Nov. 29th, 2009

source_fairy: (Silver goddess)
Sirona opens the door on a sandstone stair leading up from some basement, and when they walk up the stairs, they find themselves on a market square. Between a sandstone town hall, a large red-brick church and a castle with a roundish colonnade on one corner, there are many booths, half of them selling food and drink, and the other half potential Christmas gifts.

You get soup in bowls and fish in buns and fried potato pancakes; breaded calamari rings and Alsatian onion tarte; beer and wine and mulled punch, white wine or red or fruit only for the kids. There is an enticing smell of gingerbread and marzipan and sweet things deep-fried crisply. There are chestnut stalls and sausage stalls and one that sells only candied fruit.

At other stalls, you find old-fashioned tin toys or delicate glass ornament, red-cheeked wooden angels and warm, colourful felt slippers, hand-made jewellery from all sorts of materials, and graceful mobiles of flying birds. You find charity christmas cards and fair-trade handbags from India, you find Russian dolls and wooden puppets and nativity scenes and one stall entirely dedicated to leather hats from Australia.

Everything is lit by giant stylised lilies that seem to grow up between the booths, and there is music playing -- live music from a stage by the town hall. And there are people -- about 1.5 times the number of people that can physically ft into the space between town hall, castle, and church. "It is always like this!" Sirona says, cheerfully. "Where do you want to go?"

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Sirona

November 2009

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