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By the time we got out of the Galleria Dell’Accademia, the line was all the way down the block. Florence was packed with people, mostly, high school and college age people on Spring break.
We strolled down the Via Ricasoli to the Piazza del Duomo, and stood and admired the geometric designs in red, white and green marble on the exterior of the cathedral, baptistery and bell tower. “I think the the Duomo, with that baptistery and bell tower, is one of the most amazing sights in all of Europe,” Jenny enthused.
“I agree,” I said. “It’s beautiful. Look at these doors. The doors of the octagonal baptistery were cast in bronze and depicted the sacrifice of Isaac. “They were created by Lorenzo Ghiberti, who worked on them for 21 years.” I moved closer and lifted the gym bag to give Jenny a better view.
“You talk to your cat,” a person behind us said. I turned and saw a middle-aged, stern looking, but nonetheless, attractive, woman standing just below the baptistery stair observing us.
“Doesn’t everyone,?” I said, more casually than I felt.
“Perhaps, but not about Lorenzo Ghiberti.” She smiled thinly, then turned to walk away.
“Says you,” Jenny said.
“Shh!” I said.
“Scusi?” the woman said, turning back and giving me a dirty look.
“Just talking to the cat, again,” I said.
“E’ pazzo!” the woman said, and continued on her way.
I looked down at Jenny. “What did she say?”
“I think she said you’re crazy.”
“She could be right,” I said.