Emmy’s Shopping #3of8

In a supermarket in Gyor, Hungary, Emmy wanted to buy some eggs and was having a problem. I heard a familiar voice crowing like a rooster, then determined Emmy had forgotten basic biology. She should have “cackled like a hen,” but she did get her eggs, and some laughter. In Titograd, Yugoslavia, her “cluck, cluck” worked just fine. So she bought the eggs.

We were told there was a Loppmarknaden (flea market) in Skarholmen (near Stockholm, Sweden) so got off the subway and looked and looked. Finally found they had converted one complete floor of the parking garage into the flea market. Part of it was open that day, so we looked and looked and bought a small postage scale, and a couple of other little items.

We drove into downtown Athens, Greece, parked and shopped the flea market in the Monastiraki district. Emmy bought a nice scale (the weights are placed in the pan on one side, and the “goods” in a pan at the other side). There are about 20 indented, official looking marks, including some dates (1950s), stamped into the metal on the pans, most likely made by weight and measure inspectors. Not so old, but so enjoyable.

While shopping at a street market in Montbron, France Emmy found a six sided blue bottle, about 12 inches high and four inches wide, with a special plug at the neck, and an imprint of a pelican and the number 400 on the bottom. The price started at 70 Francs, we offered 30, the saleslady said 60, and we came up to 40. When the lady held up her open hand to indicate 50, I reached over and gently folded her thumb to her palm. She smiled and agreed to 40 Francs. We were told that the bottle was meant to be filled with hot water and placed in bed at night, to help keep our feet warm. But we just look at it on a table in the den, our feet aren't that cold in California weather.

In Evzoni, Greece, we bought some cherries, a melon, bananas, tomatoes, and received an extra handful of cherries as our change. Now we still needed some meat. The butcher shop had no meat on display, but we were told this was the only place in town to buy meat. The lady butcher didn’t understand what we were looking for, until I “mooed” like a cow — that was all she needed to know. She spoke a few words of English, but she didn’t know the word “beef,” at least not the way we pronounced the word.

We visited a street market to beat all markets, in the Roman town of Arles, France. For block after block there were booths with food, vegetables, fruit, horse meat, and “fleas” of every description. But we found nothing we couldn’t live without.