Open Air Market

My dreams are always very detailed and complex. I travel all over the world it seems, and sometimes out of this world, too, from the looks of it. Last night, I was wandering around alone, as is often the case in my dreams. Gregarious by nature, like some frustrated journalist, I travel and explore alone in my dreams. Where this came from I have no idea, but when I asked someone where I was, a man in my dream answered : " Croatia. " All right, I thought, Croatia it is. I found myself in a huge open air market, loud, with a ton of people milling about, selling everything from pastries to jewelry, clothes, rugs, tools, plants. I apparently was hungry, so I bought this very sweet chocolate covered piece of cake. My eye caught sight of a very enthusiastic woman selling hand made jewelry. One particular pair of sparkling bright yellow crystal earrings seemed very appealing, so I bought them. Every one seemed comfortable with the idea that I was wandering around their market, trying to make myself understood as best I could. I remember it was a very warm night. I asked one woman where she was from. She started answering me, then realized a long answer was going to be lost on me, so she said, pointing to herself and the people around her : "Romani". I smiled, feeling right at home. I have always had a soft spot for Romani and their struggle to be accepted and belong. Interesting that my restless soul at night would go looking for a family of gypsies to ease the sting of feeling I don't belong in my waking life. There was music everywhere, and I remember an uncle of mine inviting a band of Gypsy musicians to his restaurant, and how I loved the passion and melancholy of the violins. It felt like a family gathering, like we were all one big family. Impressive experience for a ten year old. Not much family left these days, so, I guess it is fun for me to go look around for one in my dreams. I grew up around open air markets in Belgium, every town had them. The first one I became familiar with, was right outside the front gate of my elementary school on the PolenPlein in Roeselare. Polen Plein referring to Polish Square, a reference to a group of Polish soldiers helping in the area during World War Two. I remember my mother picking us up from the school, and stepping right into the market, where she would buy fresh shrimp and sole. I remember being in open air  markets in Mexico City, in Guadalajara, Panama City, and in Kinshasa. I am glad we have a farmer's market here in Olympia, and that it is varied and friendly, it always fills me with nostalgia when we go there. But last night, I was far away from a market familiar to me, but yet, it felt like home. Maybe I'll go visit again in a next dream. I think I'll buy the bracelet to match the earrings when I meet up with the Gypsy artist.