SHOPPING ITALY

Just got back from three weeks in Italy where we (moi and my Insignificant Other, my squeeze toy Rob) ate and drank our faces off. There is no more food or wine left in Italy so you should wait until they restock before you consider going.

Herewith is an assortment of happy snaps of our journey, which started out on a business class flight on Air France to Rome during which the champers flowed. Don't hate me  -- because we maxed out any past or future earnings.



Street scene in Rome on Via Sistina in front of our hotel of hottie on bike taking a smoke break. Eat your heart out Sartorialist. This was not staged. She couldn't be any cooler: tats, randomly painted hair, high top sneaks and nicotine. . . .

As opposed to two old men taking a smoke break from smoking and lounging around the streets of Taormina in Sicily. They are apparently holding up the wall. And note how well they coordinated their shirts.

Local girls taking a shopping break on Via Del Corso in Rome. I only presume they are locals because why would tourists go all the way to Rome and shop at H&M? 

More girls on Via Del Corso in Rome. This photo is more about the graffiti than the girls though I do admire how white they are keeping their shoes. They must have been nurses in another life.

This is a nut seller in Taormina Sicily whose cart is strategically opposite the fruit and veggie cart on the main drag. He is well positioned to ogle all the cutie European tourists. Americans don't flock to Sicily because it's not a direct flight.

Roberto Chieli is pretty much the only shopping game in town in Anghiari, a 15th century walled town in Tuscany near the border of Umbria. He is remarkable in such an unassuming town insofar as he stocks big-boy pants and faux fur chubbies (the jackets, not the plump persons) that could double for Fendi but at a fraction of the Euros.

Window display at a pretentious high-end boutique in Sansepolcro which I snapped after being ejected from because we dared to take photos of the egregiously overpriced Givenchy T-shirt below.

While I admire the graphic and sentiment of the Givenchy T-shirt, I refuse to pay almost 500 Euros. Besides, most people will confuse it with a souvenir tee from a drunken weekend in Virginia Beach, Virginia.

Sight for sore eyes. This is Arturo, the impossibly gorgeous owner/designer of an eyewear boutique in Florence. He is an exception to my observation that the men in Rome are hotter than the men in Florence. He must be an import.

Here I am in the wild boar (cinghiale) flea market in Florence haggling over the price of a knockoff Stella McCartney bag. Bargaining is expected. It is the local sport. Sometimes I do it just for the exercise.

Here I am after I bagged the purse (less a 9 Euro discount). The wild boar is singularly unimpressed. He has seen it all before. BOARRRINGGG.

A window display of a kid's store in Florence. These babies are not your GAP Junior. Kids are well turned-out in Italy. They must wear designer duds to spit up on from the crib. 

The lunch-hour hordes on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. .Not to be confused with the running of the bulls at Pamplona but just as potentially dangerous if only from the stale desiccated pizza we consumed in our hung-over states. Significantly, it was the only bad meal we had in Italy.

Staircase of cheesey artifacts in Taormina Sicily, the place to shop if you want planters with makeup  by Salvador Dali.

A jewelry store display in the streets of Taormina Sicily. I have never seen so many necklaces in one place -- and that includes the collection of my New York friend Pat who needs to graft more body parts so she can wear each piece once before she expires..

I can only marvel at the collection of cheese (Cheese Whiz, not Velveeta) and gewgaws in the souvenir shops on the main drag in Taormina Sicily, whose shops the guide book described as "quaint."  Since when is Valentino "quaint"? Major high end boutiques live here, Virginia.

Speaking of kitsch. The Godfather franchise is alive and well here. There are even Godfather baby bibs. We bought one. Now all we need is a bossy baby.

We couldn't afford to shop at the nose-bleedingly high-end shops on Via Condotti in Rome so we snapped photos of their windows one night after dinner and multiple proseccos.  This is Max Mara.

More Max.

Still more Max but moodier. 

Now we are Maxxed out.

The amazing window at Hermes. I leave you to insert your own insect joke here.

Here is ultimate proof that fashion models are really getting too skeletal. 

Skinny mini models should eat one of the legendary Panini at Pepy's Bar in Rome.

A pair of distressed leather chairs in a random coffee bar in a side street in Rome which we stumbled upon while trying to avoid the Spanish Steps during a  blisteringly hot 38-degree afternoon. It made us miss our cats -- who routinely redecorate our upholstery -- even more.

Here I am blending in with the décor outside LuisaviaRoma, arguably the chicest boutique in Florence, where Rob spotted the female lead in Portlandia and I failed to buy the booties of my dreams.

Selfie pile-on in Taormina town center. Selfie sticks were the number-one souvenir item on the street, hawked everywhere from the Spanish Steps to the beach in Sicily. Just missed getting a shot of a priest seflie-ing in front of the church where he had just performed a wedding.