Last night, I took a walk down to the Arno for the first time. It was dusk and, apart from the occasional screech of a moped, quite peaceful.

Dusk on the Arno

I was too hungry to linger long though; nearby, according to Time Out Magazine Online, there were a couple of gay restaurants and a gay cafe. Well the restaurants didn't exist, and the cafe was way too intimate a place for me to feel comfortable sitting by myself. Rain was threatening, so I gave up on the idea, and headed back to the Duomo feeling, in truth, a tiny little bit jealous of the strolling couples hand in hand. Sigh - it would be nice to have some romance with a cute, flashing-eyed Italian man-boy :)

It didn't help that I found myself sitting, at a restaurant in the Piazza del Duomo, next to a cute gay couple from some Northern European country where they don't use vowels (Norway or Holland, I'm guessing); and across from a gorgeous, tall, young Italian man with a big smile and a sensitive, caring intensity - both of which faculties were being lavished on a long-haired girl with an enormous nose.

Meanwhile, the facade of the Duomo was in darkness against a dramatic yellow-red sky roiling with blue thunder-clouds, the facade only illuminated intermittently by flashes of lightening. Birds were crying their twilight songs with particular urgency, as thunder could now be heard in the distance. A few drops of rain hit my arms, and yet the other diners seemed completely unconcerned that we were dining out on the piazza with no cover. But then the bell in the Campanile struck nine o'clock, and the rain started coming down, so we all had to flee into the restaurant.

The darkened face of the Duomo against a thunder sky

I splurged a little, for the first time. I started with Parma ham with melon - I don't ordinarily even like melon, but this stuff just melted in your mouth. My entree was a veal scallopine accompanied with a tasty, sweet chianti, and, for desert, I was served a delicious, creamy tiramisu in a glass (like we serve trifle in England) by a waiter who looked just like Ted Danson.

Next morning I decided to go see the statue of David. The Galleria dell' Accademia was only a couple of blocks away, and although there was a long line of people already, half an hour before opening, it took only half an hour for me to get in. Once I had my ticket, I rounded the corner expecting a long shuffle through inferior galleries until we reached David, so I was completely taken off guard to see him immediately, dead-center down the other end of the hall. I felt an immediate rush of awe and tears - silly old me. In fact, this became such a moving experience that I had tears in my eyes on and off for the next hour.

First site of David

My strength of feeling took me by surprise, since I'm not usually a very emotional person. And I'm finding myself struggling to put into words why I felt this way. It has something to do with a very elemental instinct in me that is invariably moved by the contrast of youthful vulnerability with strength, or great spirit.

David, up close

I sat down behind him, along with a few other unshy people, to stare at his buns. Looking up at the warm strength of his back, with the deep, muscular cleft along the back bone, I realized that I felt similar feelings to the tenderness I've felt in the past when I've dated a particularly beautiful, young man. Yet David has nothing vulnerable about him - his stare (cross-eyed, according to recent analysis!) and stance are those of a proud, virile man unashamed of his nudity - in fact, almost glorifying in his nudity. Yet, for all that, it's a young man's body - maybe that's where the vulnerability comes in.

Looking up at him from behind

I was also thinking of an email I received yesterday, part of which I'm reproducing below (I haven't had time to ask permission for this yet, so I hope the guy won't object - I plan to publish the complete email, if I get permission.) My email pen-pal talks about an encounter with someone whose beauty he particularly admired:

In all my years of looking, I have only one supreme example of male beauty to recall. His name [Dennis Hart] is of little importance. He was a professional ballet dancer. I mention this first because legs are the biggest failing in most physiques. They include the largest muscles in the body and therefore are the hardest to develop significant mass. So of course he had powerfully muscled and cut [i.e. lean, well-defined] legs.

His perfection did not end there. His upper body was also developed to the same degree. I think most people would be hard pressed to accurately guess his physical regimen. He seemed to combine the best aspects of the swimmer, the gymnast, and Graeco-Roman wrestlers. He was a perfect balance of strength and agility.

The ultimate proof of my judgment was confirmed one day at the gym. I was living in Seattle at the time. I had gotten my first gym membership and was trying to make a routine of going. This was back in the 70's, before the obsession hit mainstream America. We happened to be there that particular day at the very same time. This was exceptional because I had not known we belonged to the same gym, nor did I ever see him again at the selfsame place.

We were at the gym. I was using some Nautilus equipment, but I kept my eyes fixed upon him; not cruisng; trying to observe and figure him out. He was doing stretching exercises on the carpeted floor and projected an air of complete indifference to his surroundings and the crowd that filled the gym. Naturally, his reach was extremely good, but in combination with the interplay of muscles on this back, he was a visual feast for my hungry eyes.

I had finished my routine and went back to the locker room to change and shower. Unbeknownst to me, Dennis followed me a minute or two later. I must interject at this point a comment about the the membership of the gym. In those days, there were no exclusively gay gyms in Seattle. This was the first of its' kind. In fact that gym offered 'family' memberships, which suggested a mixed clientele at best. I'd estimate maybe two thirds were straight.

As I was saying, when I entered the locker room, I passed a cluster of guys, who were loudly debating some abstruse point about a (football, basketball, baseball, ..... take your pick) game. There was also the usual background din that pervades those places. I had reached my locker, and was seated on a nearby bench taking my shoes off when the door to the exercise room opened. The noise caught my attention so I reflexively looked up and saw Dennis headed toward me.

He had taken his tee-shirt off and was wearing just a pair of non-descript shorts and shoes, but he seemed to glow with an aura of vitality and innocent beauty. As he passed the first group of debaters they glanced at him and fell silent. They turned away as if their thoughts had become arrested. This mark of adoration (as I like to think of it) was repeated as he progressed to his own locker. In the space of three seconds the rowdiness had evaporated completely Everyone had turned to their own private business.

I puzzled upon this phenomenon. No one recognized or called him by name, so it's likely they were all strangers to him and he to them as well. Everyone seemed to be ashamed or humbled [my speculation, yes __ but mute nevertheless] in his presence as if the spell of his beauty would be destroyed if one word of acknowledgment was spoken. It was as simple as that. He dispelled every other thought and concern. He seemed a divinity among mortals.

I can understand this reaction in a gay gym, but at a straight one, what was going on? I have to ascribe it to his physical demeanor and beauty. What struck me most about this whole incident was the reaction of the straight guys as well! Yes, we are all mostly a mixture of straight and gay attitudes. But to see such a unanimous display and reaction to a silent figure was astounding to me. I trust I did the moment justice in the retelling.

The rest of the afternoon, I spent wandering around, exploring Florence, which is easy to do - everything is within relatively easy walking distance.

A view of the Arno through a gold shop on the famous bridge - Ponte Vecchio

Same bridge - I was lucky enough to come across a beautiful bride who posed for me.

Looking down the Piazzale degli Uffizi - the world-famous art musuem is housed here.

I tried to get a photo that would capture the Piazza della Signorina. But it's such an odd piazza, with a hodgepodge of great and not so great sculptures, fountains and buildings; none of my camera angles seemed to work. So I'll just show this one, taken for obvious reasons. :) The guy in the middle of the three shirtless boys, by the way, was god-like - an awesome body, tall, tanned.

Don't jump to criticism - but I'm likely to spend a considerable portion of the next few weeks watching television. The reason is that Euro 2000, the soccer tournament for European nations, starts today. I didn't plan this, but it's worked out perfectly - I'll be in Europe during the whole tournament so I'll get to watch all the games I want to! England's first game is on the 12th, and should be a big game - we're playing our arch rivals Germany. Anyway, I'm planning on working out, going running, and then settling in to watch the opening game tonight. So I'll see you tomorrow :)