When Bread Becomes A Moving Target

There are three main types of bread here. One is the French baguette. The second is a local bread that is very dense and very cheap, and therefore my preference. The third is what we affectionately call "styrofoam bread." Imagine a fluffy white bread, remove half the density, and then make it stiff. Ick.

Unfortunately styrofoam bread is by far the most common bread here. For some reason it is considered to be nicer than my favorite type. This is probably because of the French, who turned up their noses at my bread and made it illegal. Now that the French are gone the bread has made a comeback, but only from a limited number of specialised bakers. As a result, figuring out where to buy the stuff can be quite a challenge.

Half a mile from where I work there are always guys selling this bread. Unfortunately it is half a mile in exactly the opposite direction from my apartment, and there is nothing else in that direction to make it worth the one-mile round trip. So ever since I moved in to my new apartment I have been looking for a place to get the kneaded gold.

I thought I had struck the motherload (or at least a small vein) when I saw a guy selling the bread right next to one of the places the vans like to stop. RIGHT next to it. In other words, the bread tasted faintly of diesel and burned oil. But hey, you take what you can get.

Unfortunately, the next time I swung by he wasn't there. Or the third time. Or the fourth.

Then I found another guy selling bread at another location just a 5 minute walk from my apartment. Again, right next to a bus stop. Oh well, I had found a consistent supplier. Or had I?

I've never seen the guy again since.

I scoured all of the small shops in my neighborhood, looking for one that would sell me the stuff. I finally found one- for that day. The next time I went back he was out.

I talked to my neighbour about it and he said that you have to know what time of day to go to each place. He gets his from the second guy I found, but that guy never gets there until 8:00 in the morning. That doesn't help me; I'm at work by that time. Then he told me about another little shop that carries it, but only after a certain time in the afternoon. I tried there Sunday but apparently the bread hadn't arrived yet. The guy said he was out but it would be coming "right away." In this country, "right away" can easily mean three hours.

So the adventure continues!