My daughter brightly chirped, “The outdoor market we’re visiting is just a short walk from here.”

I chuckled. I’d heard Tammie say, ‘It’s just a short walk from here’ every day, sometimes several times each day, since we’d arrived in Rome a week and a half earlier. She especially liked to share this information within moments of stepping out of a bus or subway car to reassure me we wouldn’t be walking a long distance. Often, the two blocks felt like miles to me.

Each small shop called to me as we passed, “Stop and shop!” I was drawn to a leather purse, a table runner, and a bottle of Limoncello. Although I’d shopped every day for the last ten days, everything looked fresh and interesting as though I was seeing it all for the first time. Tammie laughed at my enthusiasm. I grimaced and admitted, “You know what’s going on, here, don’t you? We’re flying home tomorrow, and this is our last day of vacation.” Pausing, I continued solemnly, “One summer day when your grandma had terminal cancer, she shared with me that the sky had never looked bluer, and the tree leaves never looked more vibrantly green to her.”

My daughter nodded in understanding of my analogy and added, “Knowing she’d never experience another summer, she wasn’t taking anything for granted.”

The narrow Italian street we were walking, came to a large open, cobblestoned, oblong piazza, filled with water fountains, statues, and crowds of people. Tammie asked, “Do you remember this place?”

Amazed, I looked around and exclaimed, “We visited this place on our second day in Rome, but we entered from the side furthest from where we are now.”

Pointing to a side street, Tammie announced, “The open market is one block away. I can see some sales booths from here.”

As we entered the street, I noticed a man on the street corner setting up a grill to roast chestnuts. I’d noticed other street vendors doing this during our visit to Rome. I whispered to my daughter, “I’ve never tasted roasted chestnuts. I’m going to buy some when we are finished at the market.”

The outdoor market consisted of row after row of booths, each selling a wide variety of goods. We admired one selling pots of flowering plants. All the fruit on display at one stand were huge. Thirsty from walking to the market and desiring another unique experience, we eagerly took a salesman up on his offer of fresh pomegranate juice. Selecting a plump, colorful fruit, he cut it in half and placed it in a metal juicer and pulled a lever. The small glass of ruby-colored juice he handed to us was tart and astringent but satisfying.

Some stands sold different kinds of candy, others leather purses, and still other dresses, pants, and shirts. On one side of the market, butcher booths sold raw meat dangling from ropes. Refrigeration didn’t appear to be important. Booths selling delicatessen foods, vinegar and alcohol were especially popular.

Tammie asked a vender for a bottle of limoncello. That was all it took to turn the young man into a salesman-vortex. Our experience was akin to taking a never-ending sales promotion carnival ride. It wouldn’t be easy to escape. In thickly accented English he told us he loved Americans-a relative of his had even married one.

Just buying one bottle wasn’t good enough. He insisted we had to look at other products. Told we couldn’t tolerate the cheese in pesto, he pivoted his sales pitch to his olive oils and vinegars. He gave us samples of balsamic vinegars that were aged ten, fifteen and twenty years. I knew he was turning the screws. How could a person walk away from such eagerness and affability? He was very good at what he was doing. We enjoyed the experience and managed to get away with only three bottles of balsamic vinegar, four mini bottles of limoncello and an unexpectedly delightful bottle of salted caramel liquor.

On our way back to the bus stop after shopping, I bought a paper cone filled with freshly roasted chestnuts. Hot to the touch, I pried a cracked shell open and popped the nutmeat into my mouth. The taste surprised me. It was sweet, starchy, and unlike any other nut I have eaten.

My daughter and I sat on a bench sharing our snack and enjoying the holiday atmosphere of the surging crowds of people. When it was time to catch the bus back to our apartment, Tammie stood up and solicitously reassured me, “The bus stop is just a short walk from here.”