CHASING PRADA

Italy, of course, is known for its fashion, spawning globally recognized brands like Armani, Gucci, Versace, and Valentino. One of those famous brands is Prada, which had an outlet in the town of Montevarchi, about forty minutes from where my family was living at the time in Florence.

One summer my agent, Laurie, came to visit us for a week. She had done her pre-travel research, and one of the items on her Italy checklist was to stop at the Prada outlet. So, the day before her departure, Laurie, Keri, and I climbed into our Volvo station wagon and drove off to the outlet. Forty-five minutes later I turned off the autostrada for Montevarchi. As I approached the city’s tollbooth, I asked Laurie which way I should turn after we passed through the gate.

“I actually didn’t get that far,” she said. “I thought we’d probably just see it when we got here. The town’s bigger than I thought it would be.”

Much bigger. Montevarchi has been around for nearly a thousand years and covers almost twenty-two square miles. This was a few years before we all had GPS on our phones, so I pulled off to the side of the road to make a plan. Just then a delivery truck imprinted with the word Prada came through the gate we’d just passed through. Laurie shouted, “It’s a Prada truck! Follow that truck.”

I turned out into traffic behind it. The truck followed a circuitous route, through roundabouts, small streets, and neighborhoods. At times it almost felt like the driver was going in circles. Then, after nearly fifteen minutes, I suspected he knew I was following him and was trying to lose me, especially since he had waited at one light until it was just about to turn red before darting through the intersection. I ran the light after him. After nearly half an hour of this cat and mouse, I said, “I don’t think he’s going to the outlet.”

“Just keep following him,” Laurie said.

“I have to follow him now,” I said. “I’m lost.”

After another fifteen minutes he turned down a small side road and then jumped out of his truck, gesturing wildly. “Che cosa!?” (What!?)

I got out of the car and pointed to the Prada sign on his truck.

He nodded. “Ma certo,” he said. “Un momento.” (Of course. One moment.)

He carried a package into a house, and when he came back he said, “Segue mi.” (Follow me.)

We followed his truck to the Prada outlet, waving to him as we pulled into the parking lot. I let the women off at the door, then pulled out to park. As I got out of the car, the women were walking back toward me. The store had closed just five minutes earlier.