It was so hard to choose what to eat- but I finally settled on a salted pork sandwich, served on a baguette. It was so yummy and I loved people watching while I ate it on a plastic chair that had the legs broken off and was cemented to a concrete bench in a make-shift food-court. It was totally un-glamorous.
Then I wandered more, bought a few Christmas gifts, and saw some books that I think my literary family members would swoon over.
**COME VISIT SOOOOOOON!**
So it turns out it IS hard. Sometimes during the week I cry and I wallow in self-pity. I miss my homogenized world back home with my mini-van and secure social circle. Then I languish in guilt for not valuing this experience enough and for not BEING more open-minded and grateful and brave.
But then I get the chance to wander the streets of this really beautiful and wondrous place and it's worth it. For a few hours I can be present and "conscious of my treasures". Portobello Market was one of those experiences for me. And it's strange sometimes, the ways and places we feel close to God. But my heart felt full, amid the cigarette smoke and crowds and happy chatter of families and friends in their world, and I felt lucky to be a part of it.