Over the years I’ve written a fair amount about Italy. And that’s for two main reasons.

1, My wife taught several times in Gonzaga University’s Gonzaga in Florence program, both on the undergraduate and law school levels. And I was lucky enough to accompany her.

2, I happen to love the place.

Without wanting to look like a braggart, I have to admit that since my first trip to the country in 1997, both my wife and have managed to visit all 20 of Italy’s regions. We completed the list just before the pandemic hit by taking a ferry from the Sicily to the city of Reggio di Calabria, the largest city in the southernmost region of Calabria. (Think of Calabria as the toe of Italy’s famous boot shape.)

I’m writing this from Tirana, the capital city of Albania, where my wife and I will be spending the next week. But we just finished a week-long visit to Florence where we attended the festivities revolving around the Gonzaga in Florence program’s 60th anniversary.

My wife, Mary Pat Treuthart, took part because she co-founded the GIF Law School summer program (with her then-colleague John Morey Maurice). Among the events we took part in were the performance of an opera (“Jeanne Dark,” by composer Fabio Vecchi), a tour of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore (featuring the famous Duomo by Brunelleschi), a tour of the Museo Del Bargello, a tour of “Tuscan Cuisine, Traditions and Street Food.” And more.

The “more” included a closing-night “gala,” which featured a cocktail hour followed by a sit-down dinner and speeches by the likes of ambassador Patricia Haslach (who attend the GIF program in 1977) and GU President Thayne McCullough.

“More” also meant taking long walks through the city streets, from Piazza della Repubblica to Piazza della Signoria, stopping by the crowded Mercato del Porcellino (which features its famous bronze boar), while hitting a different gelataria every single night.

But let me start from the beginning of the trip. We left Spokane on Monday (May 13), flying to Seattle where we transferred to a flight to Amsterdam. After a two-hour layover, we flew on to Florence.

Notes on our 9-plus-hour flight to Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport: We’ve had mostly good luck flying Delta Airlines, making our connections and even when we didn’t we were able to adjust fairly easily. And my bag was misplaced only once, though one time Mary Pat’s ended up in Cape Town, South Africa (go figure).

Delta’s flight attendants have been mostly friendly and helpful, but I have to say the food they serve is wretched. We were given a choice of pasta or chicken, and both were inedible. Good thing, then, that Mary Pat thought to buy snacks before we boarded. Cheez-Its, yum.

At Schiphol, we encountered a situation typically just short of chaos at the passport station, with lines weaving back and forth similar to what you have to endure at theme parks (such as Disneyland). From there, we flew KLM to Florence.

We arrived in Florence in the early afternoon, and a short cab ride later met up with the guy who showed us the room that Mary Pat had booked: a single studio, with air-conditioning (yes!) and a small kitchenette. Located about halfway between the Duomo and the Galleria dell’Accademia (where Michelangelo’s David proudly stands), it proved to be the perfect spot to experience all the city centro has to offer.

And with our apartment being set off the street, we weren’t bothered by the noise caused by the thousands of tourists/students/residents that packed the streets. Mary Pat did grow tired of the man playing the accordion (I guess you can hear “O Solo Mio” only so many times). The lines were especially long at the Accademia, the Uffizi and around the Duomo – along with seemingly every gelateria in the city.

This was our first visit to Florence since before the COVID pandemic, and the crowds seemed even more oppressive than ever. It used to be, back in the 20th century, that visits in early May were far calmer. Not anymore.

But enough complaining. After all, we are part of the problem as well.

Our first stop that evening was the trattoria La Grotta di Leo, a somewhat out-of-the-way spot near Santa Maria Novella that holds special meaning for us. On my first trip to Florence some three decades ago, we ate dinner there. And when we went to pay, I pulled out my wallet and tried to hand the guy behind the register a credit card.

He shook his head. “No carta di credito,” he said. “Solo contanti.” Or words to that effect, meaning the place accepted cash only.

At a loss I stammered in poor Italian that I didn’t have enough cash to cover the bill. And to my surprise, the guy took the bill, wrapped it around my credit card, and said with a smile, “Domani, signore, domani.”

Where in the U.S. would a restaurant let you walk out the door, trusting that you would return the next day to pay?

I’ve eaten at La Grotta di Leo on every Florence visit thereafter. The food is hardly an epicurean delight, but it’s solid and tasty and relatively cheap.

And the politeness and grace the man showed me that night so long ago will stay with me forever.

Did I say I love Florence? That evening is one of the reasons why.