One Sunday afternoon in Spring, you are lucky enough to be in Florence, Tuscany. The Tuscan sun does not disappoint as it bathes you in its tepid afternoon light.

After only mere minutes lining up in the relatively sterile front courtyard of the Pitti Palace, you purchase your tickets to enter the Boboli Gardens - Il Giardino di Boboli.

The 45 hectare garden is the playground for the Pitti Palace. Construction of the palace, Florence’s largest, was begun some 100 years or so before it was taken over as a residence for the Medici family in 1550. The Boboli Garden itself is contributed to Niccolò Pericoli (or, Tribolo as he affectionately known) who added the magic to this wondrous space.

Entering via the palace into the garden, you step out into a large labyrinth of green. There is an immediate sense of play to this place. Despite the fact there are many people here, the garden is so dispersed that you find yourselves alone at several points throughout your exploration of the Medici’s backyard.

First of all though, you are in a large oval space edged by life-size statues of men in Renaissance garb, and you feel as if you are on stage here. Your audience is formed by some of the greatest minds and powers in history. You take a bow and walk ahead, onwards and upwards.

Spying small tracks off to the sides of the main path, you duck through scrub, your face stroked by affectionate plants, and find yourselves in a small opening. Eerie and beautiful for its solitude and sense of abandonment, this space is filled with nothing much. Just walls of plants that open up to offer stunning Florentine views of the city.

Unusual and intriguing for many reasons, the Boboli Gardens are interesting for the use of the panorama of Florence as a point of interest. The garden stands above the city, and the lovely Tuscan views present themselves in front of you as if spilled from the edges of the garden. Most royal gardens are instead well protected to ensure that you cannot look into the gardens, but thereby preventing the possibility of being able to look out.

Back on the main path that veins through the centre of the garden, you continue on to find yourselves in various spaces, each unique and spacious, some more populated than others by relaxed tourists and locals that come here to laze on the grass or let energetic children chase birds.

First you wander up to the back edge of the garden, where you find a rose garden and ceramic museum. Ringed by a low brick wall, you seat yourselves along the rose garden’s edge, absorbing the view, tiling your still-winter-pale faces into the sun.

Today as you stand along the edge of the garden, dizzy on the heady perfume of roses in full bloom, you spy in the grassland below a girl with luscious long hair, wandering along a track created by the passing of people though out the centuries. She stops to pick flowers that peep out from the grass, smelling them, putting some in her hair, and some being thrown to the wind. She is singing, this beautiful Ophelia of Boboli.

Turning back to the garden before you, you somehow find it in yourselves to move from this spectacular spot. You wander into the ceramic museum. Plates and plates and some more precious and beautiful plates adorn cabinets. Here in Tuscany it is very likely that the same dishes served on these plates are still eaten to this day.

Back outdoors to meander aimlessly through the garden, you work your way downwards and sideways following a path that leads you to a massive park centre-pieced by Neptune floating above a pond. A stranger passing by agrees to take your photograph as you all set yourselves into your best Roman god poses, none of you outdoing that of the Roman god of the sea who stands proud behind you.

Continuing on, along snaking paths, you wind up in an enclosed garden. You separate, exploring the plants and sitting away from each other to create the illusion of solitude in this place perfect for meditation or reminiscing. In this maze of hedges and plants, you hear the giggles before you see the faces emerge from a small break in the wall of trees. A couple, faces flush like those newly in love - even though they must be at least 60 years old - hold hands as they walk out of this area to the main path.

Your group regathers to explore the next of the mysteries of the Boboli Gardens. A large pond stands in a relatively closed area where birds swim on the water, lemon trees fill the air with a citrus perfume. Children run circles around the pond whilst parents navigate its edge more slowly, engrossed in conversation.

The next area you discover of the Boboli Gardens is yet another large grass-lined field with a large face statue watching over the many people who laze on the grass. You wonder if this feeling is owing to the fact that it is actually Sunday afternoon, or if this place is just as calm and relaxing on any day.

Meandering some more, you find another nearby small garden, shaded by the overhead trees that stoop down to watch over the children that play with silly daddies, laughed at by mummies whose eyes gleam with smiles that are too big to be just shown on their lips.

Another few turns and you find yourselves wandering down a sloping path. Your nose knows before your eyes do that you are approaching the Boboli’s perfume market. A small collection of stalls are outnumbered by hundreds of potted plants. Soaps and dried flowers, and perfume after wondrous perfume are on sale here.

It is time to leave the gardens, so some of you buy small tokens of your time here, hoping that the Sunday afternoon feeling will magically be infused into the perfume bottle.

And you know what, when you put that perfume onto your pulse points the next morning, Monday morning, you know it works at least a little.

Italians have a wonderful tradition of market shopping. Possibly Florence’s most important, and certainly the largest markets, the San Lorenzo market hugs the San Lorenzo Basillica.

Located just a short walk from the central Duomo that the entire historical city centre seems to radiate out from, the markets are so named after the basilica of San Lorenzo that sits at the centre of the market.

The San Lorenzo Piazza fronts the city’s oldest documented basilica, first constructed in the year 393. However, complete reconstruction was undertaken in the 15th century, with the likes of Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, and even Pope Leone X.

The market itself dates back to the 1860s, and wandering through the markets bring a touch of Sunday afternoon feeling, no matter what day it actually is.

Clothing, hats, scarves, leather jackets, bags, shirts, souvenirs, food items, ceramics, shoes, belts, jewellery… if you can’t find it here, it probably is not worth having.

Wandering through the markets on any day of the week, you are surrounded by a wonderfully international mix of tourists and locals alike. You can spot who is who -the tourists in their t-shirts and sandals, the locals ever well-dressed, the gorgeous Italian girls tottering on impossibly thin high heels despite the uneven stone pavement of the ancient streets as they wander from stall to stall, their large sunglasses covering long-lashed brown eyes set on spying a bargain.

It’s a hot summer’s day, and there is nothing nicer than a granita from the drinks stall just on the corner of the church entrance, in front of the imposing statue of Giovanni delle Bande Nere (or, Giovanni de’ Medici), which dates back to 1540 when the statue was erected by his son, Cosimo I de’ Medici.

Starting from the bancarelle (market carts) just near the entrance to the church, there are belt and bag stands, tables with clothing and shoes, some souvenirs, scarves and endless other items that catch your eye in passing, some - even too many - you just have to have.  

The people who work at the San Lorenzo market chat amongst themselves in the few quiet moments that there are during the day. They are happy and carefree, not interested in pressuring anyone into buying, some in fact more interested in just a chat.

Some items you can haggle on, getting a small discount to spend surely at the next stall. Other places are not open to bargaining, owing to the cheap market rates already offered.

Continuing on, you pass more stalls - leather jackets, hats, drinks, ceramics… 

Jewels from the jewellery stalls sparkle in the sun, the sound of people chatting, laughing, fills the air, and you can easily find yourself wandering from stall to stall at a delightedly relaxed pace.

At a hat stand, you can try on several different styles and designs. The woman working there is helpful, enthusiastically saying which hat looks great, and looking away in silence when you look ridiculous.

Wandering on, soon you come to the entrance of the famed San Lorenzo food market. Entering inside, it is cool and your eyes need a moment to adjust from the perfect brightness of the day.

As your eyes adjust, like a polaroid photograph developing before you, you spy stalls of meats, cheeses, alcohol, fruit and vegetables, packets of pasta in more colours and shapes than you knew possible… the senses are overrun, the taste buds tingling in anticipation.

You see a young girl buying fruit from a stall run by an elderly couple. The man winks at her as he adds 2 small bright red plums into her bag. He waves goodbye to her with a wide arching of his arm that pendulums high above his head and around his body.

Having explored every stall on the ground level, you can start on the upstairs floor. The warehouse stairs lead you up to an expansive open space crammed with tables that are totally covered with an amazing array of fruits and vegetables, spices and nuts.

Squeezing through the walkway, your senses are stroked by the fragrances of wild strawberries at one pass, then the tang of fresh lemons at the next. In one corner, the smell of coffee wafts past you as it emanates from a coffee bar.

After tasting and buying everything you can possibly justify doing, you can wander back outside, your pupils this time blinded by the shock of the sunlight that dazzles you and warms your shoulders instantly.

Nearby is a coffee bar whose windows are tantalisingly filled with trays of cookies and pastries, cakes and chocolates. Entering, there are tables and chairs which offer a reprieve from the paved streets and their wonderful chaos.

Seated, it is difficult to decide which of the many sweets you want to sample, but by no means impossible. Ordering three small items allows a variety of tasting. The coffee is almost always good in Italy, here it is exceptional, and it rings true to you here that the simple things in life really are the best.

At nearby tables, Italians have passionate conversations, communicated in a frantic combination of rapid speaking and expressive hand gestures. Every so often, heads are thrown back in laughter.

Having been refreshed by the coffee and the sweets, you will find new pep in your step as you continue exploring the last part of the expansive San Lorenzo markets.

Wandering behind the stalls, there is some shade and the openings to a plethora of stores offering wares often a little more upmarket than the street stalls. Then there are the general stores, there is a bakery and news agency, and turning a corner, an entire shop selling chocolates and teas and all kinds of extravagant delicacies.

By now, your shopping must come to an end for two reasons - the stalls are beginning to close, and your arms cannot carry any more weight. It must, therefore, be time for the other wonderful Italian tradition… the pre-dinner drink, the aperativo.  

The day wakes you gently, and you awake smiling. Today you are off to Volterra! In the heart of Tuscany, Italy, Volterra is a small town most famous for its production of Alabastro (alabaster) stone.

You drive, through the famed rolling hills, on the autostrada with the equally famed crazy Italian drivers. You pass the turn off for San Gimignano, driving through the surrounding town below. Your car winds you around bends as you roller-coaster along the scenic country roads. Your windows down, the wind in your hair is perfumed with the scents of spring flowers blooming, wildly, in the fields you pass.

Driving through Italy, seeing the beautiful countryside, the greenery, the little hill-top towns perched atop mountains, castles honoring the history of this land, you are free of all problems. This is freedom. This is happiness.

Soon, you are in Volterra, in the province of Pisa. With just over 11,000 inhabitants, this town is small yet amazingly historical. Having been an important Etruscan centre in ancient times, centuries later Florence repeatedly challenged Volterra to gain control of the town. Later, the Medici family took over.

Today, the town has a relaxed atmosphere. The sunshine casts shadows into the piazza, falling between the trees and the ancient buildings that create the winding narrow streets.  

You wander into the Piazza dei Priori, where you see a restaurant with tables oozing out into the square. Perusing the menu, you are approached by a friendly waiter who charms you into dining here. Spying the ornate interior, you decide to eat inside. You are lead to a table, and take a seat. The menu tempts you with a range of seafood and game. Being close enough to the coast here, and still surrounded by the forests famous for their game, you have the best of both worlds.

This is the Etruria Restaurant, coined the ‘temple of Volterra Gastronomy’. Surrounded on the outside by medieval towers and palaces, the interior awes you with the geometric design of the painted arched ceiling and smiling faces peer at you from the photo frames on the wall.

Your companion chooses meat dishes, so you opt for the seafood, allowing you to taste both options. Your gnocchi with a creamy salmon sauce is so delicious, as is your friend’s pasta with a ragù meat sauce. For main, you sample your friend’s stinco (pork shin), the meat just falls off the bone and is so flavoursome, like no pork dish you have ever tasted. You are presented with a huge serving of calamari and prawns, so generous in its proportion you barely even make a dint before you can eat no more. Or maybe just one or two more tastes…

After lunch, you head out into the piazza, cooled by the shadows cast by the amazing buildings in its surrounds. You wander the narrow streets, overhearing the jovial conversations of the townspeople laughing together, out for a relaxing afternoon walk. You head up a narrow street to the Parco Acheologico. Wandering through the park, whose grass fields roll up and down like waves of the ocean, the grounds are dotted with couples and families lazing on the green, sprawled out to take in the sun.

You do a loop of the park, listening to the cheery chirp of singing birds in the trees. Their song makes tangible your own contentment as you wander along.

Exiting the park, you head down a winding laneway, surrounded on both sides by an ancient brick wall that guides you out of the park. You wander along the town’s narrow cobblestone streets and eventually find yourselves in the Piazza XX Settembre. A statue of an archangel stands guard over the locals who gather on the piazza’s edge to look out over the spectacular view.

In this piazza, you spy the Museo della Tortura - a torture museum! You enter, seeing first of all a chair covered in nasty-looking nails. Traps and cages and instruments of torture line the walls with little plaques intricately detailing the use. Some are accompanied by paintings graphically clarifying the purpose of these ancient devices. You wince in sympathy for the people who experienced first hand the use of these items. You and your friend grip each others hands as you look at a guillotine.

Fortunately the museum is small and it is not long before you are out in the warm and cleansing sun. Exiting the torture museum, you laugh to yourself about the pertinence of Volterra being mentioned in the book Hannibal by Thomas Harris, and as a setting for Stephenie Meyer’s vampire thriller, New Moon.

Alas, there are no vampires out today and you are free to explore more of this quaint city.

You continue on your strolling, aimlessly wandering the streets before walking out into a piazza where you hear a chorus of masculine cheers and boos. Approaching a bar, you hear the commentary of a football match being broadcast from within a bar. Men crowd around, straining to hear. Standing back from the crowd, it is great to watch as hands go up in spirited joy at a positive result. The men clap each other on the back and teenagers cheer loudly as they wave large flags in the air in celebration.

As the crowd disperses, you wander into a giant alabaster store. The alabaster production here dates back to Etruscan times. The soft stone (1.5 to 3 on the Mohs hardness scale) lends itself to design of curved lamp shades, small jewellery boxes inlaid with semi-precious gemstones, ornaments, and a range of other items that serve only to beautify.

Exiting the store, you walk towards the a wall that offers stunning views over the countryside. The landscape is breathtaking, with ancient brick buildings leading down the side of a hill like stairs into the valley below.

As with most things in life, you cannot quite capture on film the feelings, the beauty, the experience of being here, but you try.

You wander back into the maze of streets, walking up and down the streets, stopping for a coffee, and convinced by the display of gelato into having an ice-cream that is very near to the most delicious gelato of your life.  

Licking away contentedly, you wander on and on, up a steep street that leads you through to a small market - only 6 or 7 stands, and then out of the city walls and to your car.

Whilst you could definitely stay here longer, the promise of the drive ahead eases any sadness you may have for leaving. The bluesy Italian music of Fred Buscaglione serenades you on your journey home, the sunset salutes you and you head back through the hills.

Originally known as  Fortezza di San Giovanni Battista, the Fortezza di Basso in Florence, Italy, was constructed in the 1500s. Literally, ‘The Fortress Base’, the Fortezza was designed to provide a governmental refuge in the case of any strife in the city, hence its large and imposing size aimed to impress upon the city and those beyond its walls. Either its design worked, or was simply not needed, as there was never any requirement to utilise the Fortezza for its intended military purpose.

Having therefore served little purpose for some time, recent use of the structure has resulted in new buildings to be erected within its walls. In the late 1970s and again in the 1990s, new and ultra-modern additions were added to the interior of the Fortress. In a city of ancient and magnificent buildings, their design is noted in part simply for the city’s absence of other modern architecture. Nowadays, the Fortezza consists of 9 pavilion-like structures, and spans a space of 100,000 square metres.

The aim, and in fact the end result of this work on the Fortezza, is that the area now operates as an exhibition and festival space that attracts thousands of young Florentines each year to its hosted events.  

One of the most lively, held from 11 June until 3 August, is the summer ‘INFORTEZZA’ festival. The Fortezza’s large outdoor areas fill with spectators where exhibitions are held, theatrical displays are performed, locals bars set-up outdoor services, bands play live music that attracts hundreds of people swaying to the rhythm and beat of the music, wine in hand.

Arriving with a group of friends, all of you dressed in light, flowing summer clothes, the girls in metallic coloured strappy leather sandals and small evening shoulder bags, there is a crowd awaiting at the large opening to the Fortezza. Outside the gates, there is a piazza whose crowds ebb and flow with groups in the process of coming and going.

Entering into the festival, the cobbled lane of the structure leads you, winds you through to the centre of the Fortress.

Along the way you pass pavilions hosting art exhibitions for local artists, and one large space is filled with thousands of books where you can peruse the titles for hours - classics through the modern titles all flayed out on large white tables. Perhaps you will leaf through Dante as the carnival sounds creep in from without.

Returning to the noise, there are carnival stands where one can throw, hit, lift and fish for prizes. Any sweet-tooth can be satisfied by the fairy-floss and sweets stall, and then there are the shoes, bags and clothing stalls for any midnight shopping desires.

Inside one of the pavilions, there are hundreds of international stalls selling incense, African drums, tie-dyed clothing, gifts, artworks, music, everything you could possibly think of in a giant market stall.

If all the shopping makes you thirsty, Florence’s oldest Irish pub, the Fiddler’s Elbow, sets up a stall with tables and chairs around its bar where the pub locals can sit in a subtle-change of scenery from the narrow Santa Maria Novella location of the original.

Other bars serve cocktails, beers and wines to the locals seated together chatting and laughing outdoors as the noise of fun and relaxation fills the air. There is a South-American bar with live music where the audience is spirited by the intoxicating music. Then there are the chic bars where wines are sipped more quietly whilst eyes peer over the glass rims to see who is the best dressed at the bar.

Having been entertained and quenched thirsts, it is time for food!  

Food consists of batter freshly poured onto hotplates to form perfectly round, paper thin crepes that are filled with delicious local cheeses and meats, the cheese melting and dripping down your wrist as you bite into the deliciousness. Perhaps you will be drawn to the enticing aromas emanating from sizzling barbecue plates at the nearby grilled meat stall. With a side of delectable grilled vegetables and crispy french fries (don’t forget the mayonnaise!), under the darkened Tuscan sky, with an Italian jazz band wonderfully messing up the lyrics to your favourite tune, this is happiness at its simple best.

If you’re hungry for something slightly more exotic, although more costly, there is the Portuguese barbecue stand nearby, just past the Indian stall and Kebab shop. And what would an Italian meal be without the offer of pasta and pizza? After midnight, some stands even offer free spaghetti… if you can resist that long!

Energised by your meal, you have several options for after-dinner entertainment. A nearby outdoor disco plays fantastically terrible ’70s songs mixed with more modern popular songs and the occasional hilarious Italian song that everyone seems to know not only the words to, but also the dance moves! This disco offers a free ride on a mechanical bull with every drink purchased.

Some pavilions have discos where the lights are dimmed and the music heightened. Other outdoor stalls offer more relaxing musical options. It is wonderful passing from area to area to hear one band’s tune fade into the next disco’s chorus.

In the summer heat, which does not considerably lower in the evening, nothing is nicer that a midnight gelato with the locals.

When you think of Florence, you think of the Renaissance, it’s art and architecture. You think of beauty and style. Some of the world’s best fashion, worn so well by its beautifully refined locals. But this is not all there is to Florence. There is also the vivacious, vibrant youth of the city, with discos and parties and yes, fashion events. And many of these are held each year at the Fortezza di Basso, where the best of Florence mixes so well together.

Florence, Italy, is known as being one of the most beautiful cities in the world. A hub of artisan crafts and art, it has also inspired many a poet to pen a poem praising its beauty. Walking along the river banks of the Arno, or looking out over the panorama perched high above the city skyline in Piazzale Michelangelo, the city’s beauty is indeed inspiring.

For those who have been to Florence, reading the poetry of various poets describing the wondrous city, brings back memories of one’s stay in Florence in memories that flash before you, with images beautiful and studied like landscape paintings. For those yet to see the Renaissance city, these poems just add further motivation to follow in the footsteps of such famed writers.

Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barret Browning, having married against her family’s wishes, fled to Florence in 1845, and their son was even born here.

Barret Browning’s epic poem, Aurora Leigh, details the life of its Florentine protagonist in a poem in 9 parts which forms a novel detailing the life of Aurora, born to a Florentine mother and English father:

I found a house, at Florence, on the hill
Of Bellosguardo. ‘Tis a tower that keeps
A post of double-observation o’er
The valley of Arno (holding as a hand
The outspread city) straight toward Fiesole
And Mount Morello and the setting sun,–
The Vallombrosan mountains to the right,
Which sunrise fills as full as crystal cups
Wine-filled, and red to the brim because it’s red.
No sun could die, nor yet be born, unseen
By dwellers at my villa: morn and eve
Were magnified before us in the pure
Illimitable space and pause of sky,
Intense as angels’ garments blanched with God,
Less blue than radiant. From the outer wall
Of the garden, dropped the mystic floating grey
Of olive-trees, (with interruptions green
From maize and vine) until ’twas caught and torn
On that abrupt black line of cypresses
Which signed the way to Florence. Beautiful
The city lay along the ample vale,
Cathedral, tower and palace, piazza and street;
The river trailing like a silver cord
Through all, and curling loosely, both before
And after, over the whole stretch of land
Sown whitely up and down its opposite slopes,
With farms and villas.

Robert Browning, in love with his new wife, their newborn child, and also their city, wrote his Old Pictures in Florence:

The morn when first it thunders in March,
  The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say:
As I leaned and looked over the aloed arch
  Of the villa-gate this warm March day,
No flash snapped, no dumb thunder rolled
  In the valley beneath where, white and wide
And washed by the morning water-gold,
  Florence lay out on the mountain-side.

When Barrett Browning died here in 1861, her husband arranged her burial to be in the cemetery known as Il Cimitero degli Inglesi (The English Cemetery) - although it is in fact an international cemetery located just outside the city’s medieval walls, for non-Catholics. Barrett Browning’s Florentine tomb is inscribed with a passage from a poem by her fellow cemetery companion, Walter Savage Landor.  

Having fled London in exile and starting out in Como, Italy, in 1815, before being expelled. Landor arrived in Florence in 1821 and was threatened with expulsion from this city also for having insulted the local police. After leaving his family to return to England, he later returned to Florence to live with the Brownings in 1858, where he stayed until his death in 1864. His acclaimed work, Imaginary Conversations was written whilst the poet lived with his family in Villa Castiglione. Writing to his daughter, Julia, Landor intertwines his love for his daughter with his passion for Florence: