It all started with a broken heel.
I know, it’s not the most epic beginning in the world. But that’s how I met Gianni — because of a heel that decided to give up the day before an important dinner. I had the shoe in my hand, a bit of embarrassment on me, and zero desire to buy another pair.
“Behind the Arco di Augusto, on Corso, there’s a shoemaker,” a friend told me. “Go in and see.”
I went in.
And from that entrance, I never came out the same way I went in.
A Workshop That Smells of Leather
Corso d’Augusto 204. The number is easy to remember. If you come from Ponte di Tiberio, it’s barely fifty meters. The window is small, full of shoes waiting. On the door it says “Modi d’arte” — which isn’t just any name, because what Gianni does is art, and how.
As soon as you walk in, you smell it. Leather, polish, wood. A smell you don’t find in any new store anymore. It’s the smell of real workshops, where you don’t sell — you repair. Where you don’t throw away, you fix.
He’s there. Behind the counter. Thin, sharp-eyed, hands that seem to know what to do before you even open your mouth.
“Good morning,” he says.
And his accent is strange. Vaguely South Tyrolean — or at least, that’s how I heard it. A way of speaking that’s not Romagnol, not Piedmontese, it’s his own. Like everything else.
“Chemistry Graduate, Then Engineer, Then Nothing”
I hand him the shoe. He takes it, looks at it, turns it over. Three seconds. Then he looks up.
“Come back tomorrow, it’s done.”
He didn’t ask how it broke, he didn’t make a fuss. He saw the problem, he understood the solution. Period.
While I was there — waiting for a longer answer, a price, something — I looked at the wall behind him. Black and white photos. An older man, intent on working a shoe.
“That’s my grandfather,” says Gianni. “He was the first shoemaker in the family.”
And off he goes.
He’s 68 years old. As a young man, he graduated as a chemical technician. Then he went to university in Bologna: engineering. Then he dropped it all. “Life presents you with many paths, and I chose this one.”
There’s no regret in his voice. It’s a fact. The photo of his grandfather is there to testify that some things you don’t choose — they find you.
The Shutter at 4 in the Morning
Then I ask him about his hours.
“Every morning at 4, I raise the shutter.”
I stay silent. I struggle to open my eyes at 7, and he’s already been in the workshop for three hours. But it’s not a vent. It’s not a complaint.
“That way I get the work done without being interrupted,” he explains. “It doesn’t bother me. I do it because I love it.”
There it is. The sentence you should hear more often.
Not Just Shoes
While we talk, a lady comes in. She leaves a pair of heeled shoes. Then a man arrives with a loafer that has a strange problem. Gianni looks, nods, says “tomorrow.”
But he doesn’t just do shoes. He repairs leather balls. Jackets. Medieval costumes — those from the Palio or the Historical Procession, which every year someone brings with a tear that few know how to sew without ruining. Jester shoes, those from the allegorical floats.
Every piece is a story. Every story has a different solution.
“Every shoe has its own characteristics,” he says. “You don’t learn it in a day. It takes experience.”
“No One Ever Asked Me to Teach”
The moment comes when the question is inevitable: who will take your place?
He doesn’t think about it. “In the course of my career, no one ever asked me to teach them the trade.”
He says it without bitterness. As if he’s already made peace with the idea. But he adds: “In Rimini, there are few of us left. And we have an expiration date.”
It’s not a whine. It’s a death certificate for a craft that has existed since man started walking and wore out his soles.
I stay there, with the repaired shoe in my hand, and I think about how many things are disappearing without anyone lifting a finger. Workshops. Trades. Stories.
Two Thousand Years of History Fifty Meters Away
Outside the shop, Corso d’Augusto is the street that has crossed Rimini for two thousand years. It starts at the Arco di Augusto, ends at the Ponte di Tiberio. All Roman stuff. All stuff that was here before us and will be after.
And in the middle, a man who at 4 in the morning raises the shutter to repair people’s shoes.
It’s not a coincidence. It’s not poetry. It’s that in Rimini, the real things — two thousand years ago as today — are done with your hands.
Frequently Asked Questions About Gianni, the Shoemaker of Corso d’Augusto
Where is shoemaker Gianni located?
At Corso d’Augusto 204, in Rimini, about 50 meters from the Ponte di Tiberio. The shop is called “Modi d’arte”.
What are Gianni’s hours?
He opens at 4 in the morning. The closing time isn’t fixed — as long as there’s work, he stays.
What does Gianni repair?
Shoes, of course. But also leather balls, jackets, medieval costumes, leather goods in general, and footwear for allegorical floats.
How long has Gianni been a shoemaker in Rimini?
He opened his first business in Piedmont in the 1980s. Sixteen years ago he moved to Rimini, where he opened his workshop on Corso d’Augusto.
Is the shoemaker’s trade really disappearing?
Yes. Gianni himself says no one has ever asked to learn the trade, and that very few shoemakers remain in Rimini. A craft that risks disappearing with the current generation.
I walked out with the shoe repaired. Perfect. It looked new, but it didn’t look new — it looked mended with care, which is better.
I thought about how many people walk past that window without going in. How many shoes ended up in the trash when all it took was a visit to Gianni.
Sai dove trovarmi. All’Aqua Hotel.
