A crisp wind on my face, the sun just peaking behind the ridge, Sunday morning means bric-a-brac is on tap. I don’t witness too many sunrises and it takes a lot for me to actually manually wake the baby early in the morning, but this is definitely worth it. Twice a year this quaint village transforms into the second largest antiques market (behind Paris). The average Sunday, however, finds a fairly robust market fronting the existing antique shops lining the Sorgue River. Known as the “Venice” of France (kind of a stretch), the town is traversed by several meandering canals, crisscrossed by pedestrian bridges and punctuated by large waterwheels, making this one of the most picturesque of the Provençal towns.
The actual antique shops sell everything from high style antiques (Louis XIV writing desk anyone?), to architectural accents (stone pillars from a bygone Chateau), to the weird and wonderful (Oma Frieda’s wedding dress and maybe even her false teeth). The requisite food vendors abound, having regrouped from the Apt street market yesterday (Saturday mornings). Fresh produce, amazing flowers, spices, aged cheeses in wheels the size of truck tires – a kaleidoscope of sounds, colors and fragrances to warm the senses on a cold fall morning.
After procuring the final items and solidifying the transport documents for the shipping container, our entire family promptly sat down at the rivers edge and devoured lunch. A half roasted chicken, potatoes cooked to perfection in the dripping fat, just baked baguette with sharp (and oh so stinky) cheese, still warm raspberry and apple tartlets, glass of wine for me (maybe a sip for the baby? Maybe not? – Better to take an afternoon nap with my dear!) and by two o’clock the whole thing wraps up and is done. Marvelous day.