International Women's Day: A Memory from Florence Today is International Women's Day. And every year, my thoughts turn to a trip that now lies fifteen years in the past. My most beautiful memory of this day takes me back to Florence! Back then, I traveled to Italy by train with my daughter for a few days.
Germany had still been gray and cool. But the further south the train rolled, the more clearly you could see from the window how spring was approaching. The landscape grew brighter, the air milder, and somewhere between the Alps and Tuscany, you suddenly had the wonderful feeling of having traveled into an entirely different season. We stayed in an old palazzo very close to the Uffizi.
A dreamlike place to stay! Not luxurious, but full of atmosphere: high ceilings, old windows, and that very special Italian light. From there, we could walk everywhere—through narrow alleys, across piazzas filled with voices and laughter, up to the viewpoints above the city, from which you could see all of Florence in its full splendor, with its red roofs and great dome. We had an excellent guidebook with us, packed with little insider tips.
This helped us feel at home quickly and discover much that we might otherwise have easily missed. Our trip happened to fall right on Carnival weekend. On Tuesday, "Fat Tuesday," there were parades through the city, music, and a lively, exuberant atmosphere that simply swept you along. But the most beautiful thing for me came the day after: International Women's Day.
In Italy, it's a tradition for women to receive small bouquets of mimosa on this day. And everywhere the yellow flowers gleamed! Men gave them to women, children to their mothers, girlfriends to each other. The whole city seemed to glow in that warm, radiant yellow.
My daughter gave me a little bouquet back then too. Today, fifteen years later, it's no longer yellow. The blossoms have turned brown and actually don't look particularly pretty anymore. But they still stand in their little vase, and every time I look at them, I return inwardly to Florence.
During our stay, we saw much of the city. But there was one thing we absolutely wanted to find: the big weekly market. Armed with our paper city map, we set out with great enthusiasm. And we searched for a long time.
A very long time. In fact, we walked around eight kilometers through the area, going in circles again and again, through streets, across piazzas, through neighborhoods where we didn't actually want to be. But finally we found it! This wonderful market that takes place on Wednesdays in Florence.
We enthusiastically sampled our way through the stalls, tasting cheese, bread, olives, and other delicacies. And then something wonderfully thoughtless happened. We bought a small mimosa tree. Only afterward did we realize what that meant.
First, we had to drag the little tree across Florence back to our hotel. The next day to the train station again. And then came the long journey home: approximately a thousand kilometers by train. We had to change trains several times.
It just happened that Germany was experiencing a railway strike that day, so we were confronted once more with all the complications that such a trip can bring. But we managed it! We actually got that little mimosa tree home. Unfortunately, it only survived a couple of years.
But the little bouquet that my daughter gave me back then still stands in its vase. And every year on International Women's Day, it reminds me how beautiful that trip was, and how special some simple, small gestures can be.
