Florence As You Have Never Seen It

This is how I have the fortune to enjoy the true Florence - my tour guide is an Italian Greyhound (the travel size of the greyhound breed) named Sid.

Long before the tour groups gather and the heavy heat settles over the terracotta roofs, this city is apocalyptically empty. In these serene, early hours, the World Heritage site is completely stripped of its modern noise. The streets echo only with the delicate rhythm of four tiny paws hitting ancient cobblestones.

This is when Florence belongs to Sid, just as it belonged to his royal ancestors at the Medici courts.

When the world is still asleep as the sun rises, Sid roams free. I watch him trot past the magnificent marble of the Baptistery and the Duomo, a tiny, pulsing silhouette against the grandest architecture on earth. He steps where Leonardo walked and Michelangelo dreamed - centuries separate us, but in the silence of the dawn it feels like only yesterday.

When we reach the Arno river, we stroll alone on the Ponte Vecchio, its ancient wooden doors shuttered tight, looking exactly as they did centuries ago.

Sid wanders like royalty into the courtyard of the Uffizi Gallery, pausing beneath the towering statues, looking completely at home among the marble giants. Just us, and the breathless quiet of the stone. There is not a living soul in sight.

Then he takes off. He sprints beneath the ancient, silent arches of the Vasari Corridor, like a grey bullet shot through five hundred years of history. He shifts into high gear, stretching his elegant muscles to full greyhound warp speed.

At Piazza della Signoria during the day you can barely see the pavement for the crowds. But at dawn, it is a vast, empty stage, and Sid is the King of it all. He chases the morning pigeons across the square - purely for the thrill of the chase, no pigeons are ever harmed - before coming to a proud stop beside the great Neptune and his fountain. As the first light of morning hits the white marble and the water, Sid stands there like a tiny ruler surveying his kingdom.

And I can see it in his eyes - today is a good day.

There is something profoundly moving about having the greatest open-air museum in the world entirely to yourself. They say life must have its mysteries, and surely, standing alone in the heart of the Renaissance while a tiny dog runs free is one of them. It feels like a magnificent secret, one that Florence only shares with those who are willing to stay a bit longer, and those willing to rise before the dawn. This is when the invisible ancient souls of the city are still there, claiming it back while the present citizens sleep.

You cannot easily experience this on a fast-paced vacation. When you are just visiting, you are bound to the schedule of the masses. You have to rush, you have to queue, and you must share the magic, capturing as many moments and memories as you possibly can before you have to leave.

But to see Florence apocalyptically quiet and overwhelmingly beautiful, you need the autonomy of a Tuesday morning that belongs entirely to you. A Tuesday among other slow days when your soul has come to peace and your breath has become one with the city's soul.