Spent the entire week over Easter in Toscana, halfway between Firenze and Arezzo in the Val d'Arno. We stayed in an Agriturismo called
Podere Madonna, where the kind owner welcomed us for the second stay.
One reason we went was the Toscana Tour, an international horse jump contest going on for three(!) weeks in Arezzo. I am not really interested in it but K is fanatical... So, while she was watching horses and riders jumping over obstacles to her heart's desire, me and E went in to check out Arezzo medieval city center.
I tried to find a pipe shop, and asked for artisans or pipe factories in the neighborhood at the tourist office. They pointed out one store on a map and we went in that direction, checking out architecture and street life on the way.
Once we got there it turned out they had stopped selling pipes a year or so ago, due to declining customer support :(. The guy pointed out two more possible sources on th map, but didn't really give me much hope. They were in opposite directions so I chose the one on the way back to the car park, obviously.
It was the same thing there, all cigars and cigarettes, no pipes. We went back to get the car cause the ticket expired. On the way out I realised that the second place pointed out on the map was only a kilometer or so away so I drove there, parked haphazardly on the sidewalk and ran in while E stayed in the car.
I asked the guy for pipes holding my breath and he nodded towards a wall stand shock full of them! They were mainly Stanwells and Petersons so I asked him for Italian Artisan pipes. Sure, Brebbia and l'Anatra! I found a chubby yet elegant Billiard with a price tag of 130€, and I thought to myself "this could be my last chance so what the ...". All the time the car on the sidewalk with E inside, nervously chewing her nails waiting for the cops to turn up...
I asked if I could pay with credit card, fully expecting a "yes"? No. I started to sweat, checking my wallet and pockets. All in all I could muster up 94€. He wouldn't sell it to me at such a rebated price, understandably.
I checked out the other pipes, they were all of a larger, clumsier stature, and not appealing to me except for one Peterson which I COULD afford in cash. But I wanted an Italian pipe, dammit! I reluctantly put the l'Anatra back in its box and backed out to the waiting car.
"Finally", sighed a relieved E.
