Fete Day

I got a late start this morning; household chores took up a chunk of time. But finally I made my way down the stairs with the recycling.  

Place Gambetta was overflowing with flea marketers.  The vendors and the clientele are mostly North African or Middle Eastern, and it is how I imagine a souk to be. Just about anything and everything was offered for sale. Watches for 2 Euros.  Telephones for 3.5 Euros.  Shoes, jewelry, and clothing that I didn't recognize, but looked mighty comfortable.  Bras--Lord but I have never seen so many padded bras for sale.  Most of the women shoppers wore headscarves and brooked no nonsense from the vendors. Those women left me far behind, in the dust. I must look like such a target amongst all those short, chattering, gesturing females. But those sellers have no idea how tightly I can hang on to my purse. I made my way down and around the outside of the market. By the time I got back to the head of the square, many merchants were packing up for the day.  By the time I returned to my house for lunch, the place was deserted. I think they may be back tomorrow, but that could be a different Sunday crew. 

I need a new watch, but I think I want one that costs more than 2 Euros.  I would like it to last a while.

So, I made my way over to the Place Carnot, where the Saturday market was well under way and the festivities were in full swing for the fete des vendages.  This time I took my time wandering through the stalls. All of the vintners there had wine for sale, of course. Many also were preparing food.  My absolute favorite was the guy who had a VAT and I mean a VAT of snails simmering in wine and garlic.  Oh my God, did it ever smell divine.

 Can you smell the wine and garlic?

The proprietor agreed to let me take the photo and then chided me for not letting him comb his hair first.

I was drawn to the sound of American country and western music.  The local line dancing club was performing and I was charmed nearly out of my skin.  There was nothing professional about them, except their determination to have a good time.  It was the biggest collection of blue jeans in one place that I have seen since leaving the west coast. They went through their finger-snapping, hand-clapping, boot-scooting routine to the delight of everyone.  Somehow these Frenchmen in cowboy hats just didn't compute, and one or two of them definitely lacked some rhythm. Bur who cares?  They were having a good time. The spectators were having a good time. They were participating in life, not sitting on the sidelines carping about being bored.  I hooted and hollered with all the rest of the crowd eery time they finished a piece.

Some use their bandanas as, well, belts.

I think this was one of the side-step moves.

This is a little blurry because it was a butt-wiggle move.  Some (like that cute guy second from the left) were more limber than others.

Finger snappin' concentration.

There was some pretty fancy footwork and boots to match.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I continued around the market, buying some veggies and some freesias--I now have gerbera daisies and freesias, which I love, in my living room.  I am so pleased by the abundance and selection and low price of the flowers here.   I also stopped at one farmer who raises his own pigs and turns them into delicacies like the little piece of ham I bought.  The good thing is that I don't have to buy a lot.  A little goes a long way in terms of flavor and satisfaction. And as I write this, the freesias are already perfuming my house.  How I love it.

This is the stand where I bough the freesias.

This vendor sells dried fruits and nuts.  It's an ingenious way to pack up. 

Market day is full of people, and almost everyone is in a festive mood.  Nobody pushes or shoves or stands around snorting impatiently.  People here know how to wait in line.

Friends of the Basque Country.  I hope to visit there soon.  Notice the great pile of fries in the lower right corner of the photo.  They were doing a brisk food business as well as selling plenty of wine.

I love market day.

I experienced another wonderful phenomenon.  When I tell people that I am here for a while, and that I came to France, to Carcassonne, specifically to learn to speak French, it somehow gives them permission to correct me, which I LOVE.  They are helping me learn; we are becoming acquaintances.  It's a wonderful feeling.  What wonders can come into our lives when we open up, reach out and allow other people to show us their truer selves!  Having to know everything is such a burden, and it feels great to just set it down!

I asked the lady where I bought a roast chicken if she sold only half.  She got a little animated when she replied that she couldn't cut the chickens in half.  I calmed her down by telling her that I understood; that there was no harm in asking, and I would take the plus petit (smallest) of her medium sized chickens. By the end of the exchange, we were talking and she, too, was helping me with my French.  

I LOVE MARKET DAY!!!!!