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instant later the Up light dinged on and the doors slid open to reveal three Japanese men in identical blue
suits. I indicated to them, as best I could in my breathless state, that they were going the wrong direction for
me and that my reluctance to join them had nothing to do with Pearl Harbor or anything like that. We
exchanged little bows and the door closed.
I pushed the Down button again and immediately the doors popped open to reveal the Japanese men.
This was repeated four times until it dawned on me that I was somehow cancelling out their instructions to
ascend, so I stood back and let them go away. I waited a full two minutes; caught my breath, counted my
remaining traveller's cheques, hummed the Elevator Song, glanced at my watch - ten minutes till closing! -
and pushed the Down button.
Immediately the doors opened to reveal the Japanese men still standing there. Impulsively I jumped in
with them. I don't know if it was the extra weight that kick-started it or what but we began to rise, at the usual
speed of about one foot every thirty seconds. The lift was tiny. We were close enough together to be
arrested in some countries and as I was facing them, all but rubbing noses, I felt compelled to utter some
pleasantry.
'Businessmen?' I asked.
One of them gave a small, meaningless bow from the shoulders.
'In Italy on business?' I elaborated. It was a stupid question. How many people go on holiday in blue
suits?
The Japanese man bowed again and I realized he had no idea what I was saying.
'Do you speak English?'
'Ahhhr ... no,' said the second man, as if not certain, swaying just a tiny bit, and it dawned on me that
they were all extremely drunk. I looked at the third man and he bowed before I could say anything.
'You guys been to the bar?' A small uncomprehending bow. I was rather beginning to enjoy this one-
way conversation. 'You look like you've had a few, if you don't mind me saying so. Hope nobody's going to
be sick!' I added jauntily.
The elevator crept on and eventually thudded to a halt. 'Well, here we are, gentlemen, eighth floor.
Alight here for all stations to Iwo Jima.'
They turned to me in the hallway and said simultaneously, 'Buon giorno.'
'And a very buon giorno to you,' I riposted, jabbing button number one anxiously.
I got to the bar two minutes before it shut, though in fact it was effectively shut already. An over-zealous
waiter had gathered up all the little dishes of nuts and the pianist was nowhere to be seen. It didn't really
matter because they didn't serve snacks there anyway. I returned to my room, rummaged in the mini-bar
and found two tiny foil bags containing about fourteen peanuts each. I searched again, but this was the only
food among the many bottles of soft drinks and intoxicants. As I stood eating the peanuts one at a time, to
make the pleasure last, I idly looked at the mini-bar tariff card and discovered that this pathetic little snack
was costing me $4.80. Or at least it would have if I'd been foolish enough to tell anyone about it.
In the morning I transferred to the Hotel Corallo on the Via Nazionale. The room had no TV, but there
was a free showercap and it was 50,000 lire a day cheaper. I have never seen a smaller bathroom. It was
so small that there was no stall for the shower. You just shut the door to the bedroom and let the shower
spray all over everything - over the toilet, over the sink, over yesterday's copy of the Guardian, over your
fresh change of underwear.
I went first to the cathedral, the centrepiece of the town. I defy anyone to turn the corner into the Piazza
del Duomo and not have his little heart leap. It is one of Europe's great sights.
But it was packed with tourists and with people trying to sell them things. When I was there in 1972,
Florence was crowded, but it was August and you expected it. But this was a weekday in April, in the middle
of the working year, and it was far worse. I walked down to the Uffizi Palace and around the Piazza della
Signoria and the other fixtures of the old part of town and it was the same everywhere - throngs of people,
almost all of them from abroad, shuffling about in that aimless, exasperating way of visitors, in groups of five
and six, always looking at something about twenty feet above ground level. What is it they see up there?
In my adolescent years whenever I was in crowded places I often pretended I had a ray gun with me,
which I could use to vaporize anyone I didn't like the look of - dawdlers, couples in matching outfits, children
 
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