Saturdays are Big

Saturday Market in Uzes is the biggest market for miles. People from all the surrounding villages and further come to Uzes on Saturday.

Olives, nuts, flowers, cheeses, fresh meats (with heads, eyes, teeth--shoulda seen the rabbit!), aged meats, like salamis (full of different herbs, peppers, etc. sans head), baskets of herbs, baskets of pepper!!!, veggies, fruits, honey, pastries, breads, fresh pastas (we bought ravioli citron, and gnocci in honor of Mary Beth, and two other tortellinis). There was coffee, falafel, rotisseries of headless chickens and cornish hens, and then there were vistas of lively ceramics (NOT from China, but from this region), jewelry, baskets, clothes, underwear, jeans, umbrellas, quilts, table cloths, toys. And all the permanent shops opened their doors and spilled their goods out onto the streets too! One store we browsed had sand as its floor, with tiny hearts randomly imprinted on the sand. Incroyable! "Our" wine shop has gravel flooring. The thrift stores have antiques hundreds of years old on their shelves, next to the hip thrift jacket. Every restaurant tempted the shoppers with outdoor cafe seating and although it was a little chilly everyone took them up on it, sitting, drinking coffee (or beer or wine) by 10AM. It was awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Frances bought a basket. She carried it around all day like a true French woman. She loves it because...yes..."It's PINK!" Eleanore wanted to look around some more before she spent 30 Euros on the basket she had her eye on (springing GREEN).

We went to our artist's show tonight...all dressed up, girls in skirts and tights; Frances in full-head braids; me in my new simple but very hip black coat, Jeff in his great shirt.

We met more people to eventually have dinner with and those people gave us names of people a town over with kids our kids' ages who are really into having their kids play with foreigners like us! The mom is a professor in Lyon and moved from Canada with her two girls last year.

We told our artist friend during the rare quiet moment at the show that Eleanore was writing a story about a french artist who, within the first few scenes, attends his own show. He asked her about the story and when she said the main character was a man unable to see any color, he waved down his friend Bruno, who appeared beside us as a 20 year old sweet, french guy, proclaiming he, too, was color blind. We asked a few questions that churned out this unforgettable comment: "Orange is a concept for me."

For some reason, I just can't let go of that one. And can't get out of my head that on a random night in March, at an artshow in the south of France, all these roads converged: fiction, people, artists, ailments.

Bonsoir. C, J, E, Fjoy

(Eleanore will be back tomorrow)