A Successful (?) Sunday: llamas wearing top hats. café à la árabe

I went this morning (afternoon) to a weekend market called Persa Bío-Bío across the Mapocho (river). There are so many markets like this in Santiago, and I tend to stumble upon them by accident/sheer luck. This one, a friend advised me about. It is only open on Saturdays and Sundays, but they sell EVERYTHING. Goodness—EVERYTHING.

Except acceptable cameras.

I am veritably hunting for a camera. When I was packing up and heading out of California on my way to Santiago, I didn’t have “enough room” to pack a camera. … For someone whose life source is creative explorations, “enough room” can always be made for things of this nature. But I didn’t make it. I don’t know what went wrong there. But wrong, it went. And I am without a suitable camera. With any luck, and a bit of diligence, this situation will not persist.

I really need to get my hands on a camera.

It doesn’t even have to work. Well, just a little. But, really, it can be from the year 1956 and on the verge of breaking down. I don’t care. Better that way, I imagine, than without. I just need a manual SLR that (barely) works. And then, I will certainly be able to continue living, no problem.

What was I thinking?

When I went to Persa Pio-Pio this morning, I didn’t find my suitable camera. But, what I found were several photographable moments: midget horses with child-riders, an old man sleeping on a cart, with a dog curled up next to him, among people bustling on errands of mock importance (because who really needs a new cell phone cover?), and a llama wearing a top hat. What has gone wrong with us all? Maybe nothing. Perhaps this is how Sundays were intended to be.

I returned empty-handed. No—that’s an equivocation. I found a … ¿cómo se llama? It’s a special carafe made out of copper that is used to make Turkish coffee. I’ve been in the market for one of these babies, but I haven’t been keen on spending 15 lucca (~$30) for a new one. The one I found is without a handle, but it really doesn’t even matter. I’ll find a stick and fashion my own grippage for it. Mil quinientos. (~$3.) That’s a pretty good deal in my book.

After Persa Bío-Bío, I passed the rest of the afternoon doing much of nothing in my apartment. It’s quite nice to do nothing, because all week long I come and go, leaving and arriving, hopping about from place to place. I get so caught up in my hopping about that it makes me nervous to stay in one place. And just as I was starting to worry that I’ve been too reclusive this week, I heard the doorbell (i.e. my friend whistling down the hall) and had to smile at the high security system offered by the doormen in the portería downstairs.

Amigo and his amigo arrived, and we went out for drinks, talk of visting India, mention of visits to Playa del Carmen, followed by more friends (should say, acquaintances, but what matter?) and platters of sushi.

All in all, a successful Sunday, I regret to say. Shouldn’t Sundays, of all the days we have, be the least successful?