There is something about visiting a fresh produce market when abroad that makes it exciting.
Back home I never really think to visit our local farmers market, despite them holding one each month.
But exploring a market whilst on holiday is exciting.
The strawberries look reder, the cherries more juicy. Even the potatoes look more exotic than back home.
There is also a buzz that comes with the markets. Traders calling to their customers touting their weres. Customers calling out to get the attention of the sellers, to make their purchase, before someone else makes off with the punnet of red currents that looks perfectly ripe.
In the market, we visited today, there is a small cafe.
I ordered a prosecco as I am on holiday.
The bubbles swim right to my head as we have not yet had lunch.
The sounds around me feel a little bit distant as though I am sitting just below the surface of a pool of water.
An old man limps past. A walking stick in one hand and a bucket full to the brim of cherries in the other.
I wonder whether he is going to make wine or jam. Or maybe he just wants to reserve them whilst they are at their best, so he can still enjoy cherries when the colder months set in.
Sitting in the stifling heat it is hard to imagine this place in the cold.
I know the snow falls thickly here. Ive seen it on tv and on the internet.
I wonder how the little old man will fare when the ice sets in.
Will he need to rest in this chair before walking home, a hot cup of something to take the chill from his bone.
I close my eyes to try to picture it. But the searing heat makes it difficult.
I like it here. I could sit all day watching the world go past. This place makes me feel