Hit Me With A Flower

It’s hard to encapsulate the essence of a place in a single phrase. There are too many layers and complexities, flavours and voices, volumes and colours. But when I think of my latest trip to Florence, “the devil is in the details” comes to mind.

I was caught up in a whirlwind of self-inflicted (and quite pleasant) must-dos: trying new beds, visiting artisans’ workshops, cracking the mysteries of the river, climbing never-ending stairs that made my head spin (oh but what a view!)… My heart raced with the excitement that comes from seeing something new while meeting an old friend (yes, and also from the exhaustion that comes from packing your schedule a little too ambitiously).

But as I was zigzagging my way through town, my peripheral vision started to catch something.

Stroll through town, stopping for a mid-morning espresso – check. Continue on to a museum or one of the elegant Renaissance palazzos for a visit – check. Tuck in for lunch at a buchetta, grab gelato, walk along the river – check, check, check.

No, it’s not Brunelleschi’s masterful and imposing dome, one of the unparalleled achievements of Renaissance architecture, although it towers over the city, and indeed you can spot it from pretty much anywhere, a good landmark, to use as a compass.

It’s Florence’s symbol, commonly referred to as a “giglio”, or “fleur-de-lys” or “lily”, a red flower comprised of five upper petals (three main ones and two stamens) and lower ramifications in a symmetrical composition on a white background.

Not only does it adorn the facades of all major palazzos, it’s also on all the merch you can think of – sports jerseys, gelato cups, stationery, keychains, tablecloths. There is even a dessert dedicated to it. Rarely have I seen such collective dedication and devotion to a coat of arms, a mix of Medieval plastering and modern-time spamming.

But Florence doesn’t do ordinary, and this is where the devil comes into play: the flower was originally a different colour, and, in fact, the lily is not a proper lily after all. It’s unclear when it became the symbol of the city, and why. One version of the story says that it refers to the white iris that grows on the hills of Florence and in the Val d’Arno. Because of its colour, resembling ice, the Florentines called it “ghiacciolo” (icicle), or “giaggiolo”.

Be it as it may, it looks like Florentines have self- identified under this emblem since the 10th century, an homage to the heraldic insignia of marquis Ugo da Tuscia, but the colour scheme was inverted in 1266, when the Guelph faction won against the Ghibelline.

So it makes perfect sense that Florence would have an Iris Garden right in the heart of the city. If you’re lucky enough to be in town between the end of April and the end of May — a short window, when the irises bloom — it’s worth hiking up to Piazzale Michelangelo and seeking it out. Founded in 1954, it hosts an international competition where they elect the best iris variety each year.

Take your time, enjoy the panorama from atop this majestic viewpoint — from here you have a bird’s eye view of the bustling city centre, with its huge red dome. Soak in the essence of Florence, as if you were taking a turtle for a walk. Stop and smell the…um…irises.