Saturday, august 19, 2006

The market in France

Far away in the hills a sheep bleats. I pull up my legs and pull the duvet over my ears. A luscious cool breeze caresses my cheeks. The sun has been up for a while. Behind our apartment there are a few old chestnut trees. Every morning about seven, I wake up by the merry commotion of a dozen sparrow families that live there. Sometimes one chirps loudly above the rest, where after a short silence follows. And then the party continues. Of course I cannot understand them, but it´s nice to wake up like this.

This is how I feel between all the French when I go to the market.

It is warm and the sun shines joyfully. Everywhere there are traders who to my opinion ask to much for their goods. Its really much cheaper at the supermarket and sometimes even better, but no it´s not so sociable. Ouch, don't let our neighbor hear this, because I think she personally sees to it that we buy potatoes at the market. Whatever, the market in France is much more than just buying food, it's a social event, the contact that's what it´s about. And you have to go there whether you like it or not, because otherwise you'll miss out on something important.

The French paysans (farmers) come from the mountains with their vegetables and fruit and try subtlety to get the attention of the passers by. Sometimes I buy something I don't need and try to understand from the coarse Sothern-French accent how much I have to pay:

Paysan: sèteurosènkángtu
moi: oui, oui, bien sûr, merci
Paysan: nong, nong, sèteurosènkángtu
moi: ah, payer? Combien?
Paysan: mais nong?! Sèteurosènkángtu je vous dit!

Translation
Farmer: seven euro fifty
me: yes, yes, coarsa thanka you
Farmer: seven euro fifty
me: ah, me paye?… gowmucha?
Farmer: wel darn! Seven euro fifty i told you!

Finally I give the bloke a tenner, at least you know you're in the save. But whoa when you don't give enough. Then there is an exchange of coins to and fro and you feel yourself a bigger moron than Tony Blair on a skateboard.

I must say this doesn't give the farmers the credit they should get. It may be the region, I don't know, but the people here are extremely patient, kind and friendly, however ignorant you appear to be. And at a time Ruud and I realised that we missed the well-known moaning and groaning of impatient clients behind us, we hadn't heard that in a long time.

Everybody here speaks more or less the regional language, but in the cafe downstairs, they really make an effort in making themselves understandable.

Sometimes you're caught by pride and amazement, because you've read an article in the paper without using a dictionary, yes and not only that, but at the same time you do understand what was written. But then again suddenly you find another article, from which you can´t make heads or tails. So we inquired with the lady from the cafe... 'please tell, is it us or can't this bloke write?'. Her answer is comforting, she didn't get it either.

posted by Ruud at 02:07  |  send an e-mail

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