Saturday Market

Wake up at noon, wander about the apartment and slowly (because you are asleep) realize there is no food. Grow hungrier until your roommate reminds (in English because she sees this is a time to be kind) that the market closes at 2pm on Saturdays. So, it’s brush teeth, brush hair, pull on jeans, grab bags, and go. This is not the best way to enter a Spanish market. First off, there will be no way to determine which stall to approach because you are starving and everything looks good. And upon making the slightest movement to one vendor over another – probably because you look dazed and not of these parts – a man will sidle up out of nowhere and offer help. This help is not so easily brushed aside. At this point something usually comes out of my mouth like… gracias, pero no sé lo que quiero. Estoy pensando. (thank you but I don’t know what I want. I’m thinking.)

Now, this does not make the man go away. It just means he stands silently by my side for a few minutes before he starts guessing my favorite fruit.

There is a clock in my head: 45 more minutes in the market, 30 more minutes in the market, choose your vegetables! choose your fruit! Don’t forget the cheese stalls! Twenty more minutes until they close! And here’s this man hustling around his stall, grabbing vegetables and putting them in my bags, ordering tranquila!

These markets are among the best things about Europe. One can spend hours in a place like this, comparing prices and quality and chatting with the sellers and customers alike (even me with my slim Spanish.)

Of course, there are some little ladies with very sharp elbows that should be given wide berth. But even they are a good time, because after shoving you aside for their apricots, they will point out that your wallet is easy pickings for thieves, the vendor two stalls over has the best lettuce, or simply insist that your jacket is from Argentina not India. (It’s best not to question.)

Madrid wins on the local side of the oh-so-American organic vs. local food debate. An argument I am forced to have with myself because, just try to talk about organic produce in Spain and you will be met with a blank stare. They don't care. The Spanish buy the food, it tastes good, they eat it.

Speaking of, my random purchases yesterday were: one cauliflower, one eggplant, one bit of ginger, two onions, five purple tomatoes, one bundle of strawberries, parsley, two lemons, and an avocado. I could have bought anything and it would have been a success.