StCirq

Or is it 4? I've lost count.

7/31/04

Up at 8:00 and on the road to St-Cyprien by 8:30 for the Sunday market. We don't really need anything, but it's simply not possible to spend time in the Perigord without going to market, that ancient ritual of socializing and filling a basket with temptations. It's hard to locate the ancient ritual aspect of it at first glance - the parking lots are crammed with shiny new cars with NL and GB stickers, the narrow strip of road through town is a shoulder-to-shoulder crush of humanity, and the first stall one encounters is presided over by two Vietnamese ladies selling nems and "salades asiatiques" - but one peels back the layers and uncovers the old traditions: the lone caner proudly displaying his rewoven antique chairs, the loud call of the butcher exhorting customers to grab today's special, the roti de veau, the octogenarian in the traditional Perigord blue smock and black hat selling mushrooms he has combed the forests for, the wizened lady with the baskets of fresh eggs, the perky red-haired girl at the vegetable stand throwing a bunch of fresh parsley into her regular customers' bags, the couple for Lalinde who bring their bees in a portable cage to emphasize the origin of their honeys.

There is a cornucopia of utterly wretched junk here, too, more and more of it every year, at least in high season. The junk vendors come and go, trying their hand at hawking cheap pool toys in the shape of turtles and snakes, cartoon paintings, water sprinklers in the shape of flowers that dance all over your lawn, paint-by-number sets, lava lamps that emit odors like lavender and honeysuckle, wooden frogs that come with a stick which, when stroked against the back of the frog makes a " ribbit" sound. Then there are the African vendors selling cheap leather goods and huge scarves with Britney Spears and Eminem on them. And the bra guys - I wonder about these fellow whose livelihood involves carting around enormous bins of bras and explaining to women in meticulous detail which size and style would be most appropriate: "Here, Madame, the navy blue suits you perfectly, unless of course you are wearing white, and will give you the lift you need without straining on the back. You see how light it is, but how strong? You won't even know you're wearing it!"

The vendors are a clan unto themselves, sharing jokes across the choked street and scurrying between one another's stalls to borrow change. Most of them frequent the same markets and thus see each other 5-6 days a week and know each other well. There are exceptions: The tall Dutch lady who sells Mimolette and a dozen kinds of Gouda, and the British fellow who started out selling beans and tea and now has a full repertoire of British products, will never make the grade - but they do have their share of customers, having cornered a good chunk of the market.

We buy some coreopsis and a basil plant. Taylor buys a pair of khaki capri-length pants with pockets all over like the ones every French waiter in the Perigord is sporting this summer. We nurse cold drinks at the main cafe in town and watch the sea of humanity swarm and jostle - how different this is from the scene in April or September, when French is pretty much the only language spoken and one can maneuver freely and inspect the goods. Taylor wants a pizza, so we stop at the pizza stand and chat with the proprietors while they make his pizza Marguerite. Business is better in the spring and fall, they say. Despite the influx of people, the "foreigners," they say, don't buy. They just look. I resist the temptation to say that I'm one of those foreigners and have happily bought a pizza, and instead wish them good luck, and we make our way back to the car. A quick stop at the Spar grocery store for some iced tea, and home again.

The sun is blazing. We pile a serving plate with sliced tomatoes, mozarella, basil, cornichons, salami, shredded carrots, radishes, and mustard and take it and glasses and a bottle of chilled iced tea to the table under the linden tree. We feast in the shade of the tree, throw the dishes in the sink, and fall into the pool. We roast away the afternoon, reading for 15 minutes, then playing silly games in the pool - floating basketball, toss the torpedo, races from end to end. Bees congregate around the flecks of water at the top of the ladder, making it dicey to get in and out. Bright yellow butterflies skim the surface of the water and occasionally land on our arms and shoulders. The neighbors' chickens root around at one end of our yard, seeking the deepest shade possible. Lizards crawl up and down the stone wall above the pool, sneaking into crannies to escape the heat. This is the essence of vacation, utter lassitude.

When we are thoroughly toasted, we sit with feet up on the wall and read. David Sedaris's book, Naked, is hilarious, and has me guffawing outloud on the hillside. For dinner we have a cabecou salad, sliced tomatoes, and the most exquisite nectarines imaginable. A 5 euro bottle of Pecharmant works its way nicely into my system over the course of the evening.

We get out the telescope and assemble it only to find I have hidden two eyepieces to it somewhere I thought was safe - and can't remember where. So we gaze at the panoply of stars above with naked eyes and are still impressed. There must be ten thousand points of light above.

laverendrye

Ah, the Saint-Cyprien market! During our recent stay in La Roque Gageac, we shopped at the Sunday market twice, and what a delight it was. I don't know about other foreigners, but we couldn't resist the Mara des Bois strawberries, sweeter and tastier than any I have ever known, the green beans, and tiny radishes. Of course we bought cabécou, and from the Dutch cheese lady the extra old Gouda, sharper and crumblier than aged cheddar. From the wine sellers Bergerac and Pécharmant and Monbazillac (I still have one bottle). And for a grand Sunday dinner for our group, fresh foie gras and confit de canard from one of the butcher stands. I could go on, but can't forget the highlight for us, the sausage man, who could pass for Jerry Collona, who kept up a stand-up comedy routine with all his customers and passers-by. We went to other markets during our stay, but it is Saint-Cyprien which will remain in our memories most vividly.

mvor

St. C, each day just gets better and better!

I was curious what you and your son were reading. You paint such a vivid picture with your writing that I kept inserting book titles as I read your report. I'm glad to see you're enjoying one of my favourite authors. Naked is definitely laugh-out-loud funny. After I read it, I listened to him on tape and it was even better. If you haven't already, you should read Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. It's more introspective but he still manages some very funny moments.

Thanks again for your reports--they make great "summer reading."

StCirq

Yes,the sausage man is a real character and he has suckered me into paying three times as much as I should for a simple saucisson pur porc on more than one occasion. He's a clever con artist - it took me some time to figure that out. His comedy routine is well practiced and is designed to distract you, and it does. He's a character, all right, but not one

StCirq

woops, hit the Send button too soon.Just wanted to say that the sausage guy is out to gouge customers - he charges 3-4 times the price you'll pay at the Intermarche. Yes, he's charming, but his prices are astronomical.

laverendrye

You're right about the sausage man. We were suckered once, but the next time just enjoyed his routine.

susanna

I too am enjoying reading about your vacation each morning...I look forward to finding the next segment. I will be in Provence for two weeks in September and am hoping to have a similiar vacation...swimming, eating, swimming eating. You have little radishes each day, will these still be available in Sept?
You have a very special relationship with your teenage son, one I'm sure many parents would be envious for. He seem like a great guy, and you, a great Mom...a perfect combo!
See you tomorrow morning...how long will this run go for?

rex

I'm reasonably certain that there is no part 6 - - this part 5 seems to go from counting the stars on 7/31 to part 7 which starts on the morning of 8/1. I have searched by various methods, and cannot find a part 6. so, here is the link to part 7: http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34519151

Best wishes,

Rex