Today I cracked and ordered online something I thought I’d never live to see: Rondini sandals. Rondini is a small shop situated Rue Georges Clémenceau in Saint-Tropez, where my parents used to go on holidays when I was a kid. There are two sandal makers in St Tropez, Rondini (est. 1927) and Keklikian (est. 1933). The differences between them are millimetric, but to the trained eye Keklikian sandals are beautiful, while Rondinis are perfect. Rondinis eluded me for years: the shop was closed, too busy, no time for a fitting, etc. Keklikian it was, reluctantly. I felt like the character in Moscow-Petushki who never manages to make it to the Red Square and always ends up at Kursk Station instead. This morning I carefully measured my left foot in three places as per their instructions and ordered them. The Web is a wonderful thing.
Update. The postman brought them. I had forgotten why Rondinis were only for the brave: they are tight. The accompanying leaflet basically says no pain, no gain but in my case I decided on less gain. They are currently being stretched a smidgin by a local cobbler. When I handed them to the man —this is Greece, land of sandals—he looked at them with a look of grudging respect mixed with pity for this fancy-pants who gets his sandals from St Tropez and then can’t wear them.
Categories: off topic