Each step seemed to make Rena feel like she was coming home. She wasn't sure how, exactly. She had never been in this place. Nor had her life growing up been some place like it. And yet, everything felt familiar. The way the people moved, how they spoke to each other. Clothing and buildings in colors that just seemed to go together, to fit even though another part of her- the one that had spent over a year as a model wearing the latest fashions- knew that they were not stylish nor fit. Strains of music floated above the venue, snatches of songs that, if not specifically known to her, were familiar all the same.
Above all, the smells. She wandered from shop to shop, each time a door open or a tent flap was moved aside, familiar scents of life and home swept over her.
It was as if the entire experience of being Romani had been somehow distilled to this place.
And strangely, that sense of trepidation, of worry, melted away. She felt home. Her mood changed, her step lightened, her smile wider and open and honest. Into one shop, dense with the smells of home, she went, only to walk out later, carefully holding a hot meat pie in her hand, its warm flavors filling her with thoughts of mama and papa.
Another shop beckoned with various kinds of clothing, through which she rifled, soon leaving with two full bags.
The Fortune Teller's tent beckoned and her mind went back to one of the old women of her childhood, peering intently at her palm, breath warm and rather pungent, as she spoke in words Rena didn't understand.
Right at the entrance of the tent there were two other girls, one playing a violin while the other danced with a man. It felt like a private dance. Intimate. She looked around. They were outside. She smiled slightly, not wanting to interrupt. But it felt strange to just walk past them into the store.
"I'm sorry," she said. It was dumb. This was a shop. Still, she felt like an outsider who stumbled into someone's bedroom.
Above all, the smells. She wandered from shop to shop, each time a door open or a tent flap was moved aside, familiar scents of life and home swept over her.
It was as if the entire experience of being Romani had been somehow distilled to this place.
And strangely, that sense of trepidation, of worry, melted away. She felt home. Her mood changed, her step lightened, her smile wider and open and honest. Into one shop, dense with the smells of home, she went, only to walk out later, carefully holding a hot meat pie in her hand, its warm flavors filling her with thoughts of mama and papa.
Another shop beckoned with various kinds of clothing, through which she rifled, soon leaving with two full bags.
The Fortune Teller's tent beckoned and her mind went back to one of the old women of her childhood, peering intently at her palm, breath warm and rather pungent, as she spoke in words Rena didn't understand.
Right at the entrance of the tent there were two other girls, one playing a violin while the other danced with a man. It felt like a private dance. Intimate. She looked around. They were outside. She smiled slightly, not wanting to interrupt. But it felt strange to just walk past them into the store.
"I'm sorry," she said. It was dumb. This was a shop. Still, she felt like an outsider who stumbled into someone's bedroom.