Bonjourno

"Italians, my friend, are the only people I have known who think both with their heads - and their hearts."

The wheels of the plane touched the tarmac, and these words of Jan Weiner echoed the descent. I remembered Jan now - a 70 year old fighter who told me of his time in Italy during the Czech holocaust. He fled there at the time, and was in hiding. There was a family who took him in and saved his life. Naturally, there was a young woman in the story as well. But that will have to wait next time.

Florence.

It met me with its bridges that stood still in a very uncharacteristic fog. Had it been a bit colder, I would have thought I was in St. Petersburg. But the city would not let me go as far. The evening flooded the narrowed streets with people, and I began to swim through them. American, English, French - students lounged on steps and by fountains, their hands warming the cool night air with constant motion. Under the silver coat of the moon, the city stretched and danced as a melodic, and welcoming playground.

Into the night, the flood of the evening kept rising.

And I kept swimming, holding pen and paper close, keeping the eyes open in the water.

More to come.