At the end of my street there’s a tiny mercado about the size of my 12 by 8 living room. The assortment of fresh, cool and dry goods is astonishing for such a small space and I wonder how anyone larger than me might maneuver. For my small frame, it’s an “enter, step, turn, shop, backup, turn, pay, leave” situation.
The lady who attends to me speaks no English and emerges from behind a beaded curtain when I enter with a loud Ola!
My Portuguese is more than rough, but she smiled when I first came in and stumbled through azeitona, proudly producing a large new tub of mixed olives and filling a plastic bag.
I walked out with more olives than I could eat in two lifetimes, but ecstatic with my first purchase, alone, in a new place that felt familiar.
