"There's an antique market in San Telmo on Sunday, you want to go?" (Insert sound of groaning children.
We set off for the market not really knowing what to expect. Would it be a bunch of tables set up in full sun in the middle of the neighborhood square? Hawkers selling junk? Would our kids be whining and dragging their feet forcing us into a little cafe for a mid-morning cerveza o dos?
After walking in the wrong direction three times and the right direction (but thinking it was the wrong direction) twice, we finally made it to the market. What a madhouse. It carried on for block after brick-lined block. The Spanish colonial homes created a perfect frame for the sellers, singers, tango dancers, and costumed people. Was it like this always? Quizás, we were told, this was just another Sunday in San Telmo. So, like the woman in the ducha libre, we went with the flow.
Graham is developing an interest in knives. We're not sure if we should be concerned about this or not. There certainly were plenty to look at, touch, and wave around in his sister's face.
Katharine spent a really, really long time looking at jewelery. The booth owners often tried to change her focus to "kid" stuff but she would have none of it. She never did find what she was looking for. We're not even sure what she was looking for. She's still looking.
There was a lot of very cool horse stuff. Almost made me wish I could ride. Almost.
Family portrait. You can see that at least I'm still smiling.
No comments:
Post a Comment