9 February 2007.
These last few days I have started to feel more and more like home in this city. Helsinki feels distant, particularly since I’ve heard that the weather took a turn for the worse just after I left. I cannot imagine myself being in the middle of the darkness, the freezing cold and the snowstorms. Before I left, I had no idea why I would be homesick. But after the frustrating experience of trying to connect to the Internet in Florence I realized that I am already a bit homesick—the home however is not Helsinki but the Internet! I have become so used to having easy access to the net that it will take a while to adjust. In particular, I have no idea what is happening in the world right now. I guess I should start reading the newspapers—the horror!
There has been quite a bit to do and explore, and not much spare time to think. But now that I have done most of the things that a tourist can be expected to do, I have time to think too. As I was walking back home along the river Arno I had this train of thought leading up to the realization that I am in Florence, and moreover, that this is the river of the metaphor in chapter XXV of Machiavelli’s Prince. That felt funny in a naïve way, an intrusion by the material-historical into the ideal-timeless. Perhaps I should give a full report of my Machiavelli tourism later.
I thought this was clever, but maybe that’s just me. “Against every historical revisionism…”