Again, I experienced a surreal feeling. Looking at one of the most famous statutes in the World, having barely recovered from the emotions of meeting Him!

I wondered whether David was the (perceived) ideal male form. Do contemporary women think the same as Michelangelo those centuries ago? Is that what attracts women these days? My own insecurities started to rise; how can I possibly measure up? I distracted myself from these thoughts.

I begged my pardon with Keiko, promised (unconvincingly) to meet at her hostel tomorrow morning and headed back to the Town Square.

My plan was to walk to a park high on a hill overlooking the city. So, I passed through the now-deserted square towards the famous Ponte Vecchio to cross the river. I ran into a young US couple that I briefly spoke to in Sorrento a few days ago. Excitedly talked about my day (so far). They shared their stories (without me listening closely!) and headed into foreign territory.

By the time I reached the gates to the park, they were closed. The plan was to sit and watch the sunset over the city. It was now nearly dark and without knowing the time, it must be around 9pm. I correctly guessed that it closes at dusk!

Well what to do now? It was a quiet part of Florence and I was starting to feel weak from hunger, tiredness and probably dehydration. This was not unusual. I often found myself so engrossed and taken away from the sights and experiences, I forget to eat and drink, even sometimes rest and breathe deeply!

I walked down the hill and, concerned with my mental and physical state, decided I’d try some local places. I looked for signs saying “ristorante or cafeteria, lights in windows and the sound of voices and hopefully laughter. I’d found in my 3 weeks so far, that it can lead to finding an enjoyable eating place!

I walked into one and then another in one street, only to be told “we are closing soon” or “we are full”. There were no more in that street. I was starting to not only feel weak, but also unwelcome. Each place had free tables; perhaps it was my backpacking clothes, my lack of Italian or that I was alone…

I again pushed these negative thoughts away and walked on.

Then around the corner, I saw light coming through windows, walked through the doorway and steeled myself with the same question, “hai spazio per uno”?

‘Yes’ (or si) was the response from the kind-faced, middle aged male maître de. He pointed to a shared table and, from what I could gather, said “finished by 10”!

So, I sat exhausted and relieved. There was a middle-aged (Italian) couple to my right and two similarly aged women on the other end of the table.

I felt exposed on the corner of the table. Waiters and customers leaving all had to squeeze past me. After a few uncomfortable minutes, one of the ladies opposite smiled, sensing my discomfort. The young male waiter dropped a menu in front of me, and mumbled “pronto”. I immediately went to the Pizza page and saw Margherita and, from my experience of the relatively thin local pizzas, decided on a large (grande).

The waiter was back in a matter of seconds and I ordered in English. My brain was not up to the translation and my tongue was too tired to wrap around the pronunciation! He grumbled something under his breath, threw his head back, spun around with a roll of his eyes.

By now, I was feeling light-headed, like on my first night in Rome when I got lost in the renowned eating area, Trastevere. And made the mistake of having a Scotch on an empty stomach and jet-lagged. I noticed a carafe of water in the middle of the table and reached out, poured into a glass and drunk it all.

Feeling more relaxed (with water in me and food on the way), I smiled to the lady opposite (and guessing they were English), asked her where she was from. “England” was her answer. Sisters travelling together. Just arrived today and planned to go to the Uffizi tomorrow. I mentioned how I’d booked a time to enter, to avoid the queues. I cannot help myself – always looking to provide guidance from my experiences, without being asked and sometimes not welcome!

They nodded, and smiled gently, which I assume meant they were aware of the arrangement.

The other then asked about my day, ‘what did I like about the Uffizi’. I quickly turned the conversation excitedly to Him and the Civic Reception. They appeared genuinely interested, so I then explained how it came about, the series of events and coincidences!

I noticed that the couple next to me had turned towards me and were listening in. When there was a pause in my frantic telling of the story, the man spoke in very good English (with a strong Italian accent). He said, “how exciting, we were also at the Reception”. He then introduced himself, Walter, and his wife, Gabriella, who smiled broadly and said, “please to meet”.

Well, the night became a night to remember. Walter explained that Gabriella was a Christian meditator and a great fan of Him and his teachings. They’d made a detour, from their home in Milan, to their country house near Urbino, in the East, especially to be there to see him and attend workshops.

Little was I to know that we’d become close friends, their (only) daughter would stay at my place in Melbourne and I’d be invited to her wedding in Rimini 6 years later……

The ceremony commenced. First was the blonde lady, speaking in Italian, and being translated into (I assume) Tibetan, by a monk standing next to The Man.

It was all very cordial and spoken with much enthusiasm. The lady finally introduced The Man who rose to a standing ovation. The broad smile became even more pronounced. He spoke quietly, pausing for the Italian translation and finally the lady stepped forward with a bright red folder which she passed to Him. The crowd stood and applauded.

She then indicated towards the aisle and he stepped down, joined again by the monks, he walked back towards to rear of the hall. Again, trumpets, camera flashes, jostling and loud applause. Though this time, the crowd moved towards the aisle, to get near The Man they’d all come to see.

I held back, not feeling confident or deserving to be anything other than a spectator. A recurring theme from my journals came to mind. Am I going to be just an ‘observer’ on this trip? Can I loosen up and “participate”, rather than observe? Approach others and initiate conversation? Learn to do this on the trip and apply when I get back. Perhaps it was not to leave Keiko, she was still sitting on the chair whilst everyone else was standing and moving towards Him.

Him and his entourage walked back through the doorway at the rear. The cameras, lights, security and police mingled, exchanged lively conversation and then slowly walked away.

As the crowd left down the stairs. I did not want to leave, go back to the square and lose the warm feelings from the reception and being so close to Him.

I stood and watched the audience leave, as well as, all the media, the trumpeters and the police. No one came over to guide me out, it was as if I was invisible!

So, I walked to the rear and stood in the middle of the room, opposite the doorway that He entered. Still no one approached me. So, there I stood, not sure what I was expecting, other than to see Him again.

Then after a few minutes, a monk appeared in the doorway, then HE came out with only the monks with him. No security, no media, no cameras. Just him and his entourage.

They then walked across the room towards me. I just stood there, calmly, and He lifted his eyes and looked into mine. He waved a hand ever so slightly and the monks each side of Him slowed and took a step aside. He then put out his hand towards me, as he approached. His right hand reached for my left. He continued on slowly, taking me with Him. His eyes softened and small smile came across his face. No words were exchanged, just the human contact of hands and eyes. As we approached a set of large double doors, he stopped, his grasp loosened and we exchanged a passing glance. The monks stepped forward and opened the doors. As He passed through the doors and onto a wide balcony, the glare of the afternoon sun flooded through the opening and the silence was broken by a roar of noise. We couldn’t see them, but a large crowd were assembled in the square below the balcony. He moved towards a microphone stand and the roar became deafening! All I could see was his silhouette, with one arm raised and gentle palm facing the crowd.

As I walked down the stairs, I had trouble breathing. I had to concentrate on each step. The square was near empty a little time ago was now nearly full of people all looking towards the balcony. I made my way around the back, the furtherise point from the balcony. I could just see the figure standing at the microphone and hear his words intermittently. I was still light-headed, gasping for air, near hyperventilating. I stood near a fountain nearby, as the breeze was quite strong, I let the spray hit me. It felt cool on my face and seemed to help me become calm and recover my breath. AS my body returned to normal, I could still feel my left hand and his touch. I could still ‘feel’ Him, his strength and yet a gentleness.

Once I gathered myself, I felt the need to move away from the crowd, the noise and the warm afternoon sun. I saw Keiko nearby and walked across to her. We’d planned to visit the Accademia museum and even though it was later than planned, I suggested that, and she agreed.

I consulted my map, found a quick route through side streets, as it was closing in less than an hour. She had left after the reception. She asked what had happened afterwards. I tried to explain what had happened and what I’d experienced. Yet, I found it hard to find the words. I chose to leave out our holding hands and walking together. I wasn’t ready to express the feelings; they were still raw. In a way, I wanted to keep it to myself, to continue to absorb the experience. It felt like I would lose the feelings in my body if I expressed them?!

Lying in bed in a big room. Must be more than 20 beds nearly all occupied.

Thinking about yesterday, what a day, and whether to take up Josh’s invite to head off together to Cinque Terre today.

He asked me late last night on the terrace. We’d both had big, enjoyable days. Me, in Florence and he, in Venice. We’d met briefly that morning and shared what we had planned for the day. He was taking a train to Venice (and back), me, the Uffizi and the Accademia.

I couldn’t decide last night. It was midnight after a huge day, my third in Florence, 3 weeks in Europe so far, all in Italy. It wasn’t the plan, yet I’d fallen in love with the place, the people, the culture, the scenery. Basically, everything about the country.

Nearly everything that happened yesterday was unplanned, like most of my trip so far.

It did start as planned. Met Keiko at her hostel (a young Japanese girl, travelling by herself).

Plan was to book the Uffizi for early afternoon, to avoid the long queues and walk around downtown Florence in between. After making the booking, we walked into the main square and saw a demonstration, with music, placards and 000’s marching. I went across to see what it was about. It was to “Free Tibet”.

I had developed an interest in their cause from reading the Dalai Lama’s teachings. I knew that the Chinese had invaded in the 50’s, destroyed many of the Buddhism temples and were absorbing it into their country, without any real objection from the global community.

I was curious as to why they were protesting in Florence (Italy) and asked one of the organisers. She said because the Dalai Lama was in the city today!

Well, what a wonderful serendipitous co-incidence. In the same place at the same time, as one of the people I most respect in the world! I explained to the lady my interest in Tibetan Buddhism and how much I liked his teachings. She said that there was a public reception for him later in the day and there may be some tickets left!

Wow! I asked where I could find out, and she pointed towards the other end of the square where there was a tent set up and the name of a lady to speak to. Off I went, with Keiko trying to keep up. I asked for the lady by name. She came forward from the back of the tent, and, after I explained, she said, “you are lucky, we only have two tickets left”. Double wow!

She gave me two invitation cards. They looked very formal, embossed and beautifully printed. Could this really be for the City of Florence’s official reception for the Dalai Lama?

Feeling very excited and yet still not believing it all, Keiko and I went off to the Uffizi Museum. It was lovely distraction. Mostly Roman Catholic art – icons, Madonna and Child and pre-Renaissance paintings.

The reception was at 5pm, so we sat and took in the afternoon sun in the square. Not being able to wait any longer, we walked up to the main door of the Town hall, where a couple of burly security guards stood. I was very conscious of our casual wear. Luckily neither of us were in shorts. Me, in jeans and Keiko, a knee-length dress. With my heart in my mouth (and in my best Italian), I asked if we were in the right place and held out the invitation.

Si, signor, was the answer! He stepped aside and the other opened the heavy door, saying, “buona sera signorina”!

We looked at one another, in disbelief, as we climbed the glorious staircase. It was lined with large paintings and statues on each side at the top. It led into a large open space, with oo’s of chairs facing a stage and a podium. There were many police in a variety of uniforms, near the stage and at the rear. In fact, more than there were people in the seats! I suggested to Keiko that we sit near the rear and in the middle of the row. I didn’t want to be conspicuous as I was still self-conscious about my attire and guessed that she’d want to be away from the aisleway. I could tell that she was excited though she said very little or showed any emotion.

We sat quietly as more and more people came in. Mostly stylishly dressed and speaking Italian. Also, men with large expensive cameras and others carrying lights on stands. Then in marched a group of men in Medieval costumes, carrying period trumpets.

There was an overwhelming atmosphere of excitement and expectation.

After some time of murmured conversations, there was some movement behind us. The police were forming two lines from a door at the rear, towards the aisle leading to the stage. The cameramen raced for a vantage point, followed by the men with lights. The trumpeters took up positions each side of the aisle. The crowd noise subsided, heads were turned, and the lights came on.

Then out of the doorway came a group of monks, in the customary brown cloaks, with men in suits between them and then a small man in a purple and yellow robe. The men and their cameras went into a frenzy. Following the groups, pointing the cameras over the monk’s heads, walking backwards, nearly falling over. The trumpets started and the glorious sound reverberated throughout the hall. We all stood up as one. It was if we were all lifted by the sound and the overwhelming atmosphere.

The parade passed down the aisleway. I caught a glimpse of The Man. He was smiling widely, nodding to each of the trumpeters as he passed. The monks moved away and took up their seats in the front row. The cameramen squeezed into the aisle, keen to get yet another photo. It was all so surreal. I felt very privileged to be there, an “outsider” witnessing such pomp and pageantry. He looked like he felt the same. Overwhelmed, a little embarrassed, humbly acknowledging those on the end of each aisle.

The trumpets fell silent, as The Man steeped onto the stage, firstly greeting an attractive blonde woman and then the others who rose from their chairs on the stage.