A short loop through the medieval heart of the city, past the Florence where Dante grew up, governed, and from which he was exiled.
The parish church of two families who made each other's lives miserable, and of the girl who changed everything.
A basket full of handwritten notes beside a grave, for a girl he spoke to only twice.
Dante's house is a reconstruction from 1910, and that's exactly what makes the story more interesting.
For two months he helped govern from this tower, and those two months cost him his city.
The street of the man who drove him out of the city, and of the family he had married into.
A grain warehouse that became a church, with every niche showing off the calling card of a guild.
A brotherhood that has carried the sick since the thirteenth century, once with black hoods over their faces.
A painter who started a tower, and reliefs at eye level showing ordinary work.
Beneath these arches, abandoned children were shown for three days, in the hope that someone would recognise them.
The stone where, as the story goes, he sat watching the construction, and the answer he gave a year later.
The bell that set the rhythm of his day, and the city that had his poem read aloud seventy years later.
A loop through the spots that draw all of Florence, with a detail at every stop that almost everyone walks right past.
A seventeen-year-old everyone thought they could control, cast in bronze on the square of the republic he shut down.
He was baptised here, and here he hoped to be crowned as a poet.
During High Mass in April 1478, one brother was stabbed to death right here while the other locked himself behind bronze doors.
A round stone set into the pavement marks the pyre of the monk who held the city in his grip for four years.
An ox head above a side door, and the dome that seemed impossible for a hundred years.
The oldest building in the city, where every Florentine was baptised and the population was counted with beans.
A face carved into the wall of the town hall, scratched out, so the story goes, with his hands behind his back.
At eighty he carved a statue for his own grave, then took a hammer to it.
He was condemned in this building, and centuries later his earliest portrait surfaced here from beneath a coat of whitewash.
Behind the walls of the town hall lies a chamber where a lost Leonardo may still be waiting beneath the plaster.
A drunken Bacchus by a boy of twenty-one, and a bust he left half-finished.
The duchess from Naples who kept the duchy running with her own money and her own land.
Days on end without drinking water, light or a working phone, while help began pouring in from all over Europe.
A museum without a door, with a self-portrait hidden on the back of a bronze helmet.
Two marks in the same wall, one above the other, with six centuries between them.
An exile who came back and built a palace that was never quite finished.
An office building that swallowed a church and is now one of the busiest museums in Europe.