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.