It's Robin here, forced to do the woman's work of writing about the markets. In the outdoor markets, the smell of leather dominates as women of every possible nationality search for one more perfect purse (borsa). Magenta? Kelly green? Purple with orange trim? No problem in the land of "borsas-r-us." And while you're at it, get a pashmina to go with your new borsa. Scarves of every color, colors not found in nature. But don't expect to bargain. The most the price will be reduced is a few euros. All I could think of was my mother wandering these same stalls in 1973 when she came to Europe with my sister. They came home laden with leather lipstick holders, eyeglass cases and a few borsas to boot. It's all still here.
A few more steps and we were inside the Central Market, think Findlay Market on steroids. Every possible element for the perfect meal is under the huge roof: fish, meats of all kinds, cheese, bread, nuts, olives, produce and flowers for the table. Wendi and I both wished we could cook up a storm, but the kitchen in our apartment is simply too small. There was even a stall for horsemeat, but it was decidedly unbusy. All of the market workers are used to being photographed; only the man selling nuts said "no photos." Why were his baskets of lovely nutmeats off limits? No idea.
And for jewelry lovers, the mother of all markets is on the Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge). The displays of jewelry are so plentiful and so gleaming that it's almost numbing. But if you're looking for a ring with a stone large enough to knock someone's lights out on the first swipe, it's here.
Nowhere has the practice of spray tanning been so enthusiastically embraced as in Italy, and nowhere has the idea of a little subtle color been so thoroughly rejected. I've never had a spray tan, so I'm not that familiar with the process, or with what sort of professional assistance one receives in selecting a shade of tan. But I will suggest to you that the Italian women have universally chosen a shade of tan that, had they acquired it the natural way, would have had them turning from side to side in the Saharan sun for at least six months.
Our other stop so far today was the Medici Chapel, a little structure as high as the sky and the size of a full grown church. it houses the remains of yes, the Medicis. It was good to be a Medici, and this elaborate structure is just one more indication that even in death, they've got the best real estate all sewed up. It also housed a number of relics of many "saints," some of whom I've never heard. The Catholic Church is big on relics. A relic is usually a piece of the skeleton of a saint, sometimes infinitesimal. Nuns and priests who were patients of my father were forever giving him relics of various saints-just the tiniest speck of bone in a fancy gold case. But here at the Medici Chapel, we're talking whole bones displayed in the most elaborate bejeweled gold reliquaries. I keep trying to imagine how Italy reads to someone completely unfamiliar with the Catholic faith. To remove that dimension of the Italian experience would be like taking the basil out of a great pesto. Just wouldn't taste the same.
This evening we'll stroll over to the Uffizi, walk along the Arno, and mentally prepare ourselves to leave this most beautiful city.
PHOTO NOTE: All photos so far were taken by Jack Anzinger. But Robin took this one at the Mercato Centrale.
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