Aquitaine Street Markets

I have a great affinity for street markets.  I have since the first trip abroad we made to Europe in 2005.  If I know there’s a market on a given day, I go, and I examine every booth and table.  I’m not a great photographer but the subjects are always colorful and inviting.  Market photos are some of my favorites. I seldom make purchases at the markets, but I usually cannot pass on a bit of fruit like a box of figs or a melon grown only in the area or maybe a bag of colorful vegetables I can cook in the evening.

We took a train to a far west tip of France where the oldest lighthouse stands.  The night before as we prepared for the early train ride, we planned to take raincoats in case of rain or wind and decided not to pack a snack as we usually do.  We’d just find something to eat when we arrived.  Next morning, Stan checked the weather forecast before we left the apartment – no rain today; we gladly left our raingear behind.  Two hours later the train arrived at Ponte du Grave station at La Verdon-Sur-Mer.  Our intent for the day was to see the Le Phare Cordouan Lighthouse.  Although rebuilt several times the Cordouan was first built between 1584 and 1611 on an islet 4.3 miles at sea, near the mouth of the Gironde River.    It has shown a beacon lighting the way to the Gironde River that can be seen for 22 nautical miles ever since. It is the very last inhabited lighthouse in France and is accessible only by boat.

When we left the train, there was very little evidence of a community.  The weather was cloudy and misty and while there were several restaurants they did not serve food until noon.  There was nothing to eat.  Figuring out how to reach the lighthouse on the islet in the bay seemed far too challenging and we were becoming wetter by the minute.  My vote was to re-board the train and get outta there.  We did and we missed seeing the lighthouse . . . then.

On the morning’s ride from Bordeaux, we noticed that a crowd of young people departed the train at the village of Soulac-Sur-Mer.  Instead of returning directly to the city, we hopped off the train there at Soulac.  We spied at a quaint coffee shop and in a very French manner, had a café and a croissant., our first since arriving in France.  Savoring the roll and strong coffee was a special treat.   Our outlook for the day became markedly brighter.  We chatted with the café owner (he with his broken English and we with our rather shameful French) and met his beautiful, well-fed cat, Nelson.  This cat owns the town.  Nelson comes and goes as he pleases, and sleeps on a tabletop in the cafe if that’s what he chooses.

Following the signs and our instincts, we walked to the beach after our coffee.  Whoa! Half of Europe must be vacationing in this small town.  Although the wide beaches were only spotted with people, restaurants and the streets were packed.  This small town must have had thousands of visitors spending the last bits of their summer holiday at the beach.    The beach was beautiful—what beach is not?  But more about that later.

We stumbled upon a street market in full swing on our walk back toward the train station.  How exciting!  An unexpected market!  The market occupied a tic-tac-toe of streets and offered fresh fruit and vegetables, oysters, mussels, and clams in un-iced crates, sausages, fromages, and fresh meats as well as fashionable skirts, shirts, bags, and bric-a-brac.  Some vendors sold cakes and pastries; some offered prepared dishes like paella from huge flat pans over a flame.  The streets were so crowded it was difficult to inspect the wares.  What could have been a disappointing day turned out to be fun.  We didn’t buy anything at the market but stopped at a restaurant away from market traffic and enjoyed hot fish and chips.

A visit to the next market was one we planned.  The Saint Foy Le Grand market is the largest, most popular weekly market in the area and an hour train ride away.   I thought . . .  if this market is any bigger than the one in Soulac, I will be surprised.  It was.  This market occupied several streets going east and west and several going north and south.  The offerings did not differ a great deal from the market at Soulac but there were many more vendors.  Even if we don’t make a single purchase, I will always be attracted to markets.  Local European markets are a huge splash of gorgeous colors, sounds, fragrances, and sights one could seldom imagine. I won’t miss a single one.  And invariably there are street entertainers.  The one I liked best here in Ste. Foy was a woman dressed in a whimsical costume.  With Dr. Seuss inspired dress and socks, this woman held two long rods with strings attached to the ends.   Gracefully she dipped the strings into a vat and as she lifted the rods great streams of huge bubbles filled the air.  Kids, old and young, squealed and ran after them.

It was near time to catch our train back to Bordeaux.  Since we had brought sandwiches for the earlier train ride, we weren’t hungry.  We decided to kill the gap in time at an outdoor table at a small restaurant.  We ordered a single beer we’d share.  Legally this shop could not alcohol unless a food item was also on the bill.  We chose a single, very pretty chicken club sandwich to take with us.  After our beer, we made our way to the train station to find we’d missed the train.  During the wait, we practiced our Spanish and eventually ate our sandwich.  Two hours later we made our way back to Bordeaux on a train packed with backpackers, people with bicycles, and luggage.  I sat in a fold-out jump-seat but Stan had to stand.  At a stop down the way, a young man boarded with a cute hound dog.  The dog sniffed all the shoes and bags around him.   He became excited when he found a good one.   Surely that bag held something really great to eat.  After his owner called him down with a single word, he plopped down among lots of feet and snoozed.  Occasionally he rolled his heavenly brown dog-eyes at me as if saying, don’t you want to give me a pat?

Finally, market number three:  On our tramway to tour the Maritime Museum in Bordeaux on Sunday, we passed a small pop-up market on the Gironde River promenade.  Stan saw that I saw it and said, do you want to get off the tram early and see the market?  Well, yes, of course!   Who knows what might be found??

Sadly, it occurred to me that I’m not particularly impressed with these markets.  The berries, plums, apples, melons and vegetables like cabbages, leeks, lettuce and beautiful knobby tomatoes sold in these markets were unmistakably gorgeous but looked exactly like those sold in the last market.  In the three separate markets we visited here, all the produce was displayed and probably shipped in the same types of small wooden boxes.  I had the distinct impression that instead of being just harvested at a local French farm, the produce in each market appeared to have come from the same wholesaler.   While the vendors’ tables were laden with boxes of colorful, pretty, delicious-looking items, I saw nothing that made me think the produce was just picked or just harvested.  How disappointing!

I recall us spending a week or so in Beaucaire, France a few years ago.  When the gypsy markets came to town there, it was impossible to imagine what might be there.  The fruit and vegetables were piled high and looked as though they came from the farm that morning; a bit of soil still clung to the roots of radishes and carrots.  Just-plucked chickens, beef, pork, and fresh fish lay chilled on ice.  Hens, quail, and ribs roasted over flames in giant rotisserie cookers on truck beds.  Fresh brown eggs were sold by the sack or boxes of dozens.  Fragrant homemade cheeses and sausages were offered by their makers.  Other lanes sold unique and stylish clothing, undies, and shoes; others featured kitchen goods, electrical items, hardware, and knives.  Ahhh, now those were markets!