Day 4

The sun was actually shining when I woke up. This was the first time since I had arrived on Wednesday. Today was Saturday and Saturday is market day. Whenever I am anywhere in Italy, I always try to find out what day is market day. The experience of the open-air market is one of those quintessential things in Italy to which we have nothing to compare. Antonia had told me about a small farmers’ market in one part of town and the main market in another. In reality, they were not that far apart. Again, it was in a neighborhood right across the river where I had not yet been. I found it easily enough and it was not that large, roughly the same size as the farmers’ market in Morristown. I did a quick tour of all the stalls, just to see what was being offered. I really was only looking for apples, so I had to try and console myself. That one stall selling goat cheeses looked very interesting, though - especially the goat bleu cheese. There was no one in line, so I stepped up an ordered a wedge. When I asked the woman how much and she responded, I realized, for the first time, that I had forgotten to put in my hearing aids. This was not going to be helpful. I then went back to the stall that had the greatest selection of apples. There was a line at this stall, which fortunately gave me a chance to read the sign describing each variety. By the time it was my turn, I knew what I wanted. They were also selling pieces of ‘erbazzone’ a kind of vegetable pie. So I bought some of that too. I was planning tonight’s supper. The market was at the end of a long, straight street, which obviously ended in a piazza of some sort. I decided to walk up one side and down the other. It quickly became clear that this was an immigrant neighborhood, there were Middle Eastern shops, a South American restaurant, ethnic butchers and bakers and even an Indian restaurant.

Parma Farmers' Market

I crossed back over the river and immersed myself in the steady stream of people moving towards the market. You could hear every conceivable language being spoken. These weekly markets are not primarily food markets, but rather clothing, shoes, bags, housewares, and even bedding - all at ridiculously low prices. While many items purport to be name brands, almost all of the merchandise is knock offs or, at best, seconds. I prefer not know where the rest of it comes from. I once heard a vendor at one of these markets in Rome shout, “Don’t steal the merchandise!” and then utter under his breath, “it’s already been stolen.” At any rate, everybody shops at the market, from well turned-out matrons to gypsies and everything in-between. I imagine that, for immigrants from Africa, the Middle East and Asia where this type of market is common, this must be the closest thing to being at home. Curiously, I could not seem to find the one thing that I wanted - a pair of gloves.

Saturday is market day!

I had decided that I would have lunch out and have a light supper in the apartment. Again, the thought of trying to find a place to eat as a solo diner on a Saturday night was enough to make me want to stay home. I could work on the blog, have supper and then watch TV until I felt sleepy.  It was still much too early to think about lunch, however. I wanted to visit a museum dedicated to one of the last royal rulers of Parma, Maria Louisa of the Hapsburgs, the second wife of Napoleon. As I started out towards the museum, I discovered that market day covered much more of the city than I imagined. So naturally, I had to check out what was being offered in this area. As always, a bit of everything. As far as I could tell, though, no gloves for men. I found the museum and spent about an hour there. I appeared to be the only visitor, which suits me just fine. I left, now ready to hunt down some lunch.

My original idea was to try the Osteria della Zingara not far from the apartment. It was said to have some of the best local cuisine. As I walked back however, I thought about another place I passed all the time that had a very interesting, non-traditional menu. It was small, so I imagined I would never get in for dinner, maybe I could try at lunch. So, I opened the door and stepped inside. I asked if there were room for a solo diner. Of course, I got “the look”. So I added quickly, “If it’s not possible, that’s ok.” After a brief exchange with one of the wait staff, the young man nodded for me to follow him. We started down the stairs into the basement, whereupon I thought, “Oh great. They are going to put me in the cellar.” The young man explained the day’s specials and indicated the QR code for the menu. By the time he came back, I had decided on the pasta special, which was a short pasta with a slightly spicy seafood sauce and then the faraona (guinea fowl). I asked what kind of still white wine were they offering and he named a grechetto from Lazio, which I knew. I agreed immediately, which seemed to take him by surprise. Then I explained that I had lived in Rome. That really seemed to break the ice. In the end, the room filled up. I have to say, that was some of the best food I have ever eaten in Italy. The consequences of which was the first nap on this trip.

Garganelli with seafood sauce

When I woke up, I could see that the sun had come out. I knew I needed to take advantage of this opportunity, so I grabbed my coat and headed out. Late afternoon is the time of the ‘passegiata’. Thisis when Italians take to the streets to stroll, greet friends and neighbors, window shop and just enjoy themselves. It usually ends shortly after it gets dark. People either go inside somewhere for an aperitivo or they go home to prepare dinner. I wasn’t going to do either of those things, but I enjoyed mingling with the locals.