Today, I woke up relatively early in the hopes of preparing myself for a week of early mornings and found that the weather was foul, with the kind of rain that really only Wellington can summon upon the earth (which is to say hugely wet and oppressively consistent). Rather than do anything interesting, I wrote up a bunch of blog posts etc (see also: the many entries have mysteriously appeared through backdating magic) until Claire got up a while later. Without discussing it, Claire and I got up and ready to make it to the farmer's market.
I'm not sure if I've written about the farmer's market at any length, but we are regular goers and it's become a Thing. A routine. We bring both our backpacks and the green reuseable shopping bag and we go to town (quite literally). Produce there is fresh and absurdly affordable, and I can get my weekly fruit fix. I can get mandarin oranges for two dollars a kilogram. Asian pear is the same price. Nectarines and plums are a bit more at $2.50/kilo. The rest of the produce is equally awesome, and we are really good about finishing everything that we buy. (It's gotten to the point where Claire needs to stop me from glutting myself on more fruit! More fruit!)
In addition to the truly excellent produce, we also have two other stands we regularly attend. One is the (-- quick, vegetarians, avert your eyes!-- ) manuka-smoked salami stand, which has absolutely mouth-watering venison salami. We got a half roll of cracked pepper and red wine salami a few weeks back, and it was absolute perfection. Today, we got salami with chili, and it has this amazing slow burn in your mouth. Oh my goodness. It is amazing.
The other stand we discovered because Claire is the polar opposite of the Atkins diet and would be happy to subsist off of bread and butter for the rest of her life. The first week we were in Wellington, we were still figuring out bread options, and she had sworn that we passed a bread stand. We scoured the place and the first bread place was not so great. It was, anyway, out of French bread, which what she wanted. Disappointed, we continued walking and came across this little stand with pastries and a basket of delicious loaves behind the display. This, my friends, is where we met Frenchbread Man for the first time.
Allow me to expound on Frenchbread Man for a little bit. At first, he was just like any other seller, cold and nestled in his layers, but then he turned to look at us, and we collectively swooned. He's slim with dark, curly hair and light eyes. Really striking. But then he opened his mouth and we, thunderstruck, learned that he has the most adorable French accent. Even Claire was not immune to his charms.
Anyhow, he also has some amazing French bread that we devoured that first day with the salami, and from then our hearts sang for French bread and Frenchbread Man.
So it's our Sunday indulgence at the farmer's market. We get all of our fruit and veg shopping done, occasionally stop in for some salami, and then we swing by the Frenchbread Man's stand to get our week's worth of French bread and ogling.
Today, as previously mentioned, was a cold and wet day, so the market was pretty sparse. We did our shopping and then went to the Frenchbread Man's stand. It was towards the end of the market's hours, and we requested our weekly French bread, and then -- oh, and then -- Frenchbread Man started up conversation and we learned where his bakery is (I'm not actually sure if it's his bakery or what exactly his role is. Perhaps he is simply the beautiful man the bakery hires to woo passing Americans. Perhaps he is not even French.). We chatted for a few delirious minutes, and then he gave us a chocolate croissant for free.
I'm pretty sure he recognizes us as the weirdos who stare just a little bit too long and he simply had too many croissants left to sell, but nonetheless-- oh my heart. Frenchbread Man, I will happily buy your Frenchbread and your chocolate croissants! (The legitimate part of my brain would also like to mention that the croissant was delicious. Bakery, the beautiful man you hired to woo us has done his job! I am hooked!)
Anyhow, after that exciting venture, we went down to Cuba Street to do a little bit of focussed shopping.
I don't want to get too boring here, but one strange thing about moving here is that no matter how cozy I get, I know that at the end of my stay, I'm going to have to pack everything I own back into one suitcase and head home. It makes me extremely disinclined to buy things, but, at the same time, my wardrobe was entirely limited to the things that fit into that one suitcase. So there's this constant balance of what I need(, what I can afford), and what I'll be able to keep. It also means that everything I buy I have to think through my wardrobe and consider whether it'll match my limited color palette. Luckily, Wellington fashion is stuck on all black all the time, so whenever I go drab, I fit right in.
(An aside: I'm pretty sure that Frenchbread Man recognizes us because, in the farmer's market, we are quite possibly the easiest to spot people who aren't holding dogs or small children. Claire has bright red hair and wears a chartreuse jacket. I have a silver purse and wear a purple coat. In the times where we split up to get whatever items, I have no trouble spotting her. Also, we have American accents. And ogle.)
We took the train back to town, did our laundry, did whatever random things one does in a house, and then we made dinner.
It was only when I walked into the kitchen to see Claire starting to make omerice, a distinctly Korean dish, that I realized how settled we've gotten. We go to the Sunday farmer's market and we make our rounds. When we did laundry, we hung it up on the drying racks without thinking about it (during the summer apparently they hang it up on the lines outside). I mentioned it was cold, and Claire said, offhand, "Yeah, I was thinking of starting up the fire." There is no central heating in our house, so we light the fireplace to heat the house. Part of the flat money goes into buying kindling. Claire and I make dinners together, and she's picked up on some Korean foods and I've picked up a few of her recipes. When we wash and dry dishes, we fall right into position and we know where everything goes. Tomorrow, we're going to stop by the local video store and check out our Monday weekly rentals.
It's nice. For the first time, I'm starting to feel like I could be here a while. Tomorrow, I'm temping at some place located off the Botanic Gardens (Claire and I visited the other day so we knew where to go. My agent gave me directions, and they sounded like the start to a bad RPG: "Take the street halfway down. Turn into the small lane. Take the cable car to the top of the hill. Turn right. Turn left. You will walk a few hundred meters before you can see the building. Climb up the stairs. Press the third brick from the left and a passage will appear. Beware the ghouls."). I'm getting a call tomorrow confirming it, but I think -- I hope -- I am going to start working for an energy company for a bit after that.
I feel good, productive. There is work (and money!) in my future. We are trying for our car again tomorrow via online bidding. (Claire and I talked about the whole bidding thing, and we were both amused by the fact that they tried to drive up the price. Claire had received a call from the auction house the next day, asking about whether we would still be interested in similar cars in the future etc etc, and at the time she was sort of perplexed by the call. Now we think that they were trying to gauge whether they missed their chance. We're bidding under my name this time.) I'm also involved with a charity auction, and I'm going to be making some customized artstuff for two generous people. I also am in the midst of planning a silly collaboration with someone I respect hugely.
It's been a good day.
(Gratuitous endnote: I thought of Korean fried chicken today and have spent the past two hours trying to find a place where I'd be able to obtain it. The local Asian grocery store is decent, but it doesn't make food on the premises, and the internet seems to be holding out on me for places in Wellington where I can buy Korean side dishes. And who knows what I will do if I can't find an adequate replacement? Salivate, probably. Experiment, possibly.
Isn't it silly that this is the first thing that makes me really miss home? I'm having such a hard time wrapping my mind around the idea that there may be no overflowing tins of Korean fried chicken in my near future. What do you mean I won't be able to drive to Touhy and Crawford and ask the Asian man slumped against the cash register in broken Korean for kampoongi? It is genuinely perplexing. And, honestly, a little bit upsetting.)
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