Washout
With end of our honeymoon coming into sight, it’s tempting to desperately fill them with new experiences.
Do we have time to visit the Piazza De Michalengelo?! Or the Barghello?! Surely we could squeeze in The Orsanmichele?!
The answer is no. And that’s okay.
We had planned to visit Antinori today. It’s a famous vineyard with lots of lovely wine. It’s won all kinds of awards if you’re into that sort of thing. I wanted to visit because it also looks like the lair of a Bond villain, complete with 60’s curvy modernism and secret rooms.
But honestly? We’re knackered. My health app has congratulated me for improving my average fitness by at least 200% every single day of the trip. I’ve got so many blisters they’ve started unionising. “No more walking!” they’ve decried.
So we cancelled the meal and tour. There’s something thrilling about cancelling a plan - it feels like you’ve got your life back. And instead, we gently wandered the Boboli gardens like we were minor characters in an exotic Jane Austen novel. Everything was shut and in started to rain, but we were both too sleepy to care.