Florence. Oh, Florence. The city of art, romance, and… parking pandemonium. My grand vision of a leisurely Italian getaway quickly dissolved into a chaotic dance with narrow streets and an endless hunt for a sliver of asphalt.

We arrived, bright-eyed and ready for Renaissance wonders, only to be met with a sea of cars and a complete absence of parking. It was like a real-life game of Tetris, but with Vespas and Fiats instead of blocks. Driving in Florence? Let’s just say it’s not for the faint of heart. Every turn felt like a gamble, every street a potential dead end.

A Herres sticker that is designed to look like the Hermes logo. Clever.

But hey, we were determined to experience the culinary magic of Osteria delle Tre Panche. Six hours. Yes, you read that right, six hours we waited for a table. Six hours! There was a guy he couldn’t even get on the waitlist, every minute he walked back and forth, staring and drooling at the sight of the pasta. I hope he was able to go back to Florence to try it since it was his last night there. For truffle tagliatelle. Was it worth it? Honestly, the creamy, earthy goodness was divine. But the lingering thought of finding parking again after midnight? That kind of dimmed the glow a bit.

*Osteria delle Tre Panche - Creamy Truffle Pasta*

Florence by foot? Magical. Florence by car? A stress-induced fever dream. We were on a tight schedule, so we squeezed in two days of whirlwind sightseeing, fueled by espresso and a healthy dose of exasperation. It was… okay. A decent pit stop, if you ignore the automotive anxiety. Below is a picture we patiently waited 2 hours for, just so traffic can clear.

*Rendition photo inspired by The Beetles album, Abby Road.*

Fast forward a year. A year! And what arrives in my mailbox? A cascade of traffic tickets and parking fines, like confetti from a very passive-aggressive party. Apparently, Florence is a master of stealth ticketing. Radar traps in parking spots? Who even knew that was a thing? I certainly didn’t see any signs. Or maybe I was too busy dodging Vespas to notice.

*A glass of much needed wine during toilet time because of stress parking.*

So, Florence, it’s not you, it’s… well, it’s mostly you. Your art is stunning, your food is delectable, but your parking situation? Let’s just say it’s a deal-breaker. I’m now convinced Florence’s tourism board is secretly funded by the traffic ticket industry. And while I can laugh about it now, I might just stick to admiring your beauty from a safe, ticket-free distance. Maybe from a train window. Or perhaps, from another continent. Just kidding… mostly