McCrackens Round Up (to ten!): Prams, Biscuits and Boots

I will miss this city when I leave. Being here is like stripping life back to the basics, beginning with family and ending with chocolate. All the waste and materialism layered between is just …. absent.

Everywhere I glance, there are children walking along holding the hand of a parent, grandparent or great-grandparent. If they’re not walking, it’s because they’re being pushed in a pram -- rain, snow and shine. On the stoops of apartments, you’ll see tween-aged girls sitting outside giggling and whispering the old-fashioned way, before Barbie movies were invented. When it’s not snowing, boys are outside playing street-type soccer, of their own accord. In the early afternoon, a fresh wave of school-aged children wearing backpacks emerges, attached to the hand of an adult; at five o’clock, husbands walk home from work carrying a loaf of fresh bread. Any time of the day, the very elderly are seated outside their apartment doors, watching the world go by like cats perched on windowsills. There’s a refreshing absence of electronic gadgets and superfluous trinkets, toys, and video contraptions.

Mothers do not “wear” their babies here, which has caused my attachment parenting theories to crumple. No Baby Kelties, Baby Bjorns, Ergos, or slings?? That’s right: Na-da. Do the children seem flawed as a result? On the contrary, children out and about have wonderful eye contact and smile adoringly at their care providers. They are well-behaved and HAPPY. In lieu of baby-wearing, there are prams. Everywhere there are prams, four-wheeled buggies with large wheels, a canopy that extends from the feet upwards to the chin, and lots of spring action. Rain, shine, or snow, babies and tots cruise in snowsuits so big, fluffy and luxurious that their arms look jackknifed, jutting straight up out of their prams. Often the prams are being pushed by a grandparent or great-grandparent who watches the children while the parents work. When the pram-pusher comes to a stop (to talk to a friend or at a street light), they have a way of gently and rhythmically rocking the pram back and forth sideways in the same way that we bounce our legs when we hold an infant. And most interestingly of all: I have never heard a baby crying.

Other random things hardly worth mentioning, but here goes anyway:

Shoes. Dare I start? I’ve unknowingly planted myself in the middle of The Kingdom of Shoes. If just I’d brought a shoe budget, I’d be in heaven. I mean, REAL SHOES. Shoes that fit. Shoes that last. Shoes that withstand miles of daily walking, mud puddles, and snow. SHOES MADE OF LEATHER. Boots that leave me drooling. Stilettos that even my co-worker Patty doesn’t already own and probably hasn’t even dreamt up yet. I could spend an entire day watching shoes walk by (and I secretly do).

Lastly, addictions. I’m shamefully addicted to the biscuit cookies which are sold bulk in open air markets so that I can just point with my fingers and indicate how big a bag I’d like! It’s hard to feel guilty when an entire bag costs approximately $1 U.S. I’ve cleverly cleared a section of my suitcase to accommodate a ton or two for the trip home.

And the noodles, how they put our sticky, starchy U.S. counterparts to shame! Noodles, which are also sold bulk here in open air markets, are shaped and textured differently than ours – and when cooked, they are almost a stand-alone meal, dense and flavorful. And if that weren’t enough, decadent chocolate bars abound. They stare at me from every check-out stand and find their way into my shopping bag, every time. Tonight, as I ate an entire bar in lieu of dinner whilst typing this silly blog, I reassured myself that my protein needs were met by virtue of hazelnuts.