There’s something difficult about moving into a town and not having an immediate chance to explore. Call me curious but I just want to know a place inside and out. There’s something about knowing where you live even just to be able to recommend a cafe or a cute little afternoon detour but I can’t say I’m able to just yet. I had finally seen the old center, sort of, in Arles on the Saturday with Claire and I’d heard that on Wednesday mornings Linette and Patrick go into the market to pick up produce and I’d asked to tag along to have a look see for myself!
We met up at half eight and whisked off into Arles proper to one of the main streets that follows along the outside of the old town. Their daughter and two grand kids were visiting from Lyon for a few days and joined us. The two children pulled our little carts that we’d soon be filling with fruits and veggies! They were so cute the son is 2 and the daughter is 3 and a half. Patrick just melted anytime they looked over to him in a way that only grandpas can do.
As soon as you walk up to the markets your senses are flooded with the smell of rotisserie chicken and potatoes. I have yet to try them but I’m going to have to one of these days because it’s near intoxicating! Beyond the roasting chicken was paella steaming away, buckets of cured meats, fresh marinated olives, dried fruit and plenty of cheese and the colors, oh the colors are phenomenal!
It was beautiful to see all the locals gathered to get the weekly offerings out in the cold with their heavy warm coats and shopping bags in tote. The kids seemed happy until of course we put “poireau” or leeks in the cart and neither seemed too pleased to pull them around anymore. I guess these French children don’t like the smell of onions… too bad they’re SO good!
The children proved to be oh so French and adorable. After seeing their mother had bought a bag of olives it was all they could do not to stare at them. Never before in my life have I seen such a love of olives. Adorable! I just didn’t imagine they were a kid thing. Apparently when in France…