I live in Florence.
Day after day I walk across its famous squares, past Dante’s statue, and sometimes drop by the Uffizi to see a Caravaggio or Botticelli. I know the scents, the light, how the city shimmers on a warm July afternoon. I thought nothing here could really surprise me anymore.
Then came an evening when I saw Florence like a tourist – from a boat, on the Arno River.
The boat was waiting at the corner of Piazza Mentana, right where the paving stones have been worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. It was a warm summer night.
Geckos were running along the walls, now and then a swallow swooped overhead.
The sky was turning deep blue, but there was still just enough light to see the arches of the bridges, the people sitting along the riverbank, and the heartbeat of the city – something you rarely hear this clearly.
The boat had no motor, and it wasn’t rowed either.
The renaioli, who centuries ago used to collect sand from the riverbed, still steer their traditional barges with long poles, just as their ancestors did. They’re in no hurry.
And neither were we. We simply floated on the water, like in a moment held still in time.
Our guide told us stories: about the Uffizi, where even the corridors are works of art; about the Galileo Galilei Museum, Palazzo Corsini, and the house of Vittorio Alfieri.
We learned what the “Donkey Church of the Arno” is, where the city’s old “lice quarter” was, and where to find the dark tunnel under the bridge that once earned its own peculiar reputation.
All the while, a nutria swam alongside the boat, the water flowing smoothly around us, and we just watched – looking up at the arch of the Ponte Vecchio, not walking over it this time, but passing underneath.
And something changed. Florence, the city I’ve always felt was mine, suddenly whispered secrets –as if I were seeing it for the first time, but still through familiar eyes.
I was amazed again. I felt like a first-time visitor, someone just beginning to get to know Florence.
Yet this is my city. And still, that evening, floating above the water – something had shifted.
The renaioli’s boat is not just a tourist experience. It’s a magical journey through time, an unusual but deeply authentic perspective that brings you closer to the heart of Florence than any balcony view ever could. This city isn’t made up only of buildings and paintings – but of this river, too.This is the Arno: it reflects the city, tells its story, and gliding over it in silence, in a boat – perhaps this is one of the most beautiful ways to truly understand Florence.