Confessions of a Tourist Trap Survivor

Quick word of advice: if you walk into an “Italian” restaurant speaking Italian, and they can’t understand you, it’s probably best to just keep walking. Unfortunately, when you’ve been wandering around Florence all day without anything to eat, those little details often go unnoticed.

Maybe it’s best to start from the beginning. The very beginning. Dr. Horner was preparing the Art History class for their second full day in the Ufizzi museum. If you were not in Art History, the trip to Florence was completely optional. Even though we were all still pretty tired from Venice, our days in Florence were numbered, so Noemi, Alex, and I decided we might as well take advantage of a free day in the city. Once we arrived, Dr. Dickson handed us some cash for lunch and let us loose. The only plans we had were to find a café, study, and maybe do a little shopping. We wandered around until we noticed an old bookstore tucked away in one of the lesser populated streets. Now I’m a sucker for old books, so we didn’t need too much encouragement to check it out. As soon as we walked inside, we were hit by the strong scent of stale pages and dusty furniture. The store was empty, save for two employees: an elderly woman reading in a corner, and a middle-aged man sitting at a desk. Books were jammed into shelves from the doors all the way to the back with piles thrown onto tables at the center of the room. We didn’t waste any time. I dug through the piles and foraged through the shelves stopping for anything that caught my eye. There were English, Italian, and even Latin books that spanned from modern day to the early 1800s. It was like a toy store for nerds. I discovered an encyclopedia from 1945 that charted every event in World War II and a devotional book with a hand drawn map of the author’s churchyard.

But one that stuck out the most to me was a small, tattered cover with faded, golden lettering. The title was “The Handbook of Legendary and Mythological Art”. Written in 1871 by Clara Clement, the book was a collection of stories depicted in art across the world. It contained stories on the lives of hundreds of saints along with ancient kings that are famously portrayed in paintings. However, the book also offered a brief summary of Egyptian, Roman, and Greek myths that directly influenced artists to create some of the most renowned pieces of art. I knew I had to have this book. I paid the old lady and tried to speak with her about the store, but she could not understand any English. What fascinated me the most about this bookstore is that if we hadn’t been looking for it, we wouldn’t have found it. There was no grand sign or public display. It was just a little shop on a quiet street that sat untouched.

I know I haven’t gotten to the restaurant part yet, but we’re getting there. Anyways, after spending our morning in the shop, we knew it was time to get a little homework done. We headed towards Ponte Vecchio and searched for a coffee shop near the river. Finally, Alex said she found a place up ahead. She pointed to a small place that looked like a regular bookstore. I was skeptical, but anything beat walking at this point. The cramped bookstore displayed brightly colored novels and textbooks with a few small posters hanging on the walls. There was no place to sit, but Alex marched to the back of a store and disappeared down a thin hallway with Noemi and I chasing after her. The hallway opened up to reveal a café at the center of a library. A glass roof illuminated the wooden tables and bookshelves, providing a comfortable feeling to the room. We ordered a few cappuccinos and pretended to do schoolwork while we relaxed and enjoyed the ambience.

Now comes the tragedy. The place that strikes fear in the heart of flavor. The absolute violation to our tastebuds. It was midafternoon by the time we starting thinking about lunch. Because of our success in finding the bookstore and the café, we felt pretty confident in our ability to just “wing it”. The smell of pasta and steak wafted in the street air, causing us to realize how starved we really were. The three of us are generally easygoing people, which can be great in large groups, but it makes settling on a decision even harder. None of us wanted to pick a place, so we kept walking until our stomachs couldn’t take it anymore. A row of tents lined the streets with dining areas. Servers stood greeting everyone who passed by, hoping to lure them into their traps. Alex was the first to go. She found a menu and was set. I was too hungry to walk anymore, and Noemi was too nice to object, so we entered our demise. The tiny restaurant was a sickly yellow color with a hodge podge of decorations cluttering the walls. Odd paintings and strange hats were thrown onto shelves with no overall theme. Cutout elves blocked half of the front register and gnomes were placed randomly throughout the restaurant. Alex would later describe the design as “a Cuban family trying to be Mexican in Italy”. I was ready to leave right then and there, but a server rushed over to help us. We greeted him in Italian and asked for a table for three. He looked confused but showed us to our table. We then tried to order in Italian, until we realized that our waiter could not understand us. He replied to us in perfect English, with no hint of an accent. If we weren’t delirious from hunger, we might have escaped, but we proceeded to order. The server handed us old bread and left us to wait.

Suddenly, our waiter and the woman at the register started yelling at each other. “Go faster!” she roared, “No one has their orders. They’ve all been waiting for you!” After about half an hour, he ran to our table with our food. At least, if you want to call it food. Alex ordered the gnocchi, Noemi ordered spaghetti, and I ordered a simple pizza. The “meals” were fresh from the microwave. Sad bits of potato were tossed onto a tray for Alex, while cold noodles stained with red sauce and topped with a single leaf of lettuce for Noemi. My pizza also did not fail to disappoint. The half-melted cheese and undercooked dough made me reconsider how lucky it was to have Horner instructing us on where to eat. Loud and obnoxious music accompanied us during our entire dining experience.

We left most of our food untouched, and shamefully paid the overpriced bill. Still not fully satisfied, we pushed our way through the marketplace, ignoring the “special prices” that each vendor had to offer. Tourists were packed together like animals, trying to purchase their souvenirs. Relief washed over us when we found Dr. Dickson at a table in the Central Market. He gave us some money for dinner and told us we could catch the early train back. The three of us played it safe with chicken wings and waited for the rest of the students to finish their time at the Ufizzi museum.

All three of us were sick for the next couple days from the food. What really struck me is how we stumbled upon the bookstore and the café without any flashy advertising or decorations, but we were distracted by the restaurant’s pleasant appearance to see the tourist trap that it really was. Florence is a beautiful city, but the hidden gems are what make it even more special. Modern society has impacted the city by bringing greedy merchants and false enchantment in order to attract more tourists. However, the real Florence remains in the secret shops and cafes that tourists haven’t found. The city is rich with history and beauty nestled between the tourist traps and gift shops. A knockoff Italian Cuban-Mexican restaurant wasn’t enough to detract from my time in the city. Real Florence is a wonderful place that everyone can enjoy, if they’re willing to look for it.