Byward Market

Not that we hadn't plenty to do around the house. Yesterday was a chilly day, somewhat windy, heavily overcast and certain not to reach the forecast high of 6 degrees. And there was the thought: why not take a drive and go to Byward Market? It's a treat, one of many we reserve for certain days, and those days are usually when we want to stock on up special cheeses, a load of good hefty Jewish breads, and magazines the better to while away evening hours before the fireplace of a mid-fall day.

It's a pleasant drive to arrive there from where we're located; first along the picturesque parkway, past the Governor-General's grounds, 24 Sussex Drive, and the National Gallery, the Peacekeeping monument, and - what's that? Something going on; men in naval uniforms hoisting brass instruments gathering around the monument, so what's up? We find a good parking spot, not too far from where we plan to ramble along, and begin to pass one of the uniformed officers who explains (of course!) there's a ceremony honouring the presence of the Swedish King and Queen.

We hoist Button and Riley in their carry bags over our shoulders and trundle down to the market area. Too cold now for most of the outdoor vendors and their produce. Plenty of pumpkins, though, and root vegetables in evidence. Not too many people out and about, in comparison to the shoulder-to-shoulder crush generally out in the market. But it's still picturesque, still a treat for the eyes, still a good and wholesome place to be wandering about.

All the little shops in the market, selling everything from footwear to magazines, hand-made jewellery to fruits and vegetables, German-style sausages from a storefront sausage "factory" to the oriental rice we favour from a Chinese shop specializing in everything oriental. Hand-made soaps to designer garments are there to attract window shoppers and actual shoppers. Not to mention the vast variety of restaurants and pubs, many of them preparing and serving ethnic foods: Indian, Lebanese, French, Pakistani, Italian; take your pick.

First stop for us is the magazine shop and we exit finally with a copy of the bi-monthly art magazine we've been looking for. Then to one of the many cheese shops where we consult and agree and exit with our choices for the day. And then we can bob along the street entertained by the movement, the colour, the aliveness of it all. As we leave the market area to approach our car a fragment of the U.S. Embassy looms in the near distance looking like an unfortunately-placed nuclear plant.

We drive a relatively short distance to Rideau Street, past the giant liquor outlet, the converted Synagogue, the large Loblaws store which quaintly permits its elderly lady customers to bring their small dogs in to the store, placing them on blankets on the child seats of the shopping buggies. There it is - the Rideau Bakery, a long-time installation on the street and the target we're headed for. I sit in the car and watch the multitudes pass, young and old, brown, yellow, white, garbed in unusual clothing, not so unusual at all now.

Next to the bakery there is a shop which sells Indian videos, snacks, grains and rice, and halal lamb, chicken, beef and fish. Next to it is a large East African restaurant, and close by this trio are other Indian, African, Pakistani and Lebanese restaurants into which passerby continually enter and exit. This is truly a community of communities. And there he is! exiting the bakery, staggering under the weight and bulk of all those breads we're set to pop into our home freezer and gradually use up until it's time for another visit to the market area.

This is a treat, this is our city, this is the nation's capital.