Field Notes
p. 110
Field notes: a morning in Tavira
Four hours, one notebook and a market that closes at noon.

07:10. The fish market is already loud. Octopus, curled and grey, on crushed ice; a crate of red mullet still twitching. A woman in a pink apron is arguing about the price of clams and winning.
08:30. Coffee and a pastel de nata at the counter of a café that has no name, only a number above the door. Three fishermen discuss the wind. Nobody looks at their phone.
10:00. The fruit hall: figs, the last of the melons, and the first oranges, still green-skinned and sour.
11:45. Shutters coming down. Lunch, somebody tells me, starts at one, and it would be rude to be early.
“By eleven the octopus has gone and the gossip is just starting.”
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