Yesterday morning I had an appointment in town and had the opportunity to walk through the pedestrian district afterwards on the way to work.

Wednesday is market day, and it had been a while since I’d had the chance to wander among the vendor stalls lining the winding streets of the city. The morning was bright and the air was still fresh. It was early enough that there weren’t too many people, and some of the merchants wished me a pleasant morning from behind their tables. The brightly colored fruits, vegetables, spices and flowers were a feast for the senses.

At a small square near one of the metro stops, some street performers had set up. Two young men were playing an oriental sounding melody on an oud and an instrument that looked and sounded like a morin khuur. A young woman dressed in red and black was dancing with a hoop, her striped skirt swirling as she gracefully turned round and round. It was a festive feeling that seemed to have more connection with our medieval past than with our virtual future.

I wish I were able to shop at the market or even just visit more often. It seemed so alive. The link to the past and the feeling of connectedness were very strong. A block away it was all gone. I waited to cross the street as the sunlight reflected off the cars, and the hum of the traffic swept away the idyllic images I had just encountered.