Santa Croce

Tears of indignation came to Lucy's eyes - partly because Miss Lavish had jilted her, partly because she had taken her Baedeker. How could she find her way home? How could she find her way about in Santa Croce? Her first morning was ruined, and she might never be in Florence again. A few minutes ago she had been all high spirits, talking as a woman of culture, and half persuading herself that she was full of originality. Now she entered the church depressed and humiliated, not even able to remember whether it was built by the Franciscans or the Dominicans.
Of course, it must be a wonderful building, but how like a barn! And how very cold! Of course it contained frescoes by Giotto, in the presence of whose tactile values she was capable of feeling what was proper. But who was to tell her which they were? She walked about disdainfully, unwilling to be enthusiastic over monuments of uncertain authorship or date. There was no one even to tell her which, of all the sepulchral slabs that paved the nave and transepts, was the one that was really beautiful...
Then the pernicious charm of Italy worked on her, and, instead of acquiring information, she began to be happy.

Room with a View
by EM Forster

Santa Croce was an unexpected surprise - not cold and austere as I had been expecting, but full of warmth, colour and light.
I shared Lucy's lack of knowledge, but also her delight in experiencing the sheer beauty of the place.

After this, a surprise meeting with our nephew and his girlfriend as they were crossing the bridge towards us on a tandem. One of life's crazy coincidences! Brilliant :)