Who's the last?

Barcelona - Day 15

Al mercado - to market

Every day in Canet is market day, except for Sunday when most of Spain closes down.  Mondays are no good for fish as the fishermen don't go out on Sundays and Wednesdays are the best as there's an extended market.  So now I know.

Unsurprisingly I was accompanied by my in-laws on my first trip.  Ivan was out of town so it doubled as today's Spanish lesson.  "We want to introduce you as our daughter-in-law so that the traders don't try to rip you off for being a foreigner."  Thank you indeed.  So now I know the best places to buy fish, poultry, rabbit (my cooking skills are going to be tested...), jamon (it has a food group all of its own), vegetables and fruit, and the traders will have the wrath of my mother-in-law if they try anything on.   I also now know how to recognise a good custard apple from a bad one and understand that with every purchase something comes for free - usually a big bunch of parsley.  I can only conclude that parsley is given to neutralise the vast amounts of garlic consumed at every meal.  Spain consumes more garlic per capita than any other nation - and we Brits thought it was the French who topped the garlic charts.  Everything is so fresh and so LARGE and I was advised that people will eye me with suspicion if I only ask for small amounts ("you only want 3 onions??").  Personally half a kilo of tomatoes sounded like quite a haul to me, along with a kilo a fish (free parsley), a whole chicken (free garlic and the head and feet) and a lettuce almost as big as me.  Besides, I can't carry much at the moment.   Ivan's father suggested I buy myself one of those trolleys that most people's grandmothers pull about.  I politely told him that once the pushchair is operational that I wouldn't have any spare hands.

Wot no queuing?

Queuing doesn't get a look in.  Everyone pushes their way to the front and it is customary to approach the stall and shout "quien es el ultimo?" - "who's the last?".  So manners may not be necessary, but memory is.

Supermarket sweep

I was accosted in the supermarket by a lady who probably told me her life story, but I didn't understand much.  Being pregnant gives the world, and old ladies in particular, an opening to talk to you.  Fortunately it also offers an escape.  After 15 minutes of chatting, or rather me listening and nodding in what appeared to be the right places, I was able to excuse myself on the basis of needing to pee.