The sun is back and it's a beautiful clear morning. I ask for my dreadful coffee to be delivered early this morning so that I can go out and get some shots.
Sadly clear weather and decent shots can mean only one thing... I'm going to have to climb the bell tower. Doors don't open until 10am so I take a last look at the cathedral whilst listening to the Kyrie of Mozart's Requiem to properly put the fear of God into me.
No more putting it off, I have to face up to the cold, numbing fear that height envelops me in. The tower is SO narrow that all bags, including my camera bag, have to be left behind in lockers. As I begin to climb I grimly note the panic buttons interspersed along the walls. The climb is extremely narrow, only wide enough for one person save a squeeze past in the stairwells as the stairs wind forever upward. The ceiling is also narrow and I have to duck in places. The only way I can overcome my fear of heights is to put my head down, focus on each step and walk quickly. I have used this method on several bell towers previously. In fact, if speed climbing bell towers were an Olympic sport, I think I would be getting the call for 2012. However, two years of doing no exercise is beginning to tell, and I have to stop a couple of times panting for breath and feeling slightly nauseous. The tower finally opens out at the enormous bell and I think that I must have made it but it keeps on ascending via what can only be described as a wooden ladder. Part of my fear of this type of height is that (despite the fact that it has been standing for several hundred years) today is the particular day the structure will come tumbling down and me with it. The rational part of me can reason with my fear to a point, and the wooden staircase was rationale and a staircase too far. I manage one set of wooden stairs, no stone around me I can clearly see the ground hundreds of feet below. Legs shaking and feeling dizzy I stand on the next platform to see another staircase twisting away above me. I take some pictures before my shaking hands make it impossible and decide that enough is enough... I have seen the view from, not the top, but a very,very long way up - and that's enough for me.
Sadly clear weather and decent shots can mean only one thing... I'm going to have to climb the bell tower. Doors don't open until 10am so I take a last look at the cathedral whilst listening to the Kyrie of Mozart's Requiem to properly put the fear of God into me.
No more putting it off, I have to face up to the cold, numbing fear that height envelops me in. The tower is SO narrow that all bags, including my camera bag, have to be left behind in lockers. As I begin to climb I grimly note the panic buttons interspersed along the walls. The climb is extremely narrow, only wide enough for one person save a squeeze past in the stairwells as the stairs wind forever upward. The ceiling is also narrow and I have to duck in places. The only way I can overcome my fear of heights is to put my head down, focus on each step and walk quickly. I have used this method on several bell towers previously. In fact, if speed climbing bell towers were an Olympic sport, I think I would be getting the call for 2012. However, two years of doing no exercise is beginning to tell, and I have to stop a couple of times panting for breath and feeling slightly nauseous. The tower finally opens out at the enormous bell and I think that I must have made it but it keeps on ascending via what can only be described as a wooden ladder. Part of my fear of this type of height is that (despite the fact that it has been standing for several hundred years) today is the particular day the structure will come tumbling down and me with it. The rational part of me can reason with my fear to a point, and the wooden staircase was rationale and a staircase too far. I manage one set of wooden stairs, no stone around me I can clearly see the ground hundreds of feet below. Legs shaking and feeling dizzy I stand on the next platform to see another staircase twisting away above me. I take some pictures before my shaking hands make it impossible and decide that enough is enough... I have seen the view from, not the top, but a very,very long way up - and that's enough for me.
Back in Florence and by afternoon Dolores is kicking me in the back and plucking at the nerves which trigger my gag reflex. A hot bath (luxury!) calms her slightly but by evening she's back. I manage to bolt some food down before I feel too sick and then reach for one (and sometimes two) of every one of my painkillers and head for bed.
I sleep with the aid of Radio 4 and Prince Valium.
Katy
(N is for Never Forget - Take That. Remember - you're not invincible).
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