I live in a suburb away from the hubub of central São Paulo. The life here is quieter. Yes, we do have very heavy traffic on my road because it is a main throughfare connecting two bypasses, but on the whole, it is quiet. On market days, our quiet is broken by the cry of various vendors.
For a long time, we heard this strange cry. None of us could make out what was being sold. By chance one day, Tatiana and I were outside when we heard the cry and could finally associate it with this gentleman. The cry turned out to be "Peixe! Peixe!" or "Fish! Fish!" It turns out that he has been doing this for quite a few decades. I guess when you're that familiar with your territory and people know you, it no longer really matters w hat you say. He will come to your door, clean and fillet the fish for you and be on his way again.
For a long time, we heard this strange cry. None of us could make out what was being sold. By chance one day, Tatiana and I were outside when we heard the cry and could finally associate it with this gentleman. The cry turned out to be "Peixe! Peixe!" or "Fish! Fish!" It turns out that he has been doing this for quite a few decades. I guess when you're that familiar with your territory and people know you, it no longer really matters w hat you say. He will come to your door, clean and fillet the fish for you and be on his way again.
Small world. :-) Here in our part of Scotland a fishmonger drives his little van through the town hooting. If you want fish... you go outside and he does pretty much the same thing. What really gets to me though is the fact he stops for cats. Yep! Cats!
ReplyDeleteIn the first place we lived three cats would wait for him every thursday and run out, tails up, meowing when his van appeared. Then he'd pull over and give them some scraps each.
Now we live out in the country. Lovely out here, but I miss the fish van... and the cats. :-)