At the entrance to the city market are all the fruit sellers, people just bring a basket of fruit and sit and sell them. This treasure chest of pomegranate jewels was rich and oozing with juice. The fruits here are so organic and pure and all grown by sunlight and with love. They make our mass produce in the UK look full of false promise like a dodgy good looking bloke. All looks and no substance. This fresh produce sings with energy and flavour and if it's true that we are what we eat, then this week I may turn into a pineapple. A happy juicy flavour full pineapple. A bit crooked around the edges but full of charm and personality ;-)
It seems that my 'spiritual' practise is not penetrating as deeply as I hoped, as everything goes by the by on arrival at the market. Full of poise and determination and material denial on my yoga mat...I turn into the worst kind of shopper. Faced with the Spoon Stall I am full of agony about the fact that I want every single version. Just look at them. What would you choose? Spoons for baking, serving and even spooning. My favourites are made from rosewood, I'm not sure if that's wrong or right. But do I even care? I know it's going to seem crazy when I unpack but if you ever come round for dinner or group baking sessions we are going to be well served.
This stall, and there are a few like it, worries me. Selling hair. Why? For whom? Whose hair was it? I don't like it a bit, but I do love the stallholder... can you see him? Bald as a coot. Got short of stock mate? I feel all itchy now and it makes me want short hair. Why do we covet the dead stuff that grows out of our heads?
Just so you can appreciate the indecision and drooling that the market provokes, this is the inimitable and wonderful RoobieRoo modelling the bag selection on one stall. What is a girl to do? They are all beautiful, all cheap and made with recycled materials by local women. Good strong bags in great designs and colour combos galore. The banter and the good humour is delightful among the stallholders & customers, not like the miserable misers we have to deal with at home. They shrug and laugh and somehow with all the language barriers we seem to get by. Numbers are the same everywhere right? And one clever little fellow said I looked like Carla Bruni the other day so I adore them.
ONLY TWO WEEKS LEFT.
I am so excited to come home and see all my loved loved ones
but so sad that this, like all good things, has to come to an end.
It's time to roll my sleeves up and get back to some serious slog.
Someone has to pay my spoon bill.