There are many reasons, as this blog effusively demonstrates, why I love markets. Foremost amongst them though is probably the vision of abundance it offers. This may sound horrible and consumerist; maybe it is, but hear me out: we are inundated everyday with front-page shock-value revelations of brokenness and neediness and injustice. The sight of baskets of fresh vegetables and whole fruit layered atop one another at a farmer’s market is a welcome change of scenery. It conjures notions of wholeness, harmony, pleasure. Of peace and comfort.
Especially heartwarming when it’s in a country with a turbulent history. Prague’s devastatingly beautiful architecture belies ghosts of ideologies past — the tyrannical asceticism of the Communists, followed immediately by the Nazis (because of course). Now the Vlatva River, which witnessed show trials during the period of Stalinisation and Czech resistance against the Germans, flows proudly by a bustling Saturday farmer’s market. It’s a blazing morning (somehow, the weather always comes through when I go market tripping) and the market is easy enough to sniff out: tents line the riverbank, I hear strains of jazz from buskers at the market’s mouth. This one’s more of a carnival than your average morning shop — but let’s be real, any decent market is much more than that anyway.
The crowd: a medley of merry makers, visibly in weekend mode. Young couples pushing prams, millennial professional types holding hands (the lady: summer dress, Birkenstocks; the guy: button-down shirt, cuffed chinos, loafers; both sporting Ray-Bans), tourists from across the spectrum (sunburnt American retirees, the duo of backpacking Aussies, a gaggle of teens with generic international school accents evidently on their big interrail Europe trip). It looks like the setting for a pretentious pageant of ‘farm-fresh produce’ with equally puffed-up prices, but the unassuming bustle convinces you of its authenticity, and draws you into its patrons’ Saturday morning languor.
It’s 11am by the time Mum and I reach Naplavka, and I’m starving. I snap up the first thing I see — a cheese and walnut bread stick, which does not disappoint — and off we go. Except unlike many previous market visits, which have often been characterised as reconnaissance missions or hunts, even, this one feels more like what it is: a stroll, punctuated by leisurely pauses.
This market visit is not a cultural explosion, nor is it a headfirst dive into authenticity. I’m aware that I am seeing one very particular facet of Czech society; perhaps not really that local at all, in fact. This market scene could be anywhere from Fremantle, Australia to San Francisco, USA. But it speaks to something particularly Czech nonetheless: an aspirational gravitation to the West, an expression of their ideas of the good life. To be sure, such ideas are not unknown to them: a glimpse of the magnificent Municipal House tells you a bit about the former Czechoslovakia’s rich cultural capital that comes only with affluence. I watch dogs sniff each other’s butts and kids feed swans gliding down the Vlatva. Some Bohemian-types are selling amber at the end of the market. Just nearby, a wine festival is just getting into full swing. The air is a mix of jazz tunes, relaxed bustle, and the smell of freshly cooked food. It’s a far, far cry from the violence this country has seen in modern history. It is nonetheless pregnant with meaning: this country has taken a longer road than many counterparts to arrive at the promised reward: democracy. It’s late morning on a Saturday, and this city is enjoying freedom for all its worth.
Market Survey 