There are many destinations which spring to mind when considering the options for a weekend away with a young family. There are beaches by the dozen, theme parks and glamping opportunities galore. But there is only one Florence. And I cannot say this strongly enough: when it comes to the kids, the Center Parcs of the Renaissance will not let you down.
It begins with Tuscany itself, a place so beautiful that you can get Stendhal syndrome on the bus on the way from the airport. And even if your children are glued to their screens, eventually motion sickness will force them to look up and they may glimpse its dreamy vistas, too. But even if they don’t, you’ll still get half an hour or more of peace and quiet to drink it in to your soul while the little darlings have been completing another alien-murdering marathon on their Nintendos. Bliss.
It’s even blissful as you arrive in the Florentine centre, trundling luggage through hot streets so packed with pedestrians they would give a Trafalgar Square pigeon acute agoraphobia. Because it’s now that it dawns on the semi-exhausted kids just what they’re in for.
This is not some cuddly child-focused weekend away with squishy soft-play accoutrements. Oh, no, this is a black-belt-level gulag of the High Renaissance. It’s the short sharp shock that as a parent I have been waiting to inflict on the kids for years. We are now a very long way from Peppa Pig, Paw Patrol or – so help me God – Bluey. And what’s more, in the Piazza del Duomo, YouTube can’t hear you scream.
But unfortunately I can and for the last 15 heat-soaked minutes their moaning has been getting louder. It’s just at the point when one might begin to doubt the wisdom of traipsing a nine- and six-year-old through the city like this – an act only mildly less child-friendly than using them as soot spatulas for Georgian chimneys – that we turn a corner. And behold, the innocents see for the first time the gothic marble-clad wonder that is the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore with its towering Brunelleschi dome. In that moment, its sheer majestic vastness greets their retinas… and makes absolutely no impression whatsoever. In fact, it might as well be the local branch of Asda.
But, then, behold: the Lego shop. They drop their bags and tear through the crowds towards it like the crazed chimps in 28 Days Later. Once sated with small Danish plastic bricks, the next enticement that Florence offers in abundance presents itself. Like London with estate agents, you are never more than six feet from an ice cream shop in the city of Lorenzo the Magnificent, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo and Filippo Lippi. Which is a blessing. Because while children love gelato, they are less keen, I discover, on 12th-century churches, even ones with frescoes by Giotto depicting scenes from the life of St Francis. In fact, particularly those.
They are somewhat impressed by the tomb at Santa Croce showing a man holding a telescope – that’s Galileo, of course – but the funerary edifice to Niccolo Machiavelli does little to inspire wonder in the face of a nine-year-old. However, the strange Italian soap dispenser in the gents’ loo is fun and the sunny lawns beside the cloister are great for running across – until the reprimands of furious parents bring that delight to an end. But it doesn’t matter. Out in the heat of a piazza we go, and the children flock towards the stands selling Florentine-themed keyrings and knick-knacks which eventually we will consent to purchase.
The funerary edifice to Niccolo Machiavelli does little to inspire wonder in the face of a nine-year-old. However, the strange Italian soap dispenser in the gents’ loo is fun
As well as regular inoculations of gelato and pizza – for the kids, bistecca alla fiorentina for the adults washed down with chianti – plus top-up visits to the Lego shop, the secret to enjoying a few days in Florence with a young family is a luxurious hotel. Here, you can find an air-conditioned refuge from the congested streets outside, the scooters, the snakes of American 18-year-olds. Rocco Forte’s stately Hotel Savoy, which stands on the immaculate Piazza della Repubblica, is just such a perfect spot, and our room offers an actual view. It’s one which the late great Maggie Smith would certainly have approved of, with at least the top third of Giotto’s bell tower and the crown of Brunelleschi’s dome clearly on show.
Now nothing puts a spring in your step like sharing a princely junior suite with your young family. Not that the boys need much looking after, because they are shattered. In fact, from the dark rings around their eyes – ones that make them resemble Dickensian urchins – you would think that they have been working in a sweatshop assembling smartphones. But no, it’s just the Renaissance. And once their heads touch Sir Rocco’s brilliant-white pillows, they’re down for ten hours straight.
Which is just as well. Because tomorrow we are going to the Uffizi. Yes, the gallery which is to children’s entertainment what the death cap mushroom is to gastronomy. And I can’t wait. Because after all the years of tantrums, disobedience, petulance and frustration, this is payback time.
After the queuing, we haven’t even reached the top of the second flight of stairs – we’ve spied two Roman busts, I would hazard, and a statue of a dog at most – when the youngest flips out. His eyes roll back. It could be a fit. The crowds, the high ceilings – it’s too much and he begs to be carried. The eldest, stoically, ploughs on. He makes it to perhaps the third or fourth room. He looks with mild interest at Giotto’s ‘Madonna and Child Enthroned with Angels and Saints’; he is still with us by the time we get to Uccello’s ‘The Battle of San Romano’; and I’m delighted to say that the lights are still on when he looks at Botticelli’s ‘The Birth of Venus’. But by the time he’s in front of da Vinci’s ‘Annunciation’ it’s over. He’s on the verge of collapse. Yet I don’t care. Because the Uffizi is like broccoli. It’s good for you. It’s cultural cabbage for the soul and one day, he’ll be grateful.
My wife medevacs the kids back to the hotel – where they sleep for two hours solid – and leaves me to enjoy the Uffizi alone. It’s a marvel, and tiring though it is, like a speed awareness course, it’s good for you to do it once every ten years or so.
Finally, once you’ve endured the Uffizi, you can take the lambs up to the top of the dome of the duomo, past Vasari and Zuccari’s fresco of the Last Judgment. Here you can point to the figures being tormented in the fires of damnation by demons and tell the kids that that’s what happens to boys and girls who don’t do what their parents tell them. My eldest is still sure that I’m joking. Just.
Oh yes, there is much to relish here. You aren’t allowed to beat your children any more – but you can take them to Florence. And that’s why it’s the ideal destination for a family break, because there’s something for everyone.
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