For context, I go on holidays every year to a village in Italy called Brisighella. It’s straight out of central casting for medieval Italian villages. An abundance of history, staggeringly good food, landscape and weather. Into this it also has some great hills for running so I get to go out every second (or third) morning and do a nice 9.5 mile run around the olive groves and soft fruit orchards, my only company the occasional drone of the 3-wheeled Ape van favoured by the Italian hill farmers.
The nearest main town, Faneza, is about 10km away and is our destination of choice when sitting about at the pool gets too much. When in Faenza we can indulge in one of our main holiday pass times of browsing the shops and complaining about how much we’re being ripped off at home. Booze and bicycles are my comparison benchmarks.
The town has been hosting a children’s market (mercatino dei ragazzi) on summer Thursday evenings for the past 33 years. For 5 of the past 33 years I’ve dragged my kids there for a bit of shopping.
€2 buys you a wealth of tat.
At that market I’ve spotted the same people year-on year and I’ve photographed one of them – an old lady- every year. Mainly because of the coincidence of us both being there and also because an elderly wheelchair bound lady visiting a children’s market poses more questions than it answers.
I don’t think we’ll have a time passes VI