Every Wednesday and Saturday, the Bergerac organic market, or marché bio, encircles the Église Notre-Dame. The church’s elegant spire is the pin that fixes the city to the map. Bergerac is full of contrasts. On the one hand it’s a tourist destination with a fascinating mix of architecture, and on the other it’s a work-aday town with peeling plaster and a crumbling infrastructure. The view you get depends on the weather. On a cloudy day the town seems dingy and depressing. On a bright day it looks charming and cheerful.
Today the sun poured freely into the city center, painting the buildings with gold highlights and cobalt shadows. Scores of colorful food stalls spiraled out from the church to the main parking lot, spreading onto the sidewalk that borders the ancient lanes of the vieille ville, or old town.
Parking on market days is très difficile. Your best bet is to drive around to the north end of town and squeeze between a Renault Clio and a Fiat 500, often parking halfway over the curb. While the police are lenient on market days, the residents are not. You must never—jamais!—block someone’s garage access or impede a motorist’s progress. The offended party will have your car hooked up to a tow truck before you can say bonjour. Locals are acutely aware of these rules, even as they park in the oddest of spots.
Sara and I left the car on the curved corner of an intersection—normally a non-non—and walked south to the bio. The sky was a deep and cloudless blue on the Wednes-day after the Bodega. We carried shopping bags and wore straw hats against the intense rays of the July sun.
“What are we looking for?” I asked Sara.
“Something for tonight. I was thinking a turkey roulade with grilled courgettes, along with those yummy duck-fat potatoes we had at the Bodega. We can use up the duck fat we already have in the fridge.” She stopped at a crowded stall and bought a kilo of fingerling potatoes.
The market stalls in this part of France are a feast for the eyes. Bins of bright red radishes contrast with pure white leeks laid side by side with their curly white roots entwining. Cartons of stubby orange carrots lie beside luscious bunches of deep green parsley. Endive bulbs live next door to bonbon tomatoes, and boxes of haricots verts cozy up to crates of fresh green mâche. Charming handwritten signs, displaying the names and prices, wave insouciantly from various boxes.
Life in France...
Author Marty Neumeierof Beginning French by Les Americains, tells how his family learned to live the French way, and it's not always easy...