42 Blog Post, Wednesday, October 16, 2024 “Wanderers and Marketplaces”
First of all—IT’S A BOY!!! Alistair’s niece had her baby today. Mom, dad and older sister are all fine, and so is this little chunk of a baby. No name yet; we’re just happy he’s arrived in the world so well. Welcome, little one!
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I’ve been sending a lot of postcards to family because I love to do that. I still think postcards are the BEST and most simple way to tell people I love them and that I am thinking of them. The most recent postcard had this saying on it: “Giro vagondo” which I had to immediately translate. It means “wandering around”. What a perfect phrase for what we have been able to do here in Italy, and elsewhere in our travels. I appreciate the opportunity, as we travel, to wander and mingle with the residents, particularly in Monopoli because we are here for such an extended time.
Today I sent Alistair and his son off on their own to visit Matera again. This cough I have has taken a lot out of me, and every now and then I really have to just rest. My hope is that I am at the end of this particular illness. But their time away has given me a whole day to listen to my neighborhood and my neighbors.
I’ll need to begin with yesterday and the Mercato because that was an immersion into the Wednesday market. The Mercato is a huge outdoor market, kind of like an Italian flea market, but with some great things, if you know what you need. I’ve also noticed that it is hard to find some basic things in the city—shampoo, dry goods. All of these things are at the market along with clothing, and of course—food. It was kind of like their version of WalMart on the street.
We needed a few things. I needed a beach towel, or un telo mare. There are no Home Goods or TJ Maxx stores here. We scoured the city and found---nothing! And Alistair did not know it, but he was getting a belt. And then, you know, the food. But we’ll get to that.
This was one of the times that I most wished I spoke Italian, because the conversation at the market was fast and interesting. People called to each other. The fish guy sang songs to let people know what he was selling. And the vendors knew the customers, especially in the food section. I waited to buy a melon while the vendor took such good care of an older woman in front of me who was asking questions and getting his opinion about the fruits and vegetables she was buying. I loved being patient while I stood there, watching them interact but I wish I had been able to understand what they were saying.
When it was my turn, the vendors were patient with my lack of Italian and we managed well with fingers and hand gestures-“SIX plums please. And what is that? Dragonfruit? I’ll take two. How many clementines? Just a little bit.” People were buying in bulk—30 or 40 clementines, bundles of chicory, a common green in this area.
I got into trouble with the olive man, though. He had barrels of olives, capers, fava beans—so many good things! And he was one of the few blue-eyed Italians, like me. But he had this scoop and when I asked for some olives---scoop! In the bag. I kept trying to say, “No, less please!” but he was already tying up the bag, so I now have 5 pounds of fresh olives in the frig that need to be eaten by Sunday morning. Won’t be happening.
Alistair and I had separated at the market because I noticed that there were leather belts for sale and he left his belt in one of our hotels and continually bemoaned this. I gave him the assignment of finding a new belt, and I set out in search of a beach towel. Fortunately, just as the market was closing, I found the only beach towel in the entire market for just 10 euro, which seemed fine to me.
Alistair, however, was having yet another Italian experience, akin to his barber shop trip. When I texted him to find out where he was in the vast chaos of the market, he texted back: “I’m being fitted for my belt.” What?!? Obviously it makes sense to be fitted for a belt, but that’s not how it has ever worked before. We go to Kohl’s and buy a belt, right?
When I got to the leather vendor, the man running the shop was circling Alistair’s waist with the belt he had chosen and marking it. He then proceeded to cut the leather to the size of Alistair’s waist, put the belt back together with the buckle, and hammered additional holes in the leather should Alistair need them. He made sure that Alistair knew he should not gain any weight if he wanted the belt to fit correctly. The price for all this? 10 euro. The same price as my beach towel. This is why people go to the Mercato. I get it. Alistair is delighted with his new belt, and I am delighted by the experience.
After the market, we took our Trulli trip that I already wrote about, and when we came back, we parked our car in the free lot that’s about 15 minutes from our apartment and began to walk home along the harbor, which I love. I can’t get enough of the sea. We arrived at around 5:30 and the harbor was hopping, but we didn’t know why, but it became clear--the fishing boats had come in. They were being unloaded into refrigerated trucks for transport, but people had also parked their cars nearby and were buying bags of fresh fish and shrimp directly from the boats. It was an entirely different version of the market we had gone to in the morning. People were bantering, laughing and they were created a line of people from boat to dock to unload the Styrofoam containers packed with ice and fish. One may bought fresh shrimp and was sitting on the dock shelling them and eating them raw.
I went back today at the same time, and there they were, selling fish off the boat again. I asked one man, using my google translate app, what he was going to do with his container of silver fish. He pulled out his phone, typed something in, and showed me HIS google translation: “Fried Fish”, it said.
Because I didn’t feel great, I spent most of my time today at the apartment where I had the chance to just feel the pulse of Monopoli, at least in this corner of the city. The older man across the street at the same level as our apartment sits in his green striped chair every day and falls asleep as he looks over the street. I noticed a young couple and their toddler, who (I think) are renting the street level unit across the street. When the cat next door to me began meowing loudly for his owner to return, the toddler burst out laughing. The cat meowed again, more laughter. This continued for quite a while and made me smile as it was happening. The women in this building spent some time together and they were all talking at the same time, one over the other, loud and insistent, as if they were yelling. The tour guide yesterday told us that we shouldn’t get concerned about Italians from this area, Apulia, when they yelled at each other. “They are just deciding what to eat for dinner,” she said laughing.
Cutting open my sweet market melon this morning, peeling my clementines and attacking my pile of olives, each one seemed to taste better because of the interactions I had as I purchased them. Each one has a story and a connection and I am grateful that we’ve had the time to do everyday things, to wander, to walk, certainly to eat. Always to eat.
And now my hope is that rest will help heal this bear of a cough, and that I can store up energy to visit the caves at Polignano a Mare—Polignano by the sea. Google it to see what it looks like. I also plan to swim if it’s possible. After all, I got a great deal on a beach towel!
Blessings and grace,
ML+
