Toques et Clochers

Every year on the weekend before Easter the local area is a buzz with the event Toques et Clochers, meaning 'chef's hat and Church towers', which is a celebration of wine and local communities.

Run by local wine producer Sieur D'Arques for 24 years, the festival promotes white wines from different vineyard growing regions, including Houte Valley, Auton, Oceanic and Mediterranean, and takes place in two parts.

The first is a festival and community celebration held on the Saturday, with a town or village in the area coming alive with festivities. The event is hosted by a different village each year, and the celebration is an opportunity for visitors to taste some of the best wine from the surrounding regions.

The second part of the event comes in the form of an auction for international wine buyers held on the Sunday, with barrels of the wine being auctioned off and part of the proceeds going to fund the restoration of the bell tower in the Cathedral in the town where the event is held. Some of the world's top chefs and sommeliers are invited to the event to give their opinion on the wines, which I'm told can sell for five figures per barrel at the auction.

With the formalities of the event obviously of no interest to us, we decided to take in the community celebration and head out to the two villages which this year shared the event, Gardie and Villebazy.

We arranged to meet some friends at the local sports hall, where we could catch transport to the festival. We paid 5Euro each, which included the bus transport and a souvenir wine glass. The ride out to the small villages was picturesque, with the large bus navigating the narrow roads through the countryside.

We arrived at the village of Gardie, and were dropped off about one kilometre from the town. We walked up the small winding road and came to the village, which was decorated with oversized flowers and grapes, and had a number of strange mannequin displays throughout the village.

The music began as we wandered past a colourful band departing from the Mediterranean wine stand. As we continued up the hill we stopped for a photo opportunity with a very large Blanquette bottle, and I purchased some tokens, which could be exchanged for a full glass of wine at any of the wine stands.

This town was relatively quiet however, so we took some advice from a local and headed over to the second village, Villebazy, where the action was about to start. On our way out of Gardie I stopped for my first glass of wine, which was of the Mediterranean variety, and had quite a nice flavour; not too sweet, but not dry.

The buses ran between the villages, again dropping us about a kilometre from the action. We wandered through the countryside and came upon a much livelier atmosphere.  Groups of colourfully dressed yet uniformed people were lined up down the narrow road, waiting patiently for the parade to start.

Each group had with them a miniature model of their local Church or Cathedral, which were all impressive. We wandered by each group, recognising a number of the churches from around the local area, taking photos of the ones we knew, and some we didn't but were impressive all the same.

The parade was about to commence, but having seen all of the groups we decided to avoid the crowds, head toward the food stalls and wander through the village. I filled up on frites (hot chips) while Marty devoured a beef-filled baguette as we walked to the next wine stand.

This one was from the region around Auton, and the people serving us spoke English. We stopped for talk for a while, finding out that the lady was actually Swedish, but spoke very good English, with a strange mix of an English and an Australian accent. We chatted for some time, as she gave us advice on the best wines to buy and where we could get them in Limoux.

With food in our bellies and more wine in my hand we walked the streets and came across the parade as it was making its way toward the village Church. Crowds of people lined the path as the groups with their models squeezed through a small laneway and up the hill. We followed the crowds and, as they dispersed either into the Church or back down into the village, we headed to an open field area that was set up for the party that would no doubt continue into the night.

Food stands were selling crepes, meat on a baguette, and huge baked spuds, which I was excited by, only to discover I had to eat it dry as it didn't come with sour cream. A large bar selling only Blanquette catered to the crowds, who were buying it by the glass or jug.

A soloist provided some entertainment, alternating between a banjo and a guitar as he tried to sing English songs, which I must admit sounded very different with a French accent! During his breaks a band would take to the stage, but their song choices left me a bit confused (I'm pretty sure the song 'Do you really want to hurt me?' hasn't been played since the '80s, excluding the film The Wedding Singer, which was set in the '80s anyway!).

Entertainment aside, we enjoyed the food and the wine and the atmosphere of being in a paddock amongst the hills in the French countryside, still lit by the sun's light at 7pm. We had had enough though when the weather turned cold, and decided to catch the bus back into Limoux to retire to the warmth of our house. All in all, it was a great outing and a unique French experience that we really enjoyed.

Mr Carnaval

Last month I wrote about Carnaval in Limoux, the annual celebration that runs for three months and draws locals and tourists alike. Well, this colourful festival concluded for the year on Sunday, and we took the opportunity to witness what we are sure we will never see again in our lives.

Since I wrote about Carnaval back in February, I have learnt more about this event. At the very first procession of the festival in January, the group who dances through the town square brings with them 'Mr Carnaval'; a formally dressed straw mannequin.

Mr Carnaval takes up his post at a table and chair set to the side of the square, and remains there throughout the three months, seeming to preside over the activities. It is not until the end of the very last procession in March that Mr Carnaval has another active part in the celebration, however this role is not nearly as pleasant.

Mr Carnaval oversaw the festivities of Carnaval

The celebration on the last night of Carnaval

Marty and I ventured into town after his Sunday afternoon game to meet up with some friends and wait around for the end of the Carnaval procession, which started at 10pm. We saw the group dancing toward their last stop so we joined the crowds that were huddled under the awnings to avoid the rain. The most noticeable differences in this group from others we had seen over the months were that they were comprised of representatives of various groups, not just one, and they were led in by torch bearers holding flames.

Marty with Vince in costume

As we watched the group dancing past to the beat of the band, I recognised some of the costumes from the procession I had watched in February where I was covered in confetti by a member of the group who recognised me. This same person, dressed in his white and red outfit, approached Marty and I and said 'hello Marty!' before dancing on.

We discussed who it could be, and came to the conclusion that it must be Vince, a man who is involved with the football club and has assisted us and other foreign players with life here on occasion. We watched on as the music ended and the dancers mingled. Vince approached us and confirmed our suspicions that it was him.

The crowd began to move to the centre of the square where a stage had been set up, and took up our place on the outside of a barricade that marked out a square next to the stage. In the middle of the square was a fire pit, with Mr Carnaval strapped to a chair in the middle.

A lot of effort goes into the costumes!

The music began again as the Carnaval procession moved inside the barricaded area. Those in costume danced in and stood near the stage, as people dressed up in full costume to be a judge and jury members assumed their place on the stage. The judge and jury then proceeded to read from scripts in Occitan, a language used in southern France, Italy and surrounding regions. While we couldn't understand the language, we were told that the judge and jury were reading through all of the wrong-doings or failures of the last year since Mr Carnaval was last in Limoux, and blaming them all on him, including the less than impressive season that the Limoux Grizzlies last year.

Following this play, which took about 20 minutes, the band started up again and those in costume formed a circle around the fire pit. They skipped and danced around in the circle as the music was upbeat, and stopped to kneel when the music turned sombre. After some time of this, the men who led the Carnaval procession with torches stepped forward and lit up the fire pit, with the revellers all stopping to watch Mr Carnaval burn.

Mr Carnaval in the fire pit about to meet his fate

We could hardly believe what we were seeing in this small town in the middle of nowhere, in the south of France, at 1.30am on a Sunday night. As if knowing that it would be hard for us to describe, and even harder for you to imagine, we filmed some of the activities to give you an idea of what went on. 

So Carnaval has ended for the year. Without missing a beat though, there is a big annual wine and food festival being held this weekend, as if to ensure that the locals have events to keep them interested, and tourists have a reason to keep visiting. So far this year we have not seen evidence of the sleepy little town we thought Limoux was when we first arrived, and we are loving it!

Rugby League, French Style

As we can now see the end of our time in France approaching, I thought it was about time that I wrote about the reason we are here in the first place: rugby league.

Having been a dedicated 'wag' for years, and a lounge room fan for many more, I feel as though I have some understanding of the sport as it is played in Australia. I knew enough anyway to tell from the first game I watched that it is a different ball game in France.

There is enough similarity in the game to know that it is rugby league. However there are some very distinct differences that have left me puzzled. Some of them come down to the influence of other popular sports in this part of the world, while others can only be attributed to the unique characteristics of the French.

The two teams line up for the formalities. Marty is fourth from the right in the red and black of Limoux.

Here are some examples of the quirkiness of rugby league in France:

I'll start with the team warm up. This takes place on the edges of the field, often while the previous game is still in action. It is an odd sight to see a full team running through their warm up on the field of play, marker cones set up throughout the in-goal area, somewhat oblivious to the game that is still being played on the field. That is until the referee yells for them to shuffle out of the way as the game approaches the try line and players run through to score their try among the group of men warming up. The fact that the team warming up and one of the teams playing are wearing the same colours only adds to the confusion of the situation!

I have found that it pays to get to a game early, as the scheduled time of kick is not necessarily adhered to. A characteristic of the French is their often laid back attitude to time, which flows through to the football games, when the time of kickoff can change without notice. I was preparing to attend a game one day, which was scheduled to kick off at 3pm. Marty came home from the team lunch and advised that it had been moved back to 3.30pm. I starting doing some other things to fill in the time when Marty let me know that the time had been moved forward to the original time of 3pm. I arrived early, however kick off didn't come until 3.15pm.

But before the game can begin, a number of formalities must take place. I am used to seeing teams burst out onto the field pumped up and ready to play. Here, the music has the right beat, but the teams walk out solemnly and stand in a line shoulder-to-shoulder to shake hands with the presidents from both competing football clubs. But it doesn't end there. Once the players have assumed their starting positions on the field, a representative from the visiting club takes to the tee for an honorary kick off.

The field at Limoux

Once the game finally gets underway, there are a few aspects that vary from our norm. One is the use of the card system for sending players off. That is, instead of holding up both hands to indicate a player is being sent off for ten minutes, a yellow card is drawn out of the referee's pocket and held above his head. Similarly, a red card signifies that the player is not to return to the game. This, I'm told, is similar to the card system used in the Super League competition in England, and in the game of soccer internationally.

Penalties can be rife in a game, as a player can be penalised for the slightest little bit of push and shove, even if warranted. While this seems to eliminate 'biff' from the game, it can be unjust when a player is provoked, which can happen to force a reaction and ultimately a penalty.

There are events during the game which can be a cause for celebration on the field, even if you aren't supposed to be on there. In one particular game, the score line came down to the wire. Limoux scored a try in the dying minutes to level the score, and the players embraced in celebration. They were quickly joined in their embrace by one of the ball boys, who had run onto the field and jumped onto the back of a player. The conversion that followed this try came in the 79th minute, and was successful, prompting players on the bench to run on the field and congratulate the kicker as he was running back into position for the kick-off.

The language barrier doesn't seem to be too much of a challenge at this point, as Marty has learnt what he needs to know to communicate to his team mates on the field. Understanding the referee is where the challenges can lie, particularly when the referee is somewhat naive to the rules of the game.

On one particular occasion, a tackle was made by a foreign player on Marty's team, with the referee yelling out 'surrender'. The rule around this call is that the tackler can take a little longer to get out of the tackle. That is of course, unless the referee doesn't understand this rule and claims to have made a mistake, as he did on this particular occasion, and consequently penalised the player for staying in the tackle for too long.

Limoux supporters are loud and proud!

Sometimes it is no wander that frustration at the referee builds, however a certain level of respect is always demanded...in Australia at least. I have been in the crowd at the end of a game here when a French player approached the referee and began hurling verbal abuse in his direction. The situation escalated to the point that the referee was pacing quickly around the field to get away from the player, and was eventually escorted to the sheds by security as the abuse continued.

Needless to say the player was sent to front the tribunal to answer for his actions, but this process is yet another quirk in the game here. You see, a player may be placed on report in a game one week, but the case may not be considered by the Federation for a few weeks to come. This results in the player continuing to play a number of games until he is finally suspended weeks later. You can imagine the disruptions that this can cause, especially when the player is finally suspended ahead of important or tough games weeks after the incident.

Finally, the scheduling of the games for the season seems to be somewhat flexible. There are spare weekends scheduled into the draw to allow for games that were postponed due to weather or field condition to be played at a later date. This makes for a great opportunity to take a short trip on the spare  weekends if there are no make-up games to be played.

However what do you do when you approach the end of the season and there are no allocated make-up weekends left, but you have a previously postponed game to play? Well, in France, you play the game mid-week. That's right, any given Wednesday will do. This week, Marty played a scheduled game on Sunday, is due to play a make-up game Wednesday, and then back-up for another game on Sunday, which was not actually scheduled for this weekend originally however was moved forward to allow the opposing team to play another game on the original scheduled date. Phew! This will prove to be a tough week at the office!

This paints a bit of a picture of the game that is rugby league in France from my point of view. It is a game that is both entertaining and frustrating at the same time!

The Limoux Grizzlies team for season 2012/2013

The Boulangerie Adventures

With the famous 'bread' culture in France, there seems to be a boulangerie within walking distance of every resident. We were quick to find ours, and have become regular customers, making the short walk most mornings for our fresh baguette.

But the trip to the boulangerie has become more than a necessity to buy our bread; it is our daily ritual, a treat for the senses, and a linguistic challenge.

Daily ritual

Bread is served with every meal in France. When dining out, a basket of bread is provided to accompany the meal. The bread becomes part of the meal, often used instead of cutlery with some dishes.

And the bread must be bought fresh every day. There is something about the bread here; not only is it so delicious, but it is so fresh, and if it's not eaten that day and is left to sit overnight, it turns rock-hard and becomes inedible.

So every morning the bakeries become a hive of activity as everyone buys their bread for the day. I have seen a steady stream of people flow in and out of a bakery, leaving with a baguette in hand; some days we are three or four deep in line to buy a baguette; and often, if we sleep in, we miss out altogether.

We usually buy a baguette or two each morning, depending on what we have planned for the day. Sometimes (I admit, it's more often than not) I will buy a croissant as well.

We have become such popular regulars that our friendly bakery lady often pops a treat in the bag for us as well, gratuit! I've enjoyed chocolatines, cheese croissants, chocolate tarts, éclairs, donuts, you name it; all free and delicious.

Treat for the senses

I walk through the doors of our boulangerie and immediately breathe in the smell of fresh bread. Such an amazingly delicious smell, made even more appetising when we know how good the fresh bread tastes here. Racks of various types of breads are stacked up behind the counter: baguette, flute, ficelle...

My eyes are spoilt by the sight of the sugar-covered cakes and treats that sit in the showcase. The selection on offer differs almost daily, with my temptation being testing just as often by the colours and textures.

My mouth waters, as if I can taste the sugary goodness of each of the treats. From overflowing apple or chocolate tarts to éclairs of varying flavour, and cream-filled long donuts to custard pie! In our early months I made it my mission to try all of the options available, and enjoyed every bite.

A linguistic challenge

When we walk in the door we are instantly greeted by the smiling face of the small, old French lady who is always so pleased to see us. She knows who we are, and that we don't speak a lick of French, but that doesn't stop her from attempting a two-way conversation with us, usually about the weather that day.

I know this because I can pick up some words; when it was snowing I recognised the word 'blanc', which means white, and when the sun came out the next day, I recognised 'soleil'. If I don't register any recognition of what she is saying, she opens the newspaper on the counter and shows me the weather page.

Sometimes, though, the conversation goes into other topics.

One Monday I wandered in for our daily purchase and found our friendly bakery lady to be in high spirits and very excited to see me. As usual she spoke at me in French, and didn't seem to care that I was wearing my confusion on my face.

She didn't stop to try to clarify, just continued to talk. Toward the end of her conversation I picked out two words among the speed-talk: 'Limoux treize'. All of a sudden I understood her whole conversation; Marty's team, the Limoux Grizzlies (also called the Limoux treize, for the thirteen players on a rugby league team), had won a big game the day before, and she was very happy and excited.

On another occasion I went into the bakery around midday, after Marty had been in early in the morning before going to his football game.

Surprised to see me, our bakery lady began speaking at me and, knowing I didn't understand, pointed to the rings on her wedding-ring finger and then at a baguette. I understood that she was telling me that Marty had already been in earlier in the day to purchase his baguette.

As we slowly learn more French we are excited to practice it at the boulangerie. However for every little bit extra we say, we are met with even more French, as if we are supposed to understand the whole conversation!

Our local boulangerie has become a very much-loved part of our life in Limoux, as much for the experience as for the amazing food we get from there. We enjoy seeing our friendly boulangerie lady daily, and from the welcome we get when we walk in the door, she is as equally pleased to see us.

Les Quatre Châteaux de Lastours

I will never tire of seeing the amazing castles - or what is left of them - scattered around the south of France. There are countless remnants that once stood tall and strong, built for defence often at the top of a mountain, with a small village at the foot.

I have enjoyed reading stories about the history of this area, which saw so many wars and battles before our country was even 'discovered'. One set of castles in particular attracted my attention.

Sitting high above the village of Lastours, there are four castles lined along the mountain top. Aptly named 'Les Quatre Châteaux de Lastours', meaning 'the four castles of Lastours', the remnants of these once-strong fortresses, built around the 14th century, still stand strong.

Always keen to check out a medieval castle, Marty and I decided to take the short 45 minute drive north-east to Lastours to check them out. 

Three of the four Castles of Lastours

We drove along the winding roads gradually getting higher, until we came to the village of Lastours. A beautiful little town, similar in appearance to others we had driven through, except for one thing: the village was built in a curve along the valley around the mountain range surrounding it, with a river flowing down from the mountain and through the middle of the town.

We took a moment to take in the village, with its ancient Roman ovens on the river bank in the middle of the village. Some of the houses were built into the surrounding rock mountain walls, others built on top of the walls.

A view of Lastours from above

Hiking up the mountain

From the town at the base of the mountain we could see the first of the castles. The round tower stood proudly on the edge of the mountain overlooking the valley. We began our ascent to this tower, and it wasn't long before I felt the climb in my legs. I wondered to myself how they would have built such an impressive structure so long ago, when I couldn't even imagine how they would do it today.

We stopped half way up at a small look out to take in the sights around us; we were surrounded by mountains in every direction, and the small village below grew even more interesting as we could see it from a height.

The modern steps that assisted our climb so far had ended and we were on our own on the narrow, pebbly path as we continued up toward the first of the castles, called Quertinheux. This structure had a circular tower surrounded by various walls, the one at the entrance built in a zigzag for defensive purposes.

The first castle, Quertinheux, up close

Quertinheux on its perch

This castle was amazingly built into the rock atop a separate part of the mountain that seemed to stand on its own. It wasn't until we were past the castle onto the second one that we could see how impressive the structure really was.

The second castle, called Surdespine, was larger than the first, with more walls still standing, even if they were only in part. The main difference however was that it's tower was square, not circular, and there were very few loop-holes in this tower.

The square tower of Surdespine

Marty on his way to the third castle, Tour Regine

The third tower had the most interesting element to it. Called Tour Regine, this castle was built to assert the king's supremacy when the other three were rebuilt following a siege. It had a round tower similar to the first castle, but this tower had a ceiling built of rock. It was curved, and really made an impact when entering the tiny room in the tower via a modernised staircase.

It was difficult to capture how impressive this room was in photos, but we spent some time just marvelling at the structure with a curved stone ceiling.

The last two castles

The curved ceiling of Tour Regine

The first three towers were all built for defensive purposes, with the fourth one being the principal castle, called Cabaret. The entrance to the castle had remnants of structured walls designed for defensive purposes, and inside was divided into separate areas, with the whole structure being a lot larger than the other castles.

The other three castles can be seen from Cabaret

The arched walls of Cabaret, with the ramparts above

The keep was polygonal in shape, and we could walk up a set of stairs to overlook the other three castles. We could see the structural remnants of a main room or building on the ground floor and another tower at the other end.

 

Marty scoping out the ramparts of Cabaret

The walls had an amazing arched detail to them, with the layers of rocks living proof of meticulous construction. What was left of the walls showed evidence of ramparts where soldiers would walk around to keep watch and use for defensive positions.

On the far side of the last castle, down the mountain into the valley, there were remnants of an ancient village that had once housed people alongside the river. This village has only been discovered in the last 20 years after research and ongoing archaeological digs, which have unearthed an almost intact village, including household items from the day. This suggests that the village was abandoned almost immediately during a siege, with the residents fleeing and leaving everything behind.

Further reading has told me of the area's colourful history, starting with evidence of life in the immediate area dating back to the 6th century. The three original castles were built closer to the village by the Cabaret family in the 11th century, but were destroyed, along with the village, by royal troops at the end of the crusade against Catharism in the 13th century, in retaliation for the role they played in supporting the Cathar movement in the area.

Remnants of the village at the bottom of the mountain

Rebuilt on top of the mountain and with a fourth tower added, the castles became a military and administrative centre for surrounding communities before being occupied by the Protestants in the 16th century, and finally abandoned after the French Revolution.

It is an amazing experience for us to be able to not only see, touch and walk through what is left of these ancient structures that once housed people and endured wars, but to learn about their history gives us a greater understanding and appreciation for the area that we have been lucky enough to live in.

Friday markets are a cheerful ritual

If there is one thing the French do very well, it is fresh food. You can't walk down a street and not come across a boulangerie where bread is baked fresh each day, or a charcuterie that will slice anything for you on the spot.

So a trip to the weekly fresh produce markets held in town are a must to get the full French living experience.

I had ventured into the markets on occasion during our first few months here, but have only just recently gained a real appreciation for the people, produce and overall experience of going to the markets each Friday.

Limoux is busy place on Fridays, when the markets come to town

Today, like most recent Fridays, I set my alarm and rolled out of bed with the intention of heading into the markets to buy fresh eggs.

There is something about the eggs that I get from the markets; I can tell that the chickens were happy when they laid them, as they have a very natural flavour about them. I struggle now to eat the eggs that we have to buy when we run out of markets eggs, and often opt for an alternative meal.

The weather today is less than ideal outdoor shopping weather, with a light drizzle of rain putting a dampener on things. But past experience tells me that won't stop the locals from their weekly shop, with the rain being nothing that an umbrella can't stop.

Equipped with my shopping bag and empty egg cartons, I headed out for the short stroll to the markets, which seem to draw everyone from nearby villages to Limoux, as any spot where a car can fit (and even some where one can't) has been filled.

I have come across a short-cut through some small back streets that will take me straight to the fresh produce section of the markets.

Walking toward the markets, I bypass the meat and seafood section, which is housed in a large room on the ground floor of a building built specifically for this purpose. I do sometimes wander through, but haven't been able to bring myself to stop long enough to buy something, as I am quickly confronted by things that I have never even imagined; the French eat every part of the animal, and what they can't actually eat, they use to make something else. It is moments like this I'm glad I can't understand what the labels on the food mean!

My regular egg stall

I turn left to head down into the main street of the produce market. It seems to fill and spill out of a town hall type building, with the small streets surrounding it coming alive with colour and activity. There are all types of fruit and vegetables packed on tables, with the van that they were delivered in holding more ready for sale.

Today I'm not buying any fruit or veg, as I had done our grocery shopping earlier in the week and we still had enough. But I have often bought tiny mandarins by the bag, sweet strawberries by the punnet, and fresh pumpkin cut to the size I desire.

A stall selling fresh flowering plants brings a smile to my face, as the flowers provide a nice lift on the dreary day.

I walk into the building and head for my regular egg stall. A lovely old couple run this small stall, which sells three different sized eggs. I point to the medium size while pulling out my egg cartons, indicating that I would like them both filled.

I am spoken to in French, to which I reply 'pardon, no Francais', however this doesn't seem to make any difference. I gather from her actions that she doesn't want to put the fresh eggs into an old carton, and takes them away from me.

Instead, she fills fresh egg cartons with eggs and presents them to me with a 'voila'. I pack them safely in my shopping bag, collect my change and leave with a 'merci, au revoir'.

I like to wander past the other stalls, usually with no intention to buy but just out of interest. Inside the building there is a large stall selling various types of olives and dried fruit, a home-made bread stall, various types of coffee packaged ready for sale, more fruit and veg, and another stall selling eggs, but also offering live chickens!

Olives or dried fruit, anyone?

The pop-up fromagerie

Leaving the building through another door, I come out into another street with more fruit and veg. With so many to choose from, I have received some tips from locals about which stalls offer the best, and which vendors to avoid.

I often stop to look through the glass of the pop-up fromagerie in amazement at how many different types of cheese there are. You can buy it by the (huge) wheel, or get just the right amount cut for you.

A busker plays beautiful music as I head down a street into the town square to check out the other wares on offer. The square is filled with stalls selling anything and everything you could need; from material by the roll, to thick winter clothing and shoes; hand-made trinkets to beads of every colour and shape to make your own jewellery; and every type of kitchen utensil you could need, to fake, but very colourful, flowers.

The fake flowers provide some colour to the markets

...as do the scarves in any colour you could want

I enjoy looking at a stall that is selling scarves of every colour, and another that sells hand-made cards, which I'm amused to see include some that say 'Happy Birthday'...in English.

Once a month there are also markets that pop up on another street nearby, which include even more clothes and fresh produce, but also an opportunity to buy fresh herbs and spices, and other food items like cooked chickens from a rotisserie and fresh, hot paella by the tub.

Content with my eggs, which I know I will enjoy for the next few days, I head home, wandering back through the fresh produce markets and down the small back streets toward our house.

The Friday markets seem to be must for the locals, and have become a weekly ritual for me. They are a great French experience that brings a smile to my face and puts a spring in my step for the rest of the day.