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on the way to the bloemenmarket

On the way to the bloemenmarket we get distracted by a bridge; a fleamarket; an almost-perfect dress; the perfect top; earrings shaped like birds, eyes, the wrong lizards and two kinds of dinosaur; hawaiian shirts, repeatedly; a shop full of fairies with mock-rock walls and a muttering staircase; a big pink hat with far too many flowers on; African drumming (but not in a good way); and long sweet sunny grachts. When we finally get there I want a tulip, but (though sorely tempted by the discotulpen) none meet the exacting standards of my idea of tulips from Amsterdam, at least, not in a permenant way. We take some photos, and Ellé buys something small and blue and white. Not a delftware penis.