Saturday in Parma

It is 5 AM Saturday and still dark as Iris and I head to the Farmers Market an hour north of Albareto. The temperature is a balmy -16 degrees Celsius (3.2 degrees Fahrenheit. i.e., cold in any unit of measure). Iris is quiet as she navigates the packed red Renault Kangoo through the windy roads to Parma. I open my bag of California dates and offer her breakfast. Iris and I like dates.


Against the dim light of an old church backdrop, we set up the tent, tables, bags, scale, register and arrange over a 100 loaves of bread, fruit preserves, juices, lavender oil, spelt, pork products, potatoes, and handmade linen aprons in baskets of eye-appealing configurations. I find the task challenging as my fingers refuse to work properly in the sub freezing air. Even stoic Iris stomps her feet in an effort to keep warm.


Close to the Farmers Market, there is a Flea Market in which the savvy shopper can score a deal on garments while the un-savvy shopper can get duped buying two pairs of socks for two times the price (alas I speak from experience here). On an adjacent table - all for one Euro - are random life essentials: vacuum bag, votive candle, shell shaped soap, surgical gloves, or a pink notebook with the meaningful insignia “Save Lovers Marine” on the cover.


Iris sends me into town to warm up. I wander the beautiful streets of Parma and admire the ancient architecture it is known for. Alongside me, many stylish moms pushing strollers are decked in short skirts, high-heeled boots, matching hand bags and leather coats; stylish cyclists zip by often sporting the same outfit (maybe it’s the Parma team-kit!). I’m out-of-place in the city chic but go unnoticed in the population of 170000.


Back at Casa Lanzarotti, I remove my Sorrels and replace them with Ughs. Out my bedroom window, I wave to Rancole’s principal population cows and chickens. Ah.. it’s good to be home!