I practically picked Venice Beach out of a hat when I was pondering where to stay in Southern California. On one hand, I wanted to visit part of my family and my friends in the Los Angeles area, but I had a great desire to be by the water and not have to drive a car for the first week of my trip. I asked a few people about the area, but most thought I should choose Santa Monica instead because for them Venice Beach was crazy and a bit weird. Fortunately, they were unable to persuade me to change my mind. I knew virtually nothing about Venice Beach and was eager to discover it for myself.

No matter how much I love my life in Florence (and also Paris), I truly feel the need to return to my home state at least once a year. Oddly enough it’s not where I grew up that draws me as much as the place where I was born, which for me is Los Angeles. I just feel a pull to return to where I took my first breath. Even though I lived here for only a year or two, and obviously don’t remember it, I still feel a strong pull to return at least once a year.

I was excited yesterday morning to go to the Giardino dell’Iris. It’s one of my favorite traditions that my beloved city has to offer. Last year, unfortunately, I missed out on it. To begin the lovely morning, we first had a caffè at Giacosa. Afterwards, we zigzagged our way through the centro (historical center of town), across the Ponte alle Grazie, and past San Niccolò to reach the stairs that lead up to Piazzale Michelangiolo.

Ever since I arrived in Florence, I’ve never wanted to leave it. I generally don’t even like going beyond the city limits (and sometimes not even the city walls). However, for the past year, I’ve been going to Paris to work for about two weeks a month. What is interesting is that I used to hold on tightly to Florence as I would a new lover. I almost feared that by not being here, I would lose my connection with my beloved city. But, I have learned over time that I can leave Florence and come back to it easily. I don’t like being separated from Florence, but I now know that enjoying my time in another place does not take away from my enjoying my life in Florence.

I was shocked and saddened by the tragic death of an Italian calciatore (soccer player) last Saturday during a partita (match). At the age of 25, Piermario Morosini, a midfielder for Livorno, suffered a cardiac arrest and died on the campo (field). All thirteen partite that were to be held last weekend for both the Serie A and B were immediately cancelled.

When I woke up this morning, I felt a little melancholy. I was thinking about my trip to Paris on Sunday. Once again, I’ll be away from Florence for 12 days. I miss my beloved city already and yet I’m still here. I want to see more, experience more, and enjoy more precious moments before I take off. When I go to Paris, I feel as if a part of me is left behind. Not a vital part, but one that I certainly notice is not with me when I’m in Paris.

Ever since I saw the announcement about Palazzo Strozzi’s exhibit “Americani a Firenze,” I had been wanting to go. I love how the mostre (exhibits) at Palazzo Strozzi present many different aspects of my beloved city. The current mostra definitely intrigued me, not just because I’m an American in Florence, but because I too came to Florence the first time in 1997 to be inspired.

I was looking forward to Pasqua (Easter) in Florence with my family last Sunday. I was hoping to see the scoppio del carro (explosion of the cart), but I ended up not going. At 10am right when I was about to leave the house, the rain began to fall. Not a light sprinkle, but a downpour. I was disappointed to miss such a special and unique event, but hopefully next year I can attend.

Florence, Paris, and back again. Even I find my life a little difficult to follow. At least once a month, I leave my home to temporarily live (for 12 days) in Paris. Ever since I moved back to Florence in 2004, I rarely felt the need or desire to leave it. I’d usually go away maybe once or twice a year. It’s not that I don’t love to travel, but I love staying in my beloved city even more.

When I leave Paris, I can see far into the distance from the airplane. It’s a rather flat city that seems to go on for kilometers in every direction. Today with a light haze between me and the ground, it looks as if Paris is behind a veil. I peered out the window, but couldn’t make out much of the city at all. Sometimes, I can see the Arc de Triomphe, the Seine, and the Eiffel Tower. Today, all I see are a few brownish patches of land, a river, and an accumulation of buildings, which I think is the city.

After having set our clocks back this last Sunday, I now feel as if spring has finally arrived. The days feel longer now that the sun comes up later and stays up longer. This morning when I woke up at 7 am, I looked out the window and saw the long shadow off the Ponte alle Grazie on the banks of the Arno. I was pleased to see the city glowing in a warm orange and pink. Spring certainly suits Florence.

My morning runs are a special time for me to connect with my beloved city and find more things about it that I appreciate. Yesterday, I ran away from the city center toward Ponte da Verrazzano. What struck me was that after crossing Ponte di San Niccolò, I looked around me and noticed that I could’ve been almost anywhere in Italy. Along the sidewalk I was running on, there was a small giardino (garden) to my right with the Arno below it and six-story apartment buildings on my left with shops on the ground floor. When I crossed the Ponte da Verrazzano to run back home, I felt the same thing. It wasn’t until I crossed Ponte di San Niccolò and had a clear view of the top of the Duomo that I felt I was in Florence.

The first thing I do on my first Saturday back in Florence is shop for groceries on via dei Neri. Not just because I’m eager to get my hands on some local produce and favorite Tuscan delicacies, but also because I get to reconnect with all the shopkeepers who have become good friends of mine. While I am away, my marito buys groceries and they always ask about me and tell him to make sure he says hello to me. I’ve sent them postcards and brought back pensierini (little gifts) from Paris. They rarely take breaks from work and seem to enjoy hearing about my travels.

When I first started going to Paris, I would leave on Saturday afternoon. After a few trips, I discovered that my weekend was cut in half. I rushed around Paris to have brunch somewhere and then headed to the airport. I wouldn’t arrive in Florence until the early evening and then I would eat and go to bed. Nowadays, I leave Paris in the evening, have dinner with my marito (husband) and wake up to my beloved city. I love flying into Florence at night when the entire city glows a light orange. Sometimes I can spot a few monuments, but most of the time I just try to grab the entire view with my eyes.

I would never say that I’m living a double life, but at times it does feel that way. When I’m home in Florence, Paris seems so far away and when I’m in Paris, Florence does. My running has allowed me to not feel as uprooted as I did in the beginning when I would hop between the two cities. I definitely have two different lives depending on whether I’m in Paris or Florence.