Firenze-La Guerra della Scarpa II

And I waited.


I lamented, to anyone who would listen, the woeful tale of my ruined sandles.


I lamented at school,"That's how it is in Italy Polly"


I lamented in the bar over my morning cappuccinno, "lascia perdure bella (get over it luv)"


I lamented to my friend Sonia, "That's terrible Polly I'll help you." Really?


Sonia and I marched off to the agency for consumer affairs. I was right, they do have one in Italy. We made an appointment, presented my case, presented the offending sandles, I paid some  money, and then we waited...


And waited...


"Sonia, I didn't quite catch the whole thing, what happens now?"
"The ministry writes a letter to the shoe shop requesting them to exchange your broken shoes."


My my lovely bicycle with the basket in front got stolen? It happened in the same week as the war of the shoes.


Two weeks went by, no letter, no shoes.


And then, after another approach to the ministry for consumer rip offs (with Sonia), the letter arrived. I was directed to make an appointment with the proprietor for an "analysis of the shoes". An analysis...for what?
"To determine whether you walked in water madam. Or perhaps washed the sandles in detergent."
"Oh, and just how and who is going to perform this ANALYSIS?"
"The proprietor madam, naturally." Silly me, who else could perform this analysis?

"But, will the water analysis exclude rain water?"
"Yes madam, they are only going to test for salt water." OK then. I made my appointment.


Did I mention the stalker? Same week as the shoes and stolen bike an Egyptian fellow lured me dancing under the pretence that he could Salsa. Well, he couldn't. He waved me around the dance floor like a salami. I was furious, told him I had a headache, needed to go home and "NoI don't want to go to the soccer tomorrow" Possibly a cultural thing, but he couldn't seem to grasp the idea that I did not find him irresistible and that harassing and insulting me was not the way to win my affections.

After a couple of weeks of phone calls and text message insults he informed me that I had had my chance and he was never going to write/speak to me again. Promise? Not all bad, it helped my Italian no end, I learnt quite a few useful words that they just don't teach in Italian for Beginners.


The shoes were analysed and determined to be faulty. Yay me. So I could choose either an identical replacement pair or a whole new pair and a refund for the difference. I took my time in choosing a snazzy pair of sporty comfy loafers, some change for my effort, and something almost like an apology from the owner. "Can we forget the letter from the Minister now madam?"


"Certo, non c'e problemo".


A day later the insoles to my sporty comfy loafers fell out......


I decided after all my hard work in Florence I just had to have a seaside holiday. Wonderful but so different to a weekend at Bateman's Bay. Think beach chairs at $12 a pop, G-strings, mobile phones, sun baking, gelati, granita, no surf, and swarthy Mediterranean types jumping off rocks in manner of romantic Italian movie.


Polly in Vacanza