It was a Sunday afternoon, not long after my arrival, and my pathetic-looking protein bar didn’t seem a nice option for a celebratory relocation meal. So despite the rain that greeted me, I crossed the curved roads, marched through the UNESCO protected city square–promising myself to slow down and enjoy it in milder weather–and stood haplessly outside the unmoving automatic doors of the Konzum supermarket.  The markets are closed on Sundays it seems, or certainly by Sunday afternoons.

Across the street was a vacant collection of outdoor stands where locals sell flowers, vegetables, homemade liquor, but only one location seemed open and lined with lights.  An old woman waited there with her honey, oil, fruits and vegetables. She wore a long skirt that falls to her thick-soled shoes. She also tugged at a handkerchief-sized scarf tied loosely to cover to top of her head and her ears. My mother put…