Market Day

It's a riot. A family brings stuff from the countryside and sets up in front of the church twice a week. All the produce is piled on two tables (under a tarp if it rains) or left sitting around in crates. You take your own bags and gather up all you want. Or you start making a pile beside the ancient scale he has. When you're ready, one of the family counts and weighs, keeping a running tab going out loud. You have to remember stuff is picked already ripe, even if it looks still green. Just get what you're going to use between now and next market day. Mangos, guanabas, coconut, pineapple, fat little scallions, at least 3 or 4 kinds of bananas, as well as all the usual we get up north. NO blueberries, no celery although we can find the latter at a supermarket.

On the way home from swimming we stopped at a fascinating shop selling Mexican art and artifacts; owned and run by another family. We picked up a few things and after paying, the man said, give them one of those little things there- pointing at a cute little object. He and Dick had been discussing the place of laity in the Church at length, once he understood that no, we're not Baptists, and yes, we actually live right at the parish. A very nice connection, Mom, Pop, and two polite teens. As we shopped and chatted, the train heading North went by, sure enough, encrusted with immigrants, heading for the Land of Hope. We also discovered a pleasant little restaurant: fresh fish dinner for $4.00 US.

The best moment so far today was on the last lap home: after detouring around a huge semi trying to turn around on our narrow street, we passed a tiny Volkswagon, the duct tape and super glue type, and stuffed inside were two or three people and a bicycle. It really hit our funny bone and we arrived home exhausted from a bad case of the giggles.
Shoot up a little prayer: tomorrow I have a tour and interview at another small, family-owned hospital here. They sound very interested and pleasant and I can get there on one bus instead of two.