Reflection of Eden – An Afternoon in Florence

Walking through a seemingly inconspicuous and surprisingly small entrance, you’d never consider that up the steps and through the archway, one of the Italy’s most enchanting and enormous set of gardens sits, just waiting to be uncovered.

It’s been almost a year since I visited, and its presence lingers in my brain day after day, as if it were an old flame whose sweet smile and ethereal body I could never forget, much less get over. I could talk about the Boboli Gardens for the rest of my life and never run out of things to say, or ever quite capture its beauty in words.

To compare it to any other place I’ve visited since would be an injustice. If anything, it’s perhaps closer to Eden, or as close as one could get on this plane of being.

Each minute detail sticks inside my head. Of the endless space it seems to exist in, of the luscious greens which surround the labyrinth paths, and the vibrant colours that are made up by the plants outside the lemon house. In contrast, the barren trees and half-dead grass that could be found never found themselves out of place. At worst, serving merely as a reminder of the impact of the 35+ degree heat, as if you could ever forget. Instead, everything complements one another in a tribute to what nature and what life is, diverse and beautiful.

We mustn’t disregard the hands of humanity. From chiselled statues to the careful orchestration of the layout, not to mention the upkeep, so much human touch has been pivotal in allowing the grounds to become the wonder that they are since first conceived for the House of Medici in the mid-15th century. Even after only a short time spent in the garden, you may feel as I did, and suddenly believe no task is insurmountable if such a space can be maintained and kept so perfect.

The way I feel about the gardens largely reflects how I feel about the city as a whole. To me, Florence exists in harmony with nature, not in its place. They need one another, and as such, co-exist in bliss. The winding Tuscan hills that protect are as much a part of it as the city is a part of them.

Amidst the city, and amidst the gardens, I was reminded not just of the outward beauty which I got to take in, but of the beauty of humanity.

*

When I first arrived, my friends and I took a second to apply sun cream and ensure we had each other’s numbers before splitting off to explore the grounds, fearing we may never find one another if we didn’t. We’d done quite a bit of walking to get here, and so I first sat down against the third tree on the right, just a single set of stairs up from the Fountain of Neptune (or ‘Fountain of the Fork’ to locals). We had a lot of time to spend there, and so I wanted to take a moment before visiting the different sections on offer. Not long after, a group of Australian boys in their late teens took refuge in some shade not far from me.

Sitting on my lonesome, I at first tried to be polite and respectful, avoiding their conversation and shifting my focus to the sound of the fountain beneath me, and the cicadas which layered on top. Eventually, I couldn’t help to be nosy and quietly began to listen in on their conversation, all while taking in the view across the cityscape, or what was visible of it between the tall trees beside the path up here.

Then something strange happened. For the best part of half an hour, I listened to these boys, not too dissimilar from my friends and I in age and dynamic, carefully weave together a beautiful idea purely through a drawn-out joke. I listened as they so seamlessly built up the foundations, assembled the bricks, and decorated the interior of this concept.

I caught the conversation about midway through. At this point, their conversation seemed to be nothing special or personal, which I used to justify my continued nosiness. They spoke about the price of avocados (which they simply referred to as ‘avos’), which had apparently gone down due to increased growth in the south. After comparing it to a head of lettuce, among other fruits and vegetables, one of the boys mentioned extremely excitedly about how happy he was with ‘the guy who invented fruits’, theorising that he must have said ‘let’s make vegetables, but better’.

I listened as they spoke so passionately about something so nonsensical, and even though it was an elaborate joke, there was a depth and beauty in how they traversed through to make something from the seemingly mundane. By the time their conversation was up, they had planned out a ‘fruit-themed exhibition’, subsidised by the government, once a year, from Monday to Thursday. They’d all contributed and worked towards this idea, building it gradually, and so effortlessly, just through simple conversation.

And in a heartbeat, they were gone, off to some other section of the gardens. I’m inclined to believe they forgot about the idea by the end of the day, if not the hour. And as simply as they’d started and finished their conversation, an older couple sat down and began a conversation of their own, one which they would likely forget soon too.