Alla Fiera Dell'Est...

Hello world,

There's an Italian nursery rhyme I learned a few days after arriving. It goes something like this:

Alla fiera dell'est, per due soldi, un topolino mio padre comprò

Alla fiera dell'est, per due soldi, un topolino mio padre comprò

E venne il gatto, che si mangiò il topo, che al mercato mio padre comprò
E venne il gatto, che si mangiò il topo, che al mercato mio padre comprò
Alla fiera dell'est, per due soldi, un topolino mio padre comprò

Now that's just the first verse out of nine, and it translates as follows:

At the Eastern Faire, for two dollars, my father bought me a little mouse.

At the Eastern Faire, for two dollars, my father bought me a little mouse.

And then came a cat, that ate the mouse, that my father had bought me at the market.

And then came a cat, that ate the mouse, that my father had bought me at the market.

At the Eastern Faire, for two dollars, my father bought me a little mouse.

At first this didn't seem strange at all. It's a simple nursery rhyme that instructs children on the use of the remote past tense. However, upon further investigation I realized this important point: Who buys their child a mouse at a MARKET of all places? I understand it's the "Eastern Faire" market, but what market sells living animals to anyone who will put down a few bucks?

This greatly puzzled me, until my first Italian market experience that is.

Let me start off by saying: this place is a sensory overload. As in, this area needs to be avoided by any and all persons prone to epilepsy and/or color, smell, and texture induced seizures of any kind. Beware, this place can kill. I'm serious about this. Gird your loins.

Just take in these images I was able to capture, but only seen through the safety of my protective camera lens.

We have about thirty bazillion scarves in every color from depress-your-pants-off blue to claw-your-eyes-out yellow. UV-protective sunglasses are highly reccomended.

One can see a cornucopia of toys with every imaginable whistle, bell, and buzzer installed. Avoid this table at all costs if you enjoy the sweet song of the turtledove.

We also have the citrus-intensive selections of a fruit vendor. This may seem innocent enough, but try skinning one of these bad-boys and you can kiss your bleach-budget goodbye, they're just that juicy.

Because you never know when you need a wall-sticking soap dish and a colored rubber googly man... Lucky for you this merchant has conveniently placed both in the same bin! Or did he have something else in mind...

This is the D-Day of all mercatino booths. I actually had to duck under yellow ticker tape to snap a shot,

passed out, and was rushed to the emergency room to have my nose surgically replaced. Or at least my sense of smell was majorly assulted...

The infamous assorted underwear bin. Proving that traditions in Italy never die; they simply evolve. Much like the feeding of the Christians to the lions, except the Christians are mismatched undergarments and the lions are middle-aged women with slightly too much makeup on.

I am afraid, dear world, to post anymore. If you would like a slideshow of these and many more, please do not hesitate to click here.

All said and done, if you need anything from figs to iron lungs the mercatino is the place to be. Everything, that is, except for little white mice for two dollars... I didn't see any of those...

Until next time. A dopo!