I have been a contented country mouse for the better part of my 15 years in Italy, tucked snugly away in the ultimate sleepy Tuscan village where fresh air, quiet nights and friendly smiles from passers-by are the norm. Small-town gossip and the molasses-slow arrival of mod-cons like broadband internet aside, it was a good life, full of simple pleasures, from my rose and herb gardens, vegetable patch and cherry trees to those dazzlingly clear stars on summer evenings and parking spots for the taking. Imagine my anxiety then at the prospect of moving back to Florence after having grown so accustomed to the slow pace and family-like feel of my town. While I have always appreciated Florence for its endless fascination, its rock star status on nearly every cultural stage imaginable, I never thought I’d live among the pushy impersonal throngs again.
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