Mamma mia, what vile curse has befallen me, which powers have I offended, that I should belong to a woman who does not own a single pair of high heels? She intends to tread the ground in. . .I dread to say the words, they are too distressing. . .Sneakers! Flats! A ridiculous pair of wellingtons!
Stop it, Gianluca, stop it, I say. At least she did not fly coach this time. Look, I am the handsomest suitcase on the carrousel at the airport of Melbourne. The other humans and their cargo, they back away, they are feeling proletarian.
We arrived at 7 am, too early to check into the hotel, so we proceed to the Queen Victoria Market, the largest open-air market in the hemisphere. Here we have the epiphany: All the world’s markets now look alike, they are hawking stuff made in China. She says it is like the Divisoria, only organized, clean, and more expensive. What is a Divisoria? I only know the mercato with the Porcellino.
The owner, she is only interested in two things:
and the hats. She is obsessed with finding the tweedy old guy hat that fits her enormous head. I swear to you it is ginormous, molto molto, it should have its own satellite. The amused hat seller helped her to try on dozens upon dozens of trilbies, porkies, homburgs and other tweedies, but none of them would fit. I must call the Guinness. Andiamo!