If you’d have asked me a year ago what I thought I would be doing on February 5th 2011, the thought of the date would have conjured up images of snow and blankets and tea and runny noses and my purple Saint-Mike’s sweatshirt (which I miss sooo much, why did I ever leave it behind??). But today, February 5th 2011, I awoke quite early for a Saturday and was out the door by 10.30 and headed downtown with a couple of friends to explore the open-air marché on Avenue Foch au Centre-Ville. Without really thinking I put on a sweater and hiking socks, my winter coat and a scarf and packed mittens just in case, but when I stepped outside a soft 53˚ breeze fluttered my bangs and the sun shone playfully through the trees. Everyday it’s so perfect outside all of us can’t help but remark on how lovely it is for this to be the weather in February. Not being much of a winter-girl myself (perhaps the understatement of the year…) I am blissfully happy every time I feel the warmth from the sun and can wander around outside without immediately losing all circulation to my fingertips.
We arrived in Centre-Ville and strolled leisurely up toward Avenue Foch stopping to have des cafes au lait on the patio of La Belle Epoque. Coffee service here is far superior to the hectic mess of Starbucks. We ordered inside then sat out on the patio and minutes later the pleasant French owner brought our four espressos with cream to the table with free gingerbread cookies. For delicious espresso, France is definitely less expensive than the States. Our coffees cost only 1.70 € each which is about $2.20 and I usually spend at least $3.50 on my large cappuccinos at home. Coffee, bread, wine and cheese are all so cheap! The French know what’s up. After our brief stop during which we could only marvel at the weather and giggle about sitting on a patio in the first week of February, we wandered up to the market.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so much produce in one place. It was gorgeous. I wish I’d bought more but I was completely overwhelmed by the spectacle of it all and was content just to wander through it without a plan or purpose. It seemed like you could find anything. They had usual winter vegetables like potatoes and beets and carrots and the like but there were also fresh tomatoes and lettuce, apples, avocados and grapes. Where are they getting all this stuff? There were cheese vendors and bread vendors and olive vendors and spice vendors and soap vendors (he was my favorite) and one very loud and boisterous clementine vendor who insisted that we taste his clementines. It wasn’t dirty, I swear…
I'm sorry these pictures have ended up crooked again...I can't seem to figure it out...last time they just magically corrected...
All the displays were perfect and there was such pleasant French chatter and negotiation all around. Down the street a ways (aways? Now that doesn’t seem like a real word…I’m confused) anyway, we stumbled into the seafood section which was astonishingly extensive. The stands on either side formed a tunnel of dead fish and oysters, shrimp, crabs, eels, any size and kind of fish you could imagine. Now, I love me some seafood, but this got a little intense. I don’t think I’ve ever been around so many dead crustaceans at one time. If only I knew how to cook, then perhaps I’d be less afraid of all the meat, but I think the French are much more adventurous than I in terms of meat…I’m just not too thrilled about cutting the head off of a chicken I’ve bought or gutting a fish or breaking down shrimp with their little googly eyes staring at me. No thank you. I’ll stick with smoked salami and packaged sliced turkey for now.
I did buy a baguette and snacking on it as I wandered through the market in the sun with my jacket unbuttoned, I think I found my happy place. I had a sudden feeling of being incandescently happy to be exactly where I was. My only wish would be that my friends and family could be seeing what I’m seeing. It’s a beautiful view…
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