Mahaneh Yehuda

Smell fresh bread wafting on the shouts of selling market men,

The constant jangle of money in a cup keeps a rhythm to the many footsteps and bubble of conversation,

Conversation of so many languages, nations culminating in one country;

Israeli, American, British, Spanish, Austrian, German, Canadian, Danish, Russian, Chinese.

Red, yellow, pink, whit bags... so many bags. Prams, trollies, daughters and sons all now donkeys. 

Fruit, Vegetables, spices, nuts, baklava, breads, shoes, clothes, pillows...

Familiar names intensified by 100 times in a desert heat. Flowering smells and tastes. Coriander, cumin, chilli, paprika, cinnamon, black pepper, turmeric, dill, rosemary...

Busy hot ovens are kept going by skinny short haired young men in tight bleach worn jeans 

Obvious orthodox jewish men walk past in their black and white pride and glory - tassels hanging at the   four corners of their suit jackets. Big beards and big bellies.

Women with head scarfs wrapped neatly around the crown of their heads, long skirts flowing around each step.

Huddles of young self conscious travellers in short shorts yip their familiar languages in excitement

...as everyone buys food before shabat silences the streets.