Sunday morning market.
‘The traveller sees
what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.’
Gilbert K Chesterton.
We’ve been to many French markets but Brest is the biggest one we’ve seen. On a
Sunday morning it stretches across the centre of the city. The pitches line the
sides of the roads and march their way around the square.
The wriggling body of people squirms its way along the
market, the long line broken only where the tram line crosses. The ringing from
the tall Vauban bell tower calls the faithful to mass, the sound mingling with
the noise of the crowds.
It feels as though there is a general bonhomie, helped by a
brief appearance of the sun after all the wind and rain.
‘Bonjour, bonjour.’ Groups
gather, kissing on both cheeks and chatting animatedly.
There are stalls with bread sold by the weight, bowls of
spices with tiny, long handled spoons which the vender uses to deftly scoop up tiny
portions from behind the stand. Some sellers have only a single table and chair
displaying a few wine bottles or pots of honey, others are many tables long
with several people working to serve the lines.
Long queues reach from the most popular bread and cheese
sellers, customers are handed samples to incite them to buy more and keep them
happy whilst they’re waiting. The patter of traders ‘You speak English? We love
tourists, I give you extra,’ fills the roads making us grin.
The seafood stalls have crabs with waving legs and bigorneu clambering slowly up the sides of
the baskets as if trying to get back to the water. The fruit and vegetable
stalls are bright with citrus, reds and greens. Fruits are cut open to display
the tempting flesh, boasting of juiciness and flavour.
We wander round the market, familiar now with our own
favourites.
‘Do we need…’ or ‘…can we go to the normal sausage man?’ the
children ask as they deftly make their way through the crowds, stopping every
now and then to stroke a dog waiting patiently in a queue with it’s owner.
The sights of cakes and pastries jostle alongside shoes and
handbags. Heady aromas fill the air, giant skillets of paella, roasting chickens dripping fat, sweet chestnuts and jacket
potatoes.
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