomes almost unbearable, but it is in this haze of ambivalence that true insight often lurks.
David by Michelangelo | Accademia Gallery
Initially, Florence seemed like a sanctuary of art and culture, a haven for self-reinvention. Yet, as time went on, subtle forms of alienation and exclusion revealed themselves. The underlying prejudices that foreign residents face can turn this city of dreams into a complex puzzle of nightmarish encounters. The romanticism often attached to places like Florence overshadows these darker realities, creating an insidious pressure to maintain an ideal façade. For me, reconciling these two facets — the enchanting illusion and the gritty reality — has been a journey of profound reflection and, ultimately, acceptance.
