to market, to market

January 9, 2012

not to buy a fat pig although there’s been lots of talk about these of late. And long may it continue . . .

Sunday market at San Antonin Noble Val is an important occasion. We were early this week so could look around at the narrow streets before they filled with stalls . .

and notice things that may not get noticed  . . .

. . and talk and play with some residents . .

. . baby likes to do this from his privileged position . .

Looking close up at what is on offer, thinking about menus and recipes . . . .

some stalls offer quite modest fare but with a sense of aesthetic display. Usually I feel sorry for those with 6 oignons, a bunch of persil and 12 pommes de terre and buy from them and especially if the scales are hand held and over 50 years old.  These radis rose et noirs looked spectacular . .

. . and the size of the chou-fleurs!

Looking through the covered market  . .

and at the Roman House – such distinguished and controlled tones – mellow.

Paniers full and someone’s going home on these two sweeties.

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,
Home again, home again, dancing a jig;
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog;
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,
Home again, home again, market is done.

The train from Perpignan to the north – Narbonne and then Toulouse or Montpellier or Bézier – runs straight  across the Étangs. At 8.18 just before sunrise . . .

 . . at 8.20, the first glimpse and sorry for the dirty windows!

The soft underbelly of the clouds reminds me of the gentle rosy pink curves of the flamingoes that inhabit this area.

Homer or perhaps it’s his translator uses the phrase  ‘and dawn comes up with rosy fingers’ intermittently in his Odyssey. I find it evocative and meaningful.

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