Florentine Choices

By ROGER COHEN
NYT

FLORENCE, ITALY — I actually got nostalgic for U.S. air travel. I did. It felt weird, like pining for root-canal treatment, and it happened right here in the city of Michelangelo.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Italy. I lived here for a while and learned how beauty is the consolation of every past empire. I learned how style can be deployed as a shield against disappointment. I learned that change can be overrated.

Florence Airport doesn’t seem to have changed much since my uncle, Captain Bert Cohen of the 6th South African Armored Division, hitched a ride here in 1944 after battling up Italy with the U.S. Army. On leave, he went onto the runway and stuck out his thumb. A pilot offered a ride to “bomb the Brenner.” He opted to go to Naples.

Makeshift is how I’d describe the feel of the “airport,” as if a few boxy pre-fabricated units were offloaded from a truck a few decades ago and thrown together.

(More here.)