Not even Patch Adams, the American doctor in a clown suit whom she highly regards for his work with sick children, could get her to wear the outfits that those attending his clown tours in hospitals worldwide usually put on. In 2007, she drove 1,800 miles from Florence to Moscow to attend his course in clown therapy, but she refused to wear a red nose.
“I am not a clown,” she explained. “I am a taxi driver. So I do taxi-therapy.”
Her creative idea initially ran into city rules. Taxis usually look alike here, and hers carries unusual items, like a stuffed figure of Disney’s dwarf Grumpy on the passenger seat.
The local authorities also objected to the pictures she glued to the windows, saying they could hamper the driver’s view. After getting multiple tickets, she complained vigorously.
“She is an extraordinary engine of solidarity and I felt her city should help her a little,” said Eugenio Giani, now president of Tuscany’s regional cabinet, who interceded for her with the municipal police.
He is planning to recognize Ms. Bellandi as “Tuscany’s Solidarity Ambassador,” an honorific title signaling the region’s institutional backing.
“She is capable of involving ill children in anything, from soccer matches to trips abroad, and she does it from one child to another, nonstop,” Mr. Giani said. “She puts a positive spell on them.”
Ms. Bellandi is not only a taxi driver for these young patients, but a friendly presence throughout these challenging moments of their lives. She visits families in their homes and arranges vacations. She takes sick children to watch sports games and shake hands with their sports heroes, and has even taken some to the Vatican to meet Pope Francis.
A generous network of people helps Ms. Bellandi. A Florentine bakery donates a crunchy flatbread and pizza that even patients undergoing chemotherapy can swallow. Mothers sew her cloaks. A designer fabricates her extravagant hats.
She is so well known these days that some parents of children who are battling serious illnesses search for her on the internet. A new version of the Monopoly board game that has famous figures of Tuscany on the play money includes Ms. Bellandi.
“I was desperate and I was looking for support,” said Francesca Scaturro, mother of Giulia, a 5-year-old who had an aggressive form of brain cancer. So she wrote an email to Ms. Bellandi’s website.
Ms. Bellandi showed up in style at the hospital where Giulia was being treated. She brought pizza with her and insisted that Ms. Scaturro, 34, have a slice.
“I thought pizza was a strange offer in that moment, but our condition was also strange,” Ms. Scaturro said.
Ms. Bellandi became a frequent presence during Giulia’s year of treatment, spending weekends with her and other families facing similar medical challenges, and even coming on a holiday in Sicily last summer.
She is now considered a family member, Ms. Scaturro said. Giulia calls her “Auntie.”
“It is enough just to see her,” Ms. Scaturro said. “Her hug is everything to me.”
Playing the new Monopoly on her living room floor recently, Giulia, in a rose tutu and glittered boots, argued over the fake money with her older brother, Mattia. She held all of the money printed with Ms. Bellandi’s image tight in her fist.
“I know why they put your face on the money here, Auntie,” Mattia, 8, guessed. “Because you are a special person.”
It was the same thought another family had when they met her in a corridor of Florence’s main hospital, where Ms. Bellandi pays regular visits to her young friends.
“With her strong will and her extravagance, she gave me happiness and the sparkle to believe that I could recover,” said Erica Stoccati, 22, who met her last September, while she was waiting to undergo treatment.
Ms. Stoccati is a dancer who received a diagnosis of brain cancer last June that doctors immediately operated on to save her life.
“All of a sudden I had so much free time,” she recalled. “But she came and took me on cab rides around town. She never pitied me and threw me back into normalcy.”
While Milano 25 attracts the smiles of most fellow drivers, some paying passengers are reluctant to get on board.
“Some people think I am too much,” she said. “And I respect that.”
But even as she said that, a couple of people who had been staring at the cheerful cab parked near Florence’s central train station knocked on her window.
“How can we book you?” a young woman asked Ms. Bellandi with a smile, trying to reserve her services in advance.
“Oh sweetheart, you can’t, but we will meet if it is meant to be,” she replied, honking her car horn, which played “La Cucaracha.”
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