I sat in the doorway of the church, my back pressing up against the wooden doors, it was the only dry place after the rain last night. Now the sun seared through the clouds for the afternoon, warming the stone, the door, my face, if only for a few moments before the downpours returned. Thankfully they had stopped for my lunch break, and I didn’t feel like squeezing into a cafe, so I took my sandwich to go and sat outside instead. The market was still going, and I’m starting to recognize some of the everyday vendors. There’s the man with the big fluffy dog that runs freely around the piazza in the afternoons. He has two wobbly tables piled high with books, mostly old paperbacks. Paper signs thrown on the top show their prices. A euro for these, five for those. There’s the pecorino cheese farmer, who I haven’t had time to visit but surely will soon.
Today, I finished my lunch and wandered from the church to the table piled with jars of honey in shades of amber. Chestnut honey, local honey, saffron-infused honey. I asked the woman behind the table what would be best for tea. She picked out acacia honey the color of gold in a jar with a homemade paper label, wrapped it in newspaper, and handed it to me. 8.50 Euro. I could get used to this market right outside. It could almost get dangerous.