Tuscany 2016 (Sesto Fiorentina - Cortona) Part 1

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Story 1: My Italian wife at an Italian market.

What a day! I'm having such a hard time getting out of bed. Since yesterday, I've been feeling blissfully drowsy and relaxed. A good sign, as I'm (or have become) an early bird by nature. In 25 minutes, we're in the center of Florence, where the Mercato Centrale is delighting its first visitors with delicious Italian specialties. A true ode to Italian cuisine in all its glory.

But many also target tourists. The pre-mixed herb sachets for all sorts of pasta sauces are a prime example: arrabbiata, siciliana, matriciana , you name it. But also specific olive oils, balsamic vinegars , dried porcini mushrooms , and so on.

But many products are being "touristed": pasta in colors with their own flavors—black, red, green, pennette tricolore —we know that. But farfalle with artificial colors mixed together? It looks like candy and candy canes. Pasta for the eye, as, ahem, an authentic souvenir. For commerce. Give me pasta for the taste!

Nella lets herself go and invests in high-quality Italo scarves, belts, bags, foulards... under the motto: it's real leather, silk, cashmere, and in our country, that costs a fortune. She negotiates more shrewdly and harder than the average boot dweller. I witness the spectacle with a mixture of vicarious embarrassment, discomfort, and proud pleasure during this haggling match.

She regularly goes for what I consider an indecent offer. The mamma mias are in the air, the vendors throw their arms to the heavens, or fold their arms together, inwardly begging, praying, "Lord of Mercy ," as if they have to sell their own mother, but in the end, she gets her price, while the market vendor, rolling his eyes, huffing and puffing, and shaking his head, mumbles that he's never done that before, that the end is almost near, " Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani, my God, why have you forsaken me?" suggesting that he won't be able to feed his hungry bambini tonight and that he's probably doomed. After a few "porca miserias" and a near heart attack, we all say our goodbyes politely.

Unfortunately, there are also many African hucksters. Nothing against us people of different colors, mind you, but it's not the same. Shorter, more aggressive, so trading becomes less fun, and it's often junk, fake plastic, fake jewelry, unfinished products. Not our thing. Everywhere here, they follow you with selfie sticks, with or without a tripod. We say no a hundred times. But they're constantly shoved in your face. The question of how much it costs escapes me. €20! Then comes phase 2. As you walk on, they shout, "How much do you want to give?" Nella: €5!

Phase 3. They say no, we move on…

Step 4: They're following you. €5 is okay, signora…

Anyway. After Nella's shopping spree, I felt happy and relieved. Now all her shopping and gift-buying plans had disappeared from the holiday planner in one go, early in one morning. A mistake, it would turn out later. => AND THEN A F****** CYBERCRIME CAME AND ENCRYPTED ALL MY FILES. SO I LOST THE REST OF ALL MY WRITTEN PIECES, grrr More photos: week 1: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wimvanbesien/albums/72157676433525755 week 2: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wimvanbesien/albums/72157660657471498

****** Nine years later, however, I wrote a short report - pro memoria -

This one: Tuscany Travelogue: Florence - Arezzo - Cortona. Part 2