Welcome to Firenze Inn.
The picture you are viewing is the Firenze Inn common room. This hostel is every happy-go-lucky backpackers dream come true and Monk's worst nightmare. It seems like a willingness to enjoy the free drinks and food (easy!), a rough-and-tumble attitude, and a smile are all you need to fit in here. The sign on the aquarium reads "Do not give beer to the fishes." The guy you see on the couch asleep was the receptionist, cook, instructor, nurse, nanny, bouncer, and religious leader of the rowdy band of visitors constantly coming through the doors of this eclectic establishment.
The evening before this picture was taken, we were buzzed through around 21:30 and stumbled up the first flight of steps to find a half open set of large oak doors, with no idea what to expect. We maintained a faint hope that some dinner might be left that we could snag before crashing.
Sitting in a folding chair just inside the doorway was our bearded fellow traveler from Venice. He didn't recognize us (we barely recognized him) but he took one look at our slightly dusty appearances, tired faces, and huge backpacks and smiled. "This is the place you are looking for."
"Firenze Inn?" I queried warily, over the din of laughter, joking, and insanity that poured past him cheerfully onto us in the landing.
"Yup. Come on in!" he said with a smile. "Throw your bags in a corner and get a drink. The guy you need to talk to is cooking dinner right now, so it is wisest not to bother him."
We got three feet through the door and a rowdy collection of smiles greeted us. In the common room were sitting a dozen 20-somethings, laughing, drinking, and sharing tales of places seen and adventures enjoyed.
A mechanical engineer from Oz grinned "Hey! The beer's all in the kitchen and we don't wanna bother the boss, so here!" and immediately acquired us two plastic cups and began filling them with a cheap but pleasant red wine. "I got it from just around the corner from a bottle shop. 3 Euros a bottle!" he boasted as he told us about his plans to wind up working in the IT field in the U.K.
We sat down between our bearded acquaintance and the MechE from Oz, and sipped our wine hesitantly. They told us "Look, he's dealing with some other stuff right now. Do you guys have reservations? No? That's fine. When he comes out next, you probably won't get a chance to speak to him before he speaks to you. Just take everything he says with a grain of salt. He might say anything."
A few minutes later, Allejandro, our host, having been interrupted from his cooking by a pecuniarily messy apartment rental with a couple of Brits, came bustling through the common room to the reception desk. His bare and muscled arms shooed backpackers from underfoot as he waded through us. He was wearing an athletic shirt under an apron on which was printed a human sized print of David, giving his body the surreal look of a hybrid flesh-and-marble statue (complete with anatomically correct genitalia) on which has been wiped some sort of red sauce. Apparently our dinner was to be authentically Italian.
As the money mix-ups with the Brits were resolved, I was recommended to make my way across the room and attract his attention. I did so, standing near the desk. He pointed to me and barked in thickly accented but pleasant English "You, there are two of you?"
"Yes. We don't have reservations."
"No reservations. . . hmm." He eyed me and I pointed out my traveling companion across the still boisterous room.
"Ok. I might have beds. Wait. Are you her boyfriend?"
"No. We're just traveling together."
"Aha!" He broke into a mischievous grin "Ok. You have a bed in the large room. She can stay in my private bedroom."
80's head snapped up from the conversation with the people sitting near her, "Wait, Hey? What?"
I grinned and shook my head, and our host laughed, a clear pleasant tone that mingled with the scents of wine and the stories of our fellow travelers to create a pleasant but chaotic harmony. "No, no, of course I have two beds for you. 18 Euros. We'll talk after. I must cook."
And he was off again, back in the kitchen.
We resumed drinking and sharing travel plans with our companions, and our patience was rewarded in another 20 minutes, when Allejandro emerged from the kitchen with an absolutely giant pot of penne pasta in a spicy, slightly cheesy red sauce. It was one of the most simple and pleasant pasta dishes I've ever had, and there was plenty of it. We hungrily gulped it down, especially since we had run out of water that afternoon and the two glasses of red wine was performing a neat trick on our systems by that time.
Having gotten some food in us, we worked our way into a little time on the computer (a machine sat just to the right of the desk, and people took turns throughout the night) and then snagged some salad when that coarse was offered. Last was a simple but elegant sweet bread cake (similar to brioche) that we consumed cheerfully, our wine buzz mostly worn off, but our fatigue just starting to set in.
After dinner was done and people began to clear out (most of the dozen went out to a local club for drinks and dancing) I poked my head into the kitchen, which Allejandro was using as a sanctuary. Sitting quietly and finally eating his own dinner. It was almost 23:00 by this time.
"Can I pay you now?" I said, since money transfer of any kind had been out of the question earlier. "Oh, yes. Sure. 18 euros for each." I handed him two 20s and received my two €2 coins. "Thanks." He said. With some further instructions to leave our passports in a folder on the reception desk (which we couldn't find) we went to the room where our beds were made up and crashed hard.
It was the warmest and most garrulous welcome we received at any of the hostels at which we stayed, and we enjoyed it very much.
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