The Amsterdam markets offer bits and pieces of poetry, artifacts from other lives. They beg for their wares to achieve new contexts. Countless booths offering cheese, bread, seafood, and pastries stake claims for the dinner table.
My favourite: an endless stream of postcards pulled from attics, some going on a hundred years old, some with the original text still penciled into the back. Old shots of the city and pictures of men and women wearing turn of the century finery. Baby pictures of people now long gone. Politically incorrect kitsch competes for space with tribal masks and antique dolls.
Stop for sausage or shredded ham sandwiches by the counter where the proprietors sing cheesy American ’80s ballads back and forth, or crepes packed with bacon and cheese, formed into perfect circles before folding.