Away From Desk - Part 3 - Italy and the Tudor Black Bay 58 Bronze
Photo by Chris Antzoulis
This is the final installment of my three-part, “Away From Desk,” series. You can read Part 1 HERE and Part 2 HERE.
While savoring some of the best gnocchi I’ve ever had in Piazza Santo Spirito, across from the Basilica di Santo Spirito, I found myself reflecting on the steps of the Basilica where, 16 years earlier, I stood with my classmates from James Madison University while my buddy Sean and I took out our guitars and played a few songs in the middle of the evening. We put on a little show for the other students. I don’t remember what we played, except for Dispatch’s “The General” because Sean was obsessed with that fucking song. The memory was vivid. I recalled the ridiculous black trench coat I wore, which I thought was so cool, and Sean's faux hawk that I’m pretty sure resulted from some anxiety spiral over a girl (if you’re reading this, love you, dude). I’ve long held my semester in Florence as the best few months of my life, and while I’ve always wanted to go back, part of me has always been afraid to return.
Photo by Chris Antzoulis - Florence
The Lead Up
Photo by Chris Antzoulis - Basilica di Santo Spirito
After leaving Dresden and all my new watch friends, I began my trip to Florence with a connecting flight to Frankfurt. The plane in Dresden departed late, and anxiety was building that I might miss my connecting flight. I felt nervous about going to Florence since I would be staying with the same host family I lived with when I was 21 — Guendalina and Ginevra. Now, at 37, I was apprehensive about how it would feel to step back into their home and how they would perceive me. I had stayed in touch with them over the years, but this would be the first time I’d seen them since leaving. My memories of them were all fond, but I’m not the same person I was at 21. I wore my Tudor Black Bay 58 Bronze for the journey, as it’s my favorite watch in my collection, and I needed something to boost my confidence along the way. Guendalina and her daughter, Ginevra, were waiting for me, and I was texting them updates to let them know where I was. Fortunately, I made my connection and arrived in Florence as planned, albeit late at night.
Chris, Ginevra, and Guendalina
Florence
When the cab driver dropped me off and drove away, I found myself alone in the heart of Florence. Guendalina and Ginevra live between the Ponte Vecchio and the Uffizi Gallery, and memories of walking back to their house with Sean late at night flooded back to me. We would go out with our friends and walk home, exhausted, feet dragging, relieved when I saw the blue address marker for the house, knowing I’d soon be cozy in bed. Now, tired from traveling, I felt as if I remembered every stone I was stepping on. I could close my eyes and easily picture which door was theirs.
They both stayed up waiting for me, and the moment I walked through the door, it felt like home. I recalled which tiles on the floor were slightly loose, the old frescoes painted on the dining room walls, and of course, Guendalina and Ginevera. I hugged them, and their excitement and smiles comforted me. They made me smile so much that my face hurt by the time I went to bed.
The next day, I had cereal at the small table in the long, narrow kitchen where I used to sit every day before class. I took the BB58 off to wind and set it. It was just after 7 am; I felt spring-loaded and couldn’t wait to walk around Florence to see if I remembered my way around. Before leaving, I checked my email and saw a message from James Madison University. I contacted the Italian program the day before to let them know I’d be in Florence and would love to visit the old school building if possible. Not only would I be able to go back, but I also found out that the same administrator who had worked there during my semester abroad was now the administrative coordinator.
Chris and Chiara
Chiara's face is one I will never forget. Few people are as full of kindness and warmth, and she’s just as I remembered her. Even though I feel like I’ve changed a lot in 16 years, when I walked up the stairs of the school building and made eye contact with Chiara, I could tell she recognized me right away. We threw our arms around each other and shared a big hug. It’s daunting to think about catching someone up on nearly two decades of life, but we both did, and it felt just as easy as it did when I would stop to talk to her on my way to class. We used to have brief conversations about places to visit on the weekends and what I was learning in class. And now she was filling me in on her life, her wonderful children, and how she’s been enjoying her job.
Chiara then asked me the million-dollar question: if I loved Florence so much, why had I waited 16 years to return? The truth is simple and a bit cliché, but my girlfriend and I went together when I was studying in Florence. This was the most serious relationship I’ve ever had; it lasted a few years after Florence and ended in a traumatizing breakup (for me, anyway). Every centimeter of that city was filled with memories we created together, and I was afraid that going back to Florence would be painful. I felt embarrassed to share this with Chiara because I did—and still do—find it silly to let that stop me. Chiara hugged me again and told me she was happy I returned, believing it was what I needed to officially leave behind whatever small part of me was living in the past. I would soon discover how right she was.
We talked for a couple of hours and made plans to hang out again later in the week, where we’d spend a good chunk of the day together at the school. After I left Chiara in Piazza Santo Spirito, I walked back over the Ponte Vecchio and headed toward Piazza Santa Croce. Santa Croce is one of my favorite spots in Florence. For my New Yorker friends, it reminds me a lot of Union Square but without the subway and with many more pickpockets. At least they’re charming—just smile and hold onto your shit. Piazza Santa Croce always has some market setup. That day, numerous artists and craftspeople were selling their creations. However, my favorite thing in Santa Croce is the magnificent statue of Dante Alighieri in front of the Basilica. Dante is the reason I went to Florence to study in the first place. He was a poet who expressed his tragedy and pain so openly in his Divine Comedy. Twenty-one-year-old Chris loved the romance and tragedy behind it, and thirty-seven-year-old Chris felt the same.
I parked my ass on the steps under the statue, pulled out my notebook, and began writing. My emotions were running high because I was afraid to return to a place I loved. I feared I’d find nothing but old memories and loss; instead, I found that there are still people in Florence who remember and care for me.
Photo by Chris Antzoulis - Statue of Dante Alighieri in Piazza Santa Croce
After I finished, I wandered around the city more, amazed that I remembered every street, letting all the yellows and oranges of Florence soak into me. It’s a city of warm colors that holds you tight. Every now and then, I’d pull out my BB58 to snap a picture in a fresh setting. The patina on the bronze case gives it a cozy, chocolatey vibe. While it may be Swiss, I found that it just melts into the aesthetic of Florence. Eventually, the watch that began as more of a security blanket on this trip became a part of my new identity in Florence.
Throughout the week, I revisited my favorite restaurants and museums, delighted to find them all still there. Fortunately, I had Ginevra as my museum companion. When I was last in Florence, Ginevra was only 11 years old, and getting to know her as an adult was fun. We connected through our love for writing, art, and being two scatterbrained hellraisers. While we toured the Uffizi Gallery, just a few steps from their door, Ginevra floated around, taking photos of all the hands in the paintings. I decided to join in and took photos of all the creepily painted baby Jesuses…of which there were hundreds.
Each evening, I was back home with Guendalina and Ginevra for dinner. Guendalina’s food was incredible; she even taught me to make one of my favorite dishes of hers—pumpkin pasta. I love to cook, and watching her whip up such flavorful meals with ease was one of my favorite memories when I last lived with her, and the same was true for this trip. One evening, she allowed me, after my insistence, to take the three of us out to dinner. Guendalina ordered for the table, with the highlight being a hearty, bloody Florentine steak. Trust me, you’ve never had a steak if you haven’t had one in Florence.
As my stay came to an end, I found myself enjoying coffee at a quaint café across from Dante’s house, which now operates as a museum dedicated to him. Once again, I put pen to paper while reflecting on lectures from my former professor of Dante, Alessandro. Like any writer, it’s crucial to grasp the cultural, societal, and political context in which they crafted their works. Dante was a political exile who lost his family and was forced to leave his beloved Florence. My professor often preached that Dante was the sole person capable of writing something as beautiful and tragic as the Divine Comedy, passionately proclaiming that “Only an exile” could evoke the kind of anger and heartbreak necessary for a descent into hell, only to rise again through the heavens. He could never return home, and here I was, seated back in Florence, right in front of his house.
Chris and Ginevra drinking grape juice ;-)
My story isn't nearly as dramatic as Dante’s, but I was happy to return to a place that feels like home, with no baggage except the carry-on I brought with me. It was a week-long stay where I rediscovered the best parts of myself—the creative person, the caring friend, the appreciator of small moments. My cab to the airport came to pick me up around 4 am for a painfully early flight, and the last person I saw was Ginevra. We were both emotional; we hugged, and as I got into my cab, I looked up to see her head poking out the window, waving goodbye. The best places in the world are the ones that hurt to leave, but at least now I know I have a home in Florence that I will soon return to.
**One more note about the watch
I tend to bring my BB58 with me wherever I go. You can read why this watch means a great deal to me HERE. I’ve mentally imbued it with the power to remind myself of my value. As a result, this watch is now accumulating memories, helping me reflect on my own history. Logically, I know that it’s merely an object—mass-produced and factory-made. Yet, it’s something that enables me to double-click folders in my own photographic memory and retrieve the files I need to remind myself to persevere and continue evolving.
