Like our hearts, Florence is incredibly arterial, pumped with the full-bloodedness that comes from drinking great wine and eating heartily, exults Bandana Tewari, fresh from her sojourn to the Italian Mecca of art

[Bandana Tewari: high on art.]

So, I walked down a winding road to Piazza del Duomo, constantly tearing myself away from little cafés that lured me with mouthfuls of heaven. Ah, the smells and sounds of Florence! Men smell like fresh basil and the bread’s so warm it makes your toes curl. If you are supremely lucky, the chef may flirt with you, else despair not, every city driver certainly will. Like our hearts, the city is incredibly arterial, pumped with the full-bloodedness that comes from drinking great wine and eating heartily.

So, at the Piazza, sprawled in the brilliance of the summer sun, is the octagonal green and white Baptistry, a marvel of Early Renaissance. The East Door of the Baptistry called the Gates of Paradise (so named by Michelangelo) depicts scenes from the Old Testament. Step back a bit from the Baptistry and breathe in the grandeur of Giotto’s Bell Tower. But it is the view from the 85m tall tower that is stupendous. However, if the vino from last night has not quite settled in, you will be taken to dizzying heights, quite literally so.

Every serpentine road, every narrow alley smacks of a formidable past, reminding you in our terror-torn days that art survives all. As you marvel at the Cathedral di Santa Maria, remember its creators – Cambio, Giotto, Pisano and Brunelleschi – maestros of cultural supremacy. Search out the panel depicting Dante and his Divine Comedy and Paolo Uccello’s painting of John Hawkhood. And sigh. What a wonderful world.

I ferreted out a quaint restaurant I had passed on my way down from Bellosguardo called Pandemonia on Via del Leone. Before I knew it, I was goaded by the owner – ‘Big Mama’ herself – to join her in whacking down ‘grappa’ shots with the vivacity of a local butcher. I left the restaurant with a Mama-hug and absolutely no idea as to what I ate. But grappa, sweet liquor of love, I remember.

Florence is a city museum. Walking around Piazza Della Signoria is like being in an open air sculpture museum. Look around. There is Cellini’s Perseus, the son of Jupiter who killed macabre Medusa with the help of borrowed weapons. Pluto’s helmet of invisibility, Mercury’s winged sandals and Minerva’s shield helped him reduce the snake-haired monster to dust. There is Giambologna’s heart-rending Rape of the Sabine Women. Look to your left and the sculptural rhapsody of Neptune rising from the Fountain surrounded by nereids (nymphs of the sea), tritons (trumpeters of the sea) and sea horses will keep you mesmerised.

And listen! The cascading sounds of a choir group, consisting of red-cheeked buxom Italians (all over 50), only enhance that sense of nostalgia. Ah, those were the days when Gods were human and men, quite divine. If at this point you see the sculpture of Michelangelo’s David piercing you in contemplative silence, remember, he is beautiful, but for the worship of the original David, the quintessential Renaissance Man, you have to go to Galleria dell’ Academia. Carry your smelling salts. This is as close as you will ever get to a perfect man.

With straticella gelato in your hand (ask for it in a wispy choco-cone), stroll down Via Guicciardini. Create a little childhood magic and visit La Bottega Di Leonardo, an enchanting curio store with handmade dolls reminiscent of pixie wonderland. One look at ‘Cip & Ciop’, two inseparable doll friends and you will find yourself cooing with baby love. I couldn’t resist buying Cip, only in the hope that one day, my one-year-old daughter would visit this very store and pick up Ciop to complete the set.

Then head to Cibreo, on Via de’Macci. It is said, “a pot of hot bubbling polenta is the culinary equivalent of an artist’s canvas, waiting for a cook to contribute his or her magic.” Cibreo’s world famous polenta, and its maitre d’ who sweeps from one table to another with the flair of a ballerina, cajoling here a Thai royal to indulge in dessert and there a Parisian couple en route to Positano with travel tips, is indeed great reasons for a visit.

Work out the pasta. Go down Ponte Vecchio, or ‘Old Bridge’, the only bridge that survived Nazi bombing. The picturesque little shops that line it were once occupied by butchers, but were later assigned by Cosimo I to goldsmiths. Amidst all the dazzling gold and silver, I chanced upon a peculiar little store, Acquafredda, that sold me the most precious crucifix made out of cellulose! Here, street art comes in watercolours and Mediterranean tans. The latter being those Florentine men of crooked smiles and liquid eyes. If they languidly trail you for attention, please give it. It is as close as you will ever get to the original David.

End your day with the city at your feet from Piazza del Michelangelo where all of Florence embraces you within its twilight haze. And remember, a trip to the Uffizi Gallery the next, will leave you stunned before such masterpieces as Titian’s Venus of Urbino or Botticelli’s Allegory of Spring…and you can stop praying. You may be in heaven. But, one last thing. For the sins of the earth, search out Caravaggio’s Bacchus. Yes, that old favourite of mine. He is the reason why I forfeit my heaven for the pleasures of the earth. He could very well be yours. Cin Cin!

At best an urban nomad full of daring-do, but at worst, a crabby writer stuck to her laptop, plotting her next escape, Verve contributor, Bandana Tewari feels no travel is complete without an art walk woven into the itinerary