To walk through the streets of Bologna and Florence is to step into a dream—one woven from the grandeur of the Renaissance, the theatricality of the Baroque, the symmetry of Neoclassicism, and the solemn grace of Gothic spires. Every turn reveals an extraordinary basilica, every shadow holds echoes of history, and every stone whispers stories of scholars, artists, and revolutionaries. This journey was more than mere travel; it was an immersion into the world that has long lived in my imagination.
BOLOGNA: A CITY OF LAYERS
Our arrival in Bologna was not without its initial disorientation—an impromptu adventure navigating the bus system from the airport. Yet, once we stepped onto its streets, we were immediately swept into its vibrant energy. This is a city teeming with life, a living gallery where students, musicians, and artists converge in an eclectic symphony of styles and subcultures. Under the golden glow of lamplight, we made our way to Piazza Maggiore and Piazza del Nettuno, where medieval and Renaissance architecture stood like silent witnesses to centuries of gatherings, proclamations, and celebrations.
Nearby, we stumbled upon Cinema Modernissimo, a hidden gem beneath the city streets. More than just a cinema, this underground space pulses with creative energy—a labyrinth of art, history, and performance that felt like an echo of the city’s layered past. Bologna, after all, is a city of secrets, of structures built upon the bones of older worlds.
The next morning began with a visit to San Petronio Basilica, a colossal Gothic masterpiece that dominates the piazza. Inside, the vast frescoes, intricate chapels, and astronomical meridian line drew us into a world where science and faith intertwined. Yet, it was the Basilica di Santo Stefano—also known as the Seven Churches—that left an even deeper impression. Wandering through its interconnected chapels and cloisters felt like traversing different epochs, each space imbued with an almost monastic silence, as if the very air carried the weight of history.
From there, we visited the Monument to Fallen Partisans, a stark and sobering reminder of Bologna’s role in the resistance against fascism. The faces of those who once walked these same streets stared back at us from the memorial, their silent gazes demanding remembrance. This city, so full of life, also holds profound scars.
Then, the following morning came the place that stole my heart—the Archiginnasio. If I could live anywhere, give me a small space within its frescoed walls, and I would never leave.
The former seat of Bologna’s university, it is a marvel of painted ceilings, hidden staircases, and scholarly secrets. Most breathtaking of all was the Anatomical Theatre, a wooden amphitheater where the human body was once meticulously studied under the watchful eyes of sculpted figures. Every inch of this place hummed with the spirit of inquiry, of knowledge pursued with an almost sacred reverence.
We later wandered through the remnants of Bologna’s forgotten canals, a whisper of its Venetian past, before reaching Parco della Montagnola, the city’s oldest park. There, statues of lions and mermaids by Diego Sarti stood frozen in time, their melancholic expressions lending the space an eerie, otherworldly charm—like something lifted from the misty landscapes of Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow.
Bologna, a city of contrasts, left its imprint on me. It is both lively and solemn, an open book of history and a breathing, ever-evolving entity. With its endless porticoes, its rebellious spirit, and its devotion to art and knowledge, it was the perfect overture to what lay ahead in Florence.
FLORENCE: A CITY OF LIVING MASTERPIECES
Stepping into Florence felt like shedding the past and stepping into the heart of artistic immortality. From the moment we arrived, Bologna faded into the background, as if my senses could only process the sheer magnificence of Florence.
Our first stop was the Duomo—Santa Maria del Fiore—its exterior an overwhelming spectacle of color, pattern, and precision, a prime example of horror vacui, where no space is left unadorned. Yet, stepping inside, I found myself less enchanted; the vast interior, though impressive, lacked the spellbinding presence of its façade.
From there, we made our way to the Galleria dell’Accademia, where time itself seemed to still when I finally stood face-to-face with Michelangelo’s David. It was not simply a statue; it was perfection incarnate, a vision of human beauty so divine that it brought tears to my eyes. Every contour, every sinew spoke of an unattainable ideal, a timeless force carved into marble.
Within the same halls, I was drawn to the Gipsoteca Bartolini, where Lorenzo Bartolini’s 19th-century plaster casts offered an eerie, ghostly glimpse into sculptural artistry. Among them, my favourites were the after-death sleeping beauties, figures frozen in eternal slumber, their silence heavier than words.
Later, we wandered through Piazza della Repubblica, where the city’s elegance took center stage, before pausing at Fontana del Porcellino, its bronze snout polished to a golden gleam from centuries of hopeful touches. The Ponte Vecchio followed, a bridge like no other, a suspended marketplace where history and commerce intertwine above the gentle flow of the Arno.
Yet Florence’s true magic lay in its streets—the breathtaking details at every turn, the intricate carvings, the hidden courtyards, the unexpected play of light and shadow. It was as if the city itself was a canvas, each corner painted with the flourishes of a master artist. Getting lost here was a gift; every detour revealed a new marvel, an untouched scene waiting to be admired.
The crescendo of this artistic odyssey came at the Uffizi Gallery. Walking its halls was like stepping into the pages of my childhood art books—every room held something familiar, every painting a long-lost friend. And there, among the masterpieces, I stood before one of my most beloved works: Botticelli’s Pallas and the Centaur. Seeing it in person was an experience beyond words, a moment where art transcended time, reaching out to touch something deep within me.
Florence is not merely a city; it is a living museum, a place where beauty is not contained within frames or sculptures but spills into the streets, into the air itself. And within its embrace, I felt a connection to the artists, the thinkers, and the dreamers who had walked these streets before me.
AND LASTLY… A CULINARY CONFESSION
Anyone who knows me is well aware that food is the last thing on my mind. You won’t hear me raving about an exquisite meal or recommending a must-visit restaurant. However, I do have one culinary obsession—one that has remained unchanged since childhood. As someone who stubbornly refuses to grow up, I dedicated myself entirely to one mission: consuming as much ragù and Bolognese as humanly possible. Every single day, without fail. Meanwhile, my boyfriend, unwavering in his own allegiance, indulged exclusively in pizza. So, between the two of us, we truly embraced the essence of Italian cuisine—just in the most predictable way possible.
Bisous bisous
Valisia x