We started the day with an American breakfast, whatever that means. Michael Bolton, George Michael and Bryan Adams were on the airwaves. Dan proclaimed: "Do not strike a match around me.. Hose me down". The waiter was a character, pretending to spill Dans Capuccino all over him. He made us all chuckle and it was time to catch the train. Supposedly an Intercity but we spent half the time on the slow line watching the freccia argento and rossa go past us whilst we suffered ear problems in all the tunnels when they came the other way and lacklustre a/c.
We finally arrive in Firenze albeit a lot slower than on the way down. We tuck into a wee lasagne at the station. The hostel is close to the station so it doesn't take us long to find it and get checked in. Nice spot, modern and with working A/c, which we'll need with temps at 37-41'c, only the lift doesn't work and we're on the third floor. Ben sits down on his bed and finds himself on the floor. Half the slats on the floor but not broken, a brand new ikea deluxe bed! The electrics are very odd here. The cables for the ceiling lights dangle ready for the acrobatics in us. Ben plugs in his fone and finds part of the socket hanging out of the wall. The main light only works if the switch by the door and the switch by dans bed are in the right sequence- and even then the other two ceiling lights don't work at all. Uh oh.
We leave to go out for the night and the light switch seems to set off a buzzer but we still can't see down the stairs around the lift. The other switch has an emergency sign so we don't press that. A discussion at reception informed us that this was the light for the whole stairs and not some emergency button for the fire brigade. Super! Thanks for putting the 'only in case of emergency sign' there.
We visit a restaurant with tasty food and I tuck into a tasty well done steak- much needed after some chronic pizzas. Pizza Express is more consistent than Italian grub! I look forward to my Rusticella at home- here there's a lot of cholesterol boosting dull pizzas and pastas. I swear half of them are microwave jobs that taste 1/10 as nice as Dr Oetker.
We then visited a bar with, hurrah, Delerium Tremens but they rip us off at 6 euros for a small beer and so we leave. Then we come across a local bar, great. A few pints ordered and we sit down only some local football chanting hooligan has stolen my seat (a few were chanting when we walked in) and so the group are asked to leave. We cant speak Italian and funnily enough they cant speak any English whatsoever and I'm sure that won't change when we bail them out. The anti-English sentiment continues when we arrive at a club only this time they're making mileage out of some Australian ladies who all remove their tops presumably for a cheap shot. Classy but they aren't complaining as Italian chaps swarm around them and some budding girls from Bradford. Lovely.