Footloose and Foodist

And off to the market…………..

I have a fascination for markets – not the tony high streets, not the glitzy shopping malls, but the buzzing-with-life-and-activity markets abounding with foods and fruits, fish and fowls, sauces and savouries and all that keep the kitchen fires going and the dining tables groaning!

Everywhere I go, I try my utmost best to check out the local markets – the sabzi mandi as we call it. There have been good experiences, there have been wow ones and some unadulterated yuck ones. The horrendous ever was in Taipei in the early 2000s in a group visit, one inadvertently landed at the Huaxi (Hwahshi) Street Market better known as Snake Alley. We had said we wanted to check out the night market and before we knew it, we were being led into what initially looked like a bright, bustling oriental market. What unfolded was unmitigated horror that left me puking and nauseated for days. We clearly hadn’t done our homework because everywhere one looked there were every kind of snakes in bottles and vats, live turtles and such. Even before one could take it all in, one was witness to a cruel gruesome act – while a large wok three-fourth filled halfway with oil was simmering away over a huge fire, one man took a long iron rod with a pointed end, plunged into a large glass jar of snakes, speared one, took it out, wriggling for dear life, put it on a table covered with a bloodied plastic tablecloth, held it firm with the iron rod and with a big peeler like instrument skinned it alive, while the snake frantically writhed in agony, chopped it into pieces with a huge cleaver, tossed the pieces into the simmering oil. The deep fried snake pieces were put in a plate, covered with sauce and served. I must have made a pathetic sight, running to the nearest corner and retching till I felt all my insides would come out. That was my first and last visit to the Snake Alley. For the record this is, I presume, the only place in the world where one can get to drink fresh snake blood!

Barring the one aberration, visits to the markets have always been an exciting journey, a new discovery. From the floating market of Thailand, to my favourite Lumpini Night Market (Bangkok), which unfortunately closed down in 2011, the tiny roadside market in Surathani (Thailand) as also in Ko Samui and Langkawi (Malaysia); the spice market and some local markets in Istanbul (they love children, the daughter kept getting treats and freebies); the markets in Madrid (especially Mercado de San Miguel) and Barcelona; Camden and Portobello (by now I guess everybody’s favourite), UK; the Farmer’s Market in New York and Los Angeles, the Mexican market on Olvera Street in downtown LA (go on a Sunday for the best experience); the very touristy yet very quaintly attractive market at Catalina Island, off the coastline of southern California from where I carefully carried a beautiful handmade dragonfly mobile from a all the way home; Atwater Market in Montreal, one of the best one ever with its art deco style architecture near the Lachine Canal; Ginza in Tokyo ( I still crib about missing the Tsukiji wholesale fish market right next to it for lack of time), Nascht Market (Naschtmarkt) in Vienna; INA in Delhi; Crawford in Mumbai; the nearly all women run Bara Bazaar in Shillong; the roadside market in Kurseong (where you might have to step aside and squeeze yourself against the wall to let the toy train pass by), Jaggu Bazaar in Kolkata – wherever just give me markets any day. Naturally, when it came to Sofia how could one not go to the Zhenski Pazar. I was told that it was an all ladies’ market which made it all the more attractive. Unfortunately, it is not so any longer – there are equal number of men and women, in fact I think more men.

The Mexican Flavour in Los Angeles

Entertainment at the LA Market

Farmer's Market, New York

Buying fruits at a local market in Istanbul

Catalina Island

Mercado de San Miguel, Madrid

Some fowl play! (Madrid)

These piggies did go to the market

Berry, berry inviting! (Madrid)

Atwater, Montreal

The name says it, England

First I fell in love with store and then its goodies, UK

Getting to Zhenski Pazar (Stefan Stambolov Boulevard) was a bit of an anti-climax because no one seem enthusiastic about it especially not the hotel people who tried to convince me to opt for the more up market Sofia Central Market Hall(Tsentraini Halite) in the centre of the city instead.. Armed with a city map I chose to walk all the way and every one I sought directions from seemed either taken back, amused or surprised that a visitor wanted to go there. Earlier the www.freesofiatour.com guide Viki had said it was best to skip it and if I was determined to go, then to watch out for my purse. Clutching my purse I managed to find my way there. In simple terms, I would best describe it as the local bazaars every city and town in India has. But definitely not Indian like in terms of structure, layout and cleanliness! At the entrance is a small very modern two-storied structure with the ground floor housing florists and hence ablaze with every hue of colour and flowers and plants. There are wooden benches placed outsides where you can take a breather, drink coffee, watch the crowd pass by. The entire market has cobbled flooring in different patterns. The perishables – from fruits, vegetables, cheese etc- are a burst of colour and aroma, are housed in roofed-rows with open stalls. There seemed to be more Turkish shopkeepers around than Bulgarians and in a butcher’s shop, manned by Turks, they seemed more interested in what a woman from India was doing in Zhenski Pazar, often to the annoyance of some impatient buyers. Their knowledge of English was, to put it politely; simply minimum but their curiosity factor knew no bound. Family, family, husband, children (sign language here, loved it with a man imitated rocking a baby in his arms, made me feel very young!) I don’t know if I responded the right way but someone with sign language again, asked me if I wanted coffee. I love Turkey and everything about it, except Turkish coffee!

Incidentally eons ago I went to a Turkish cafe in The Haque to gorge on the baklava's. The old man running the show with his grandson plonked himself in the opposite chair and fired a barrage of questions. The grandson left the counter and tried to take him away, no go. The old man spoke only Turkish (is it called Turkic?), the grandson spoke Turkish and Dutch and a smattering of English. I didn’t any of the language they spoke. It was both funny and irritating, I just wanted to eat the baklava's, thank you, but without my asking a tiny coffee cup materialised on the table, sheer politeness made me gulp it down in one go. And then, before I knew it there was a refill. I figured the old man wanted to know where I was from so I kept repeating India, no go again. The grandson understood but for some reason the old man kept on looking blankly. Then a light bulb moment came, on a napkin I drew a rough map of India, added Pakistan on the north west border ( I am sure even Pakistan wouldn’t recognise itself in the diagram I drew), Afghanistan, Iran and so on till I hit Turkey. The old man pondered over it for a long time and then Viola, his face split by the widest grin ever, he blurted out Hindustan. I nearly jumped with joy, thinking thank god the ordeal is finally over. Well, it wasn’t, the questions were like arrows shot from all over. It was worth it, he refused to charge me; no bill Hindustan was very lucid and distinct was very clear to me. I also got a long warm hug. That however was not the end. The next day as I crossed the square, I walked straight not looking at the Café. Just when I thought I was safe, I heard someone shouting, Hindustan. I continued walking but someone politely tapped me on my shoulder and pointed behind me. Yes, I went back, yes I drank more Turkish coffee.

So at the butcher’s in Zhenski Pazar, I shook my head vehemently when it came to the coffee offer. I did go out and opt for cappuccino at a little kiosk run by two old Turkish sisters with floral head scarves tied under their chins. I wanted to photograph them, but one of them jumped out and with a toothless smile and wagging finger barred me from doing so. All the ‘pleases’ in the world didn’t help. Maybe buying coffee would thaw them, I felt, but for all the smiles, the no photographs rule was rigid. Well, sometimes everything can’t go your way. One reason for fondly remembering Sofia is the Zhenski Pazar and twin Turk sisters..

The entry to Zhenski Market (Sofia) is on the left

The vegetable and fruit section, Zhenski Market, Sofia

First he scowls.....

Then he finds it funny

And this one is least bothered

No coffee please!

When we landed in Vienna it was pretty late in the evening and by the time one checked into the hotel it was past 10pm, very late by European timing for dinner. It was of course not a coincidence that the hotel was pretty close to Nascht Market (Naschtmarkt). I guess after over two decades of conjugal togetherness, you begin to understand and more important accept what it takes to keep the partnership going and proximity to the city’s/town’s bazaars is crucial! It is another matter that discovering markets is not his cup of tea. Over the years we’ve, sorry make that I’ve learnt to find a simple solution, bargain, fight, argue, debate whatever but do find a day, or at least half a day to get away on one’s one and explore the market to my heart’s content. So on the night of arrival, Nascht Market was where we headed straight for to find some dinner. Most of the market was shut but trust the Asians, or rather the Orients to work way beyond given hours. A few eateries were open and we headed for the one which had a variety of Asian fare.

I managed to find my alone-in-the-market time and it was a wonderful experience. Initially it might seem a bit jumbled but there sure is a methodical layout. You have the eateries spread out more or less in one area interspersed with food stores as well as confectioners, sea food and meat stores, florists and nurseries, bread sellers and bakeries. There are permanent stalls and there are kiosks and large carts around and at one end is where you have the flea market where everything is on sale from Persian carpets, art, trinkets, furniture, dinner wares to just anything under the sun. This section is a little haphazard with both stalls, carts, tables over laden with stuff and even sheets spread out on the ground. With so many Indians (soon to overtake China at least population wise!), there was an Indian restaurant, an Indian store very prosaically called Indian Pavilion and a couple of Indian employees in the store. One turned out to be from Karol Bagh in Delhi, working at a Turkish delicatessen and he generously threw in extras for us, of course when the employer was looking elsewhere. I almost told him not to do so but he seemed so happy at meeting someone from his home town one didn’t have the heart to do so. So I bit into more Turkish delights