Market day

Tim: The next day we learned of a market back in Siracusa, which was only about 15 minutes away (I say 'about' because we never seemed to drive from our place to the highway in the same way twice). It was also a test as it was my first driving in a city. We parked down at the docks, bought parking tickets from an old lady under a faded umbrella, and wandered through the market. This was principally fruit and fish in stalls and some cheese merchants, all on the sides of the road. Polly saw a guy playing a violin, and took a photo; he stopped playing and asked for a Euro.










It was a lovely sunny day, although not too warm so we ate lunch near the ruins of the Temple of Apollo and bought out first gelatis of the trip. We could still hear the hubbub coming from the market, and the sound of the violin floating over it all. It was very nice, and not for the first time did we reflect how lucky we were to be here, and here together; sitting in the sun, in front of an ancient ruin, on holidays, money in our pocket, food in our bellies on the other side of the world. Polly went to a toilet but the light was out; violin-man helpfully serenaded her through the open door.

After, we looked through the old town. Everywhere you looked it was so picturesque; narrow, twisting streets as wide as a horse and cart lined with beautiful old buildings with crumbling facades and rusted balconies. But inside, the shops are usually very well maintained and white painted. I can only imagine that the facades are deliberately kept that way.


As we re-approached the market, though, there was obviously something happening; people were stopped in the street, looking out of windows, and a man behind us was shouting something. We crossed the road to get away from shouting man but kept approaching, now hearing shouts and cries from the centre of the gathering crowd. There we saw two men struggling with each other, one highly distressed. It seemed as if the other man had driven his little truck through a market stall; there were trestles and wooden boxes and fruit strewn all around. The stall owner, with tears of rage, picked up a block of stone and pitched it through the windscreen of tne truck before he could be restrained. We both wanted to see what happened next, but could sense that outsiders wouldn't be welcome; we discreetly turned away, collected the car and returned home.