To Market to market

. . . to buy a lot of vegetables.

In the city, the freshest produce is found at the numerous city markets.  

In the US, farmers markets are chic--hordes of fortysomething year old women clad in designer tracksuits shopping for heirloom apples and expensive lettuce.  Here in the wilds of Eastern Europe, they are a necessity.  Everyone goes.  

In the height of summer, the markets are an explosion of color, smelling of earth, packed with vendors from the surrounding countryside.  There are some imported items--piles of watermelons from Turkey, early apples from Greece, and lemons from Spain.  The majority of produce, however, arrives stuffed in the backseats of cars.  

There are peaches and plums and berries from the forest; potatoes and onions and carrots from small farms and gardens; tomatoes and more tomatoes; lettuce and green onions; eggplant and squash; eggs collected just the day before; homemade sheep, cow, and goat milk cheeses, the vendors wildly proffering samples on huge knives.

My favorite lunchtime sandwich is fresh bread topped with thick slices of tomato and sheep cheese, garnished with basil, and covered with black pepper and balsamic vinegar--summer in every bite.