I love market days.  Almost every town has it’s own market, with stalls crammed full of fresh, local produce.  Whatever fruits and vegetables are in season are in abundance, at incredibly low prices. There are vans loaded with smoked and cured fish, cheese and ham, and other stands selling all kinds of dried fruits, nuts and sweets,  Lines of rotisserie chickens are roasted on spits and give off an irresistible aroma. 

The smells of the food mingle together, and after half an hour of wandering up and down the lanes of vendors,  I am usually starving.  But food isn’t all that these markets have to offer.  There is also usually Spanish pottery, leather belts and bags from Africa (just a short hop over the Gibraltar Strait), bolts of fabric and curtains, and racks and racks of clothes.  South American artists make and sell acrylic paintings on tiles,  and traditional Spanish guitar music floats out from the CD stand.

A few weeks ago,  I was out walking my Westie, Sam, when I discovered that our sleepy little village had suddenly been deemed deserving of a market license!  A line of stands was already bustling with locals excited about the prospect of buying goods from their very own market instead of going to the neighbouring towns of San Pedro Del Pinatar, or Pilar de la Horadada.  Whether or not it will keep running in the quiet off-season months,  I don’t know,  but for at least the next few weeks I will enjoy my Tuesday morning Market day,  stocking up on roast chicken, fresh melons and boquerones (small pickled sardines) without a twenty minute bike ride in the heat.