“Red Ferrari”
Caroline Hull
On the morning of our Florence excursion, we left the ship and boarded a bus with about 45 other cruise guests headed into the city. The raised steps of the bus presented the first challenge. Turns out, not all European buses are senior friendly. However, with the help of the railing, my grandma gracefully lifted herself upwards and stuck the landing. Once she got on, the bus departed.
As we sat hand-in-hand, I drifted off in the silence and rhythm of the drive.
I’m often in awe of my grandma. Despite her youthful nature, Europe at 89 is tough. The flight from Los Angeles is brutal and European amenities are not designed for the elderly. Elevators are uncommon, bathrooms are tiny, and the streets are treacherous.
The bus slowed to a stop, the doors opened, and we carefully conquered the bus steps that led to the uneven ground.
“You’ll need to walk fifteen minutes that way to get to the Piazza Della Signoria,” the bus driver told us. My parents, grandma, aunt, uncle and I had arranged to meet a private guide in this spot. The other cruise guests planned to go their own way from the piazza too.
“Fifteen minutes?” she grumbled. “These people are trying to kill me before we even start!”
After laughing at my grandma’s dry humor, we began our march to the piazza.
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This was all part of the cruise that my grandma had treated my family to for what she called her “last hurrah.” She’s always saying things like this but can never say it with a straight face. At 89, she goes to the gym three times a week and always makes it to at least one Dodger game a season. Today, with less than a month until her 90th birthday, she shows no signs of slowing down.
Despite my grandma’s youthful spirit, my mom and I worried about her on Europe’s uneven streets; the large gaps between the cobblestones invite frequent tripping. In order to alleviate the difficulty, my mom scoured the internet for the best travel walker. Eventually, she found one called “Nitro Euro Style Walker, Red.” Amazon promised to deliver it within two days, which my grandma thought was “neat.”
The walker was effective and stylish. The staffers on the cruise ship thought it was one of the coolest they had seen. It was bright red with a plush seat, a comfy back rest and four extra-large wheels meant to absorb the uneven ground.
“Ms. Grandma, I love your Red Ferrari! Vroom Vroom,” our room attendant would say.
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The Ferrari was being put to the test en route to the piazza. We traversed a large boulevard that runs parallel to Florence’s famous river, the Arno, and my grandma navigated the bumpy road in her Red Ferrari. When her arms became tired from holding onto the walker too tightly, we would pause for a break. I had never analyzed the incline and composition of a street so closely.
According to the cruise ship, exploring Florence was typically a moderate to difficult level excursion: “extensive walking on uneven surfaces and some inclines (both stairs and hills).” While we knew that this day would be a challenge for my grandma, we were convinced she could do it. She was and still is healthy and determined. Remember, she goes to the gym three times a week!
However, due to the tough start, my grandma was apprehensive about the full tour.
“Maybe I should just hang out in a coffee shop while you guys go on the tour,” she said. “I’m too slow and don’t want to hold you up.”
“Of course not,” we shouted. “You are coming with us, and you can do it!”
She begrudgingly nodded; she knew she could do it too.
We met our private guide next to a small restaurant in the piazza. He was tall and handsome. A scruffy beard covered his face. He wore circular glasses and a black hat that screamed “Italian.” When he saw my grandma, his face lit up. It’s hard to not smile when you see her. Standing with a Red Ferrari and wearing a full-length, purple, down coat in 45 degree weather, she commanded attention in the middle of one of Florence’s most storied piazzas. My grandma immediately took a liking to our guide too. He reached his hand out to grab hers.
“My name is Antonio,” he said. “It’s very nice to meet you…”
“Pat,” my grandma interjected.
“It’s very nice to meet you Pat. I’m excited to show you and your family around my beautiful city,” he continued.
A former professor, Antonio spoke to us with enthusiasm and intimacy. He showed us parts of the city that would typically go unnoticed and brought its past to life. On 500 year old buildings, he pointed out incremental water stains from the city’s major floods. He then explained how the 1966 flood, devasted Florence and continues to impact it today.
As we wandered the city’s streets, we paused every so often for my grandma to take a break. She would rest on the plush seat of her Red Ferrari, and we would huddle around her. When Antonio spoke in these moments, he was almost entirely focused on my grandma. For all of us, she was the most important person in the world.
I loved exploring the city and admiring its impressive architecture, but without my grandma, the experience would have been remarkably different. At each turn, I analyzed the street ahead, trying to devise the best route for my grandma and her Ferrari. Which sidewalk was the widest? What about the smoothest? Did any have steps or curbs? I had never paid this much attention to a city’s accessibility. My memory of Florence is impressed with my grandma’s spirit. Except for its streets, the city itself is blurred.
After seeing the Duomo, we continued to Michelangelo’s David. On the walk there, the guide told us about a famous gelateria to our left – Florence’s most famous to be exact.
Ice cream is my family’s weakness. We can justify eating it at any time of the day, and in Italy, my mom insisted that we eat it twice a day. However, my grandma was apprehensive. She considers ice cream a dessert, meaning it’s eaten after dinner and not before noon. Despite this hesitation, my grandma couldn’t resist.
“How can we not try it! Let’s get two scoops!” she exclaimed. “I want coffee and chocolate,” she told the woman behind the counter.
Creamy, dense and sticky, the gelato was as good as he said it’d be. With one hand on the Red Ferrari, my grandma managed to walk Florence’s uneven streets and eat her gelato at the same time. I analyzed the streets even more intensely and stayed within an arm’s length distance.
About an hour later, we arrived at the museum that houses Michelangelo’s David. I had very few requests during the trip, but seeing this famous piece was one of them. I had seen photos of it in textbooks but knew that its enormity could not be captured on a page. In the museum, Antonio explained the various works of art and told us about Michelangelo’s life. Then, we saw David.
17 feet tall, David towered over us. My grandma and I observed him from every angle – paying attention to each bump and crack. The gash on David’s left foot highlighted his age and endurance. Only recently had he been stored in a state-of-the-art museum. His crystal, white marble glistened under the room’s fluorescent lights. His hands were even larger than I thought. His body was smooth, his arms were defined and tight, and his ringleted hair seemed to bounce. Michelangelo made David from one piece of marble. How’s that even possible? I thought.
I started taking photos, and my mom asked Antonio to take a few of our family too – both of us can get pretty into it. Then, I asked my mom to take some of me and my grandma. She took a bunch, checking each one afterwards to make sure it was good.
“Can you two quit it with all the photos,” my grandma said, rolling her eyes. “How many do you need?”
“Okay, okay,” we responded.
Tourists buzzed around us. The ground was smooth, but the crowd was unpredictable. Except for the statue, they paid little attention to their surroundings. Like a linebacker, I blocked my grandma from eager visitors.
My mom handed me the phone, and I scrolled through the stream. Then, my grandma took a seat on her Red Ferrari.
“Any cute ones?” my grandma asked.
“Yes, so many!” I handed her the phone.
She struggled through the touch screen, accidently zooming in and out. So, I kneeled over to meet her at eye level and guided her fingers from left to right. We swiped together. She identified her favorite. I smiled and agreed.
I told her that I’d print them for her when we got back to the states. But, for now, we needed to walk three miles back to the piazza.
Six miles in one day? I thought. That’s impressive. When I’m 89, I hope to travel the world in a Red Ferrari too.
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