Florence walk idle, muted.
Florence is small enough that the famous things keep appearing at the end of ordinary streets. You walk a lane of shuttered windows and leather shops, turn a corner, and the cathedral is simply there, too close to photograph and too big to take in. Then it is gone again behind four storeys of plain stone. That rhythm — dense, plain, sudden — is the whole experience of the centre on foot, and it does not survive being edited into highlights.