Not Quite the Schwann's Man

One of my favorite visits growing up came in the form of the Schwann's man.  We lived in the country and ever-mindful of the cost of gas and mileage on vehicles, Mom and Dad limited their grocery shopping in town.  But the Schwann's man?  He brought food to us.  I remember Mom perusing their colored leaflet to make her month's choices, then pulling out her checkbook for whatever special treats fit in the budget that month. In those days there was no Sam's Club or Costco -- just Schwanns' chicken strips, frozen pizzas, ice cream and orange push-ups, to name a few. 

Now imagine you lived in a country where less than half the population had their own personal vehicle.  Imagine you had to walk or take public transportation every time you needed to shop.

We hadn't lived in the village long before we started noticing trucks and vans that would slowly drive up and down our street with an indistinguishable voice blaring out a loud speaker.

Eventually we started to understanding the words of the purveyors:  "Onions!  Potatoes! Chickens!"

The light bulb lit up in our head -- the free market was at work right here in our sleepy little village.  If the customer can't get to your store, bring the store to the customer!  Especially if you are selling an item that is too heavy or bulky (or wiggly) to carry in hand long-distances or on a bus.

For months I've been wanting to photograph such an experience to share on the blog, but I'm a bit too shy to just step out into the street with my camera. Thankfully, the event above transpired last week right in front of our building so I could capture it from the privacy of our living room window.  

There is no professionally-painted vehicle.  There are no attractive glossy leaflets, just a husband and wife selling used clothes out of the trunk of their car and our neighbors stopping to peruse the merchandise with their own eyes and hands.

Another time we returned home to find a scraggly-looking flock of nearly feather-less chickens in our yard.  Someone who had been making a repair at our house had heard the street merchant (a local egg farm with a truck selling its old hens) and decided with his crew of workers to surprise their families by bringing home the evening's chicken dinner -- still alive.

And lest you think we haven't been brave enough to sample the goods, you'd be wrong.  One late afternoon almost a year ago, Nathan and I were preparing to hop in the car of some friends from Tirana  to go scout a location for an upcoming event when one of these trucks starts driving up the hill into our village.  Curious, our friends asked us the nature of the truck and what the man inside was shouting out his loudspeaker. We listened and told them that this particular truck was selling potatoes and onions.

Excited to be in a 'village' where we are so much closer to the source of the produce sold in the city markets, our friends said they wanted to buy some potatoes and onions to take back home to Tirana.  We waved the truck down and he stopped, opening the tail gate to reveal 10 kg (24 lb) bags.  It was way more than either of us would eat, so we agreed to split the cost and the produce 50/50.

A few days later I went to clean the potatoes for our evening meal and discovered they were full of eyes and overall quite old-looking.  I was embarrassed that my friends did not get the 'fresh' produce they were hoping for.  Then it dawned on me.  We had just bought planting potatoes and onions.  Duh.  We later put them in the ground for a summer harvest, laughing at our misunderstanding.  It was even funnier when we later ran into our friends and not wanting to be wasteful, they explained how much work they spent cleaning and cutting those potatoes to get something edible!

So no, the Schwann's man hasn't made it to Albania (yet), but his distant cousin has.  Sort of.