dimanche dans un village

In most French towns, there is an open-air market at least once a week. In Poix, it's on Sunday mornings in the main square. I was frantic when I woke up at 9:40, because I was determined not to miss my first Sunday market in my new home. Remembering my plastic shopping bag, I walked down to the square, where I was met with the smell of fresh rotisserie chicken!

At the market, you can find a variety of things. Of course, there's fresh cheese, fruits & veggies, but also mattresses, tables & chairs, shoes, colorful African boubous and artwork, and an assortment of ladies undergarments, notably un string, for 1 euro each.

While wandering around, I noticed a group of men gathered to direct a firetruck down the street. It was not clear to me if there was an actual emergency - probably not, since there were no lights or sirens, but the truck was having difficulty squeezing past the cars and market trucks. The village men had no trouble telling the fireman how to maneuver his vehicle, and I half-expected them to all cheer when he made it down the little street. I was very tempted to take a picture of the event, but feeling like I already stand out as a newcomer despite the fact that I purposefully wore dark socks, I didn't want to be even more obvious.

The boulangerie on the main square is closed for the month of August, like many small stores. Fortunately, I remembered there is a second bakery around the corner. I felt like I was in the USSR as I waited in line for my baguettes. Since I'd rushed to the market, I skipped breakfast, so I gave into my hunger pangs and asked for a croissant aux amandes, one of my favorite pastries. The boulangère told me they were pains au chocolat (but fancier than I'd ever seen!), which was fine with me. I was so hungry! Since the Revolution, bread is subsidized by the French government to insure that everyone can afford a loaf of bread a day. Jean Valjean would be so pleased. My entire purchase of 2 baguettes and a pain au chocolat was about 2E40. What would that be at Panera? $8 at least?

The church bells began ringing about the time I finished at the bakery, so I hurried up the hill for mass, bread and breakfast still in hand. Even though I attend church less often than my mom would prefer, there really is something about being able to walk into a Catholic church anywhere in the world and feeling welcomed by the traditional order of mass. The words may be somewhat unfamiliar, but you still know what to expect.

Because it's vacation time, there was a visiting priest, as well as a Belgian priest who is vacationing in the area. He has been a missionary in Rwanda for the past 38 years, and is at the last remaining parish in Kigali. I expected him to give the homily and then ask for donations for the people who are still recovering from years of strife, but then I remembered that asking for money during mass is just not done here. There wasn't even a second collection to help his mission, which would be expected at a mass in the States. I admit it's refreshing not to feel guilted into making a donation, but this was a man to whom I'd gladly give money.

The smell of my fresh baguettes during mass was almost too much to bear, and I vowed to eat breakfast beforehand next time. I'm really glad I decided not to buy a rotisserie chicken too. There's no way I could have tolerated the savory smell of that as well! I'll have to allow time to drop my provisions back at the house next time.

It rained the rest of the day, so I was able to relax and watch a bit of French TV. Well, not really French, since I watched "New York: Unité Spéciale," and then "Urgences." Heaven! At least they were en français... Now I can finally work on my detective and medical vocabulary!