At 5.26, our train departed Lincoln for Newark. We jumped on our connection to Kings Cross, watched the sun rise as we entered the south of England, and at Kings Cross we hurried to the underground, caught the tube to Victoria and a connecting train to Gatwick. So far, so good - four trains down.
Our first flight boarded as soon as we got there, so we walked straight through the airport, walking onto the plane with our half eaten sandwiches in one hand and a boarding pass in another.
Flight #1 landed in Milan, which turned out to be disorganised, chaotic and difficult. We eventually found our gate, but the plane was delayed, and we worried about the last connection in Rome. In Rome, we scurried through the airport and made it near-perfectly. The flight touched down in Florence and we breathed a sigh of relief that our four trains and three flights in thirteen hours hadn't let us down.
The thirteenth hour was the least lucky, however, as one of our cases didn't come through. Lost in Milan, unsurprisingly. I was disheartened, and after a curt phone call (we were late to our apartment), began with the first impression that perhaps this wouldn't be as simple as we'd anticipated.
We spent the evening wandering, crossing the Ponte Vecchio and I fell for the city at first sight.
Santa Trinita Chuch
Closed gold merchants