Although it’s Saturday and Kelly doesn’t have school today, we set the alarm for 7:30. We want to leave the house no later than nine. We all dress warmly, and I put the big straw basket in the car. It’s market day in Apt.
We want to arrive early because parking can be a challenge at this popular market. In the summer it’s so crowded that there is satellite parking at the old train station and people are shuttled into the center of town. Today we park as usual on the street near the music school and walk several blocks to the west end of the market at Place de la Bouquerie. Several other people also walk briskly down the street; everyone has a straw market basket. One man has a small dog that Kelly thinks is cute. We pass an elderly lady, very stooped over, who moves much more slowly. She pulls a shopping basket on wheels and is dressed nicely in a dress, heeled shoes, a woolen coat and hat. “Bonjour Madame,” we each say politely, as we circle around her. “Excusez-moi, s’il vous plaît.”
Today we’ve managed to arrive a bit early, so we have time for coffee at the Café du Louvre on the Place de la Bouquerie. Some of the sellers are still unpacking their goods and setting up their stalls outside on the square. Charley has café noir, I have café au lait, and Kelly has chocolat chaud. A man at the bar is drinking pastis. Our favorite café doesn’t serve food at breakfast, so Charley walks a few doors down the street to the Bouchard boulangerie and comes back with several croissants. We tell the owner we’ll be back for lunch, and head out into the busy marketplace.
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I love the environment and experience of the outdoor markets in Provence. We have a brochure listing the all markets in the Vaucluse and also many of the neighboring départements, and so far we’ve been to nine different markets. The brochure lists well over 100 markets within a two-hour drive from our house. We like to visit new towns on their market day, especially in the winter months when the tourists are gone and the old streets otherwise seem strangely silent. On market day it’s like an invisible switch is turned on… everything comes alive. Everyone is out on the street, shopping and socializing and planning a wonderful lunch. Big places like Aix-en-Provence and Avignon have their market several days a week, but most villages and towns have a weekly market, always on the same day of the week and usually in the morning. Some of the markets are very small—just a few sellers providing fresh and convenient food to local residents. Other markets are enormous with hundreds of sellers, sprawling out across the town.
So far, we’ve been to markets in Bonnieux (Friday), Lourmarin (Friday), Gordes (Tuesday), Apt (Saturday), Aix-en-Provence (Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday), Vaison-la-Romaine (Tuesday), Uzès (Saturday), L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue (Sunday), and Sisteron (Saturday), several of these a couple of times. We’ll definitely go to the markets in Coustellet, St. Remy, Avignon, La Tour D’Aigues and Forcalquier sometime over the next few months. I can’t imagine ever tiring of the markets, though I imagine I would tire of the summer crowds.
We have learned that some markets have a dramatically different character depending on the time of the year. We have a strong sense of loyalty to our village of Bonnieux, but we don’t go to the Friday morning market there much any more. In early October the Bonnieux market had maybe 30 sellers, filling the shady Place Gambetta mid-way up the village: several vegetable stands, a fish truck, a cheese truck, a flower seller, a goat cheese seller, an olive oil stand, a couple of people selling fabric items and lavender, a woman selling shirts, a man selling little toy cars, our favorite pizza truck, and more. There was a small-town carnival atmosphere, accentuated by a man and woman singing cabaret-type songs outside the café (“Those were the days my friend, I thought they’d never end…). They were selling CDs of their music—and quite a few tourists were buying them. Back in October people sat on the café’s sidewalk terrace, drinking their coffee, listening to the music, and enjoying the view across the valley. We stopped at the Bonnieux market this week and it had only six sellers in an almost-deserted market square: the fish and cheese trucks were still there along with the flower man (who kept his flowers in his van because it was so cold), a man selling farm-raised chickens, a man selling organic bread, and—strangely—a man with three or four chairs who was apparently selling his services repairing chairs. Down the hill the pizza truck was missing this week, but there was a big truck with several racks of clothes out front that seemed to be some sort of traveling clothing store. The Bonnieux market—like many others in Provence—relies heavily on tourists and takes on a very different character in tourist season.
We were surprised that the Lourmarin market is still going strong in the wintertime. The Lourmarin market actually seemed more substantial in December 2004 than it did when we visited in June 2003. Lourmarin is pretty village in a flat area on the south side of the Luberon, about 30 minutes from Bonnieux. We always enjoy the beautiful drive to Lourmarin through a jagged cut between the two Luberon mountains. We’ve had a couple of relaxing Friday mornings in Lourmarin—a leisurely coffee in a laid-back café popular with locals and an hour or so poking around the market and shops.
We recently drove about two hours over to Sisteron in the Alpes-de-Haute-Provence on a market-day Saturday. Sisteron is an interesting town with an amazing setting, but the market was small with fifteen stands at most. In the winter months the old citadel that towers at the top of the rock and overlooks the River Durance is closed, but we climbed up to the terrace and appreciated the view of the rocky mountain across the river. It was a pretty drive there and back, and we had a good lunch, but it’s a good thing we didn’t go primarily for the market.
We highly recommend the big, busy markets at Apt, Aix-en-Provence and L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, and we’ve taken friends from home to these markets in the winter months. We also loved our daytrips a bit father afield to Uzès and Vaison-la-Romaine—unique old towns with large diverse markets, good permanent shopping, and plenty of lunch restaurants to choose from. (I firmly believe that a good lunch is an important part of going to market!) These were good sightseeing towns too—beautiful old architecture in Uzès and 2000-year old Roman ruins in Vaison.
The Apt market is our very favorite, and we try to go every other week as part of our regular shopping. The marketplace takes over the entire center of town (centre ville) for the morning, and all the interior streets are closed to traffic. The seven or eight open squares are filled with stands and little truck-stores, and other stands line the narrow pedestrian streets. The big parking lot at east end of town (near the boules court) is filled with more sellers. Many of the permanent shopkeepers also set up tables or stands outside their businesses. We estimate there are at least 200 sellers who come to town just for the Saturday market at this time of year. The Apt Tourist Office brochure says this market dates back to the twelfth century and that there are 300 stalls in the summer season.
We went to our first Apt market in October, not long after we arrived in Provence. While I’m sure the Apt market benefits from tourists, it seems no different in January than it did in early October: the same number of sellers, the same kinds of merchandise, the same crowds of people thronging the streets. Although we spot (and hear) a few tourists here and there, most people at this market live in and around Apt. In addition to allowing residents to stock up on a wide variety of food and merchandise, the market is a major social activity. We watch friends greet each other with the now-familiar kiss-kiss-kiss. (We live in a “three-kiss” part of France.) Sometimes there are street performers, once even a group of drum-playing and noise-making American Indians complete with feathered headdresses. (How strange it seemed to see them here in Provence!) A few untethered dogs usually move around the crowd, and there’s an occasional sad-looking beggar. Everyone has their shopping basket and a sense of energy and anticipation. We love being part of the Saturday market in Apt.
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I’ve come to the market today with a little shopping list. I like to buy my fresh produce here… actually, I like to buy as much as possible at the market. I don’t know if it’s necessarily cheaper or better than what I can buy at the big Leclerc supermarket, but I definitely prefer the environment and the interaction with the sellers. Today I’m looking for ripe tomatoes, a few vegetables (I’ll see what looks particularly good), and what we call “dirty” potatoes. I’ve also announced that I may be looking for a cheap flannel shirt to keep me warm around the house. Last week I saw some flannel shirts at the Uzès market for only five euro—I should have bought one then.
We move through the crowd and start our way down the busy street, passing the now-familiar sellers and stopping occasionally to browse. I always enjoy the large and colorful florist stand, and have noticed that at least half the shoppers seem to leave the market with a bouquet of some sort. Kelly and I pause by the man selling lavender and Provencal soaps at the Place Gabriel Peri where the big town hall (mairie) and préfecture (police station) are located. This man must sell at least thirty different scents of colorful olive oil soap, and Kelly and I stock up every several weeks.
I linger by one of several big booths selling the bright Provençal fabrics, pausing to look at a couple of tablecloths. I love the blue and yellow tablecloth I bought when we visited last summer, and I’ve decided to buy another one—a really high quality tablecloth—before we leave Provence this time. Kelly and I have started debating colors and patterns, but it’s too early to get serious about this purchase now. We can enjoy looking for a few months.
We always stop and look at the pottery shop on the corner (Tamisier), the place where we bought some of our santons and made friends with the owner who wears shorts even in the winter. On market day he has as much for sale outside his shop as he has inside—little jugs for olive oil, casserole dishes, serving bowls, pitchers, olive wood cutting boards, straw baskets… how can I possibly get some of these things home??
There’s a lot of activity in the big square by the préfecture, and the market moves from here in several directions. The nice Oriental man in the little truck is located here, selling eggrolls and other oriental food items. Kelly likes his chicken on skewers, and we normally buy her a few every time. We’re heading in his direction when we see two men with a table filled with sweaters. Unlike some other sellers, they don’t have a fancy stall: no awning overhead, no covering on their table, no artful display of their merchandise. Their table is covered with at least 50 sweaters, almost every one different. Each sweater is sealed in cellophane, and they’re all piled on a simple folding table with a cardboard sign thrown on the top. The sweaters catch our attention. Kelly would desperately like another sweater, and I need some more warm clothes too. Then we read the cardboard sign—“1 euro”. One euro!?? Could this possibly be? We ask one of the men in French, and yes, somehow they’re selling these brand new sweaters for one euro each. All three of us begin to paw through the pile, looking at the styles and trying to see the sizes through the cellophane. Sometimes we ask the man about a size, and somehow the man seems to magically know a size he cannot see. The two men pull more sweaters out of a cardboard box as high as Kelly and throw them on the table. Suddenly the table is surrounded… ten other people join us searching through the sweaters. Charley finds a sweater, and then wanders away to talk to an American couple living in the village of Saignon. He has a kind of radar for American voices, and now he’s finding all about their decision to retire to Provence, while Kelly and I continue our frenzied search among the sweaters. Finally we buy seven sweaters, some for each of us. The man takes our money and puts the sweaters in a couple of plastic bags. Seven brand-new sweaters for seven euros. How amazing. We should be warm for the rest of the winter. (When we finally get home and take the sweaters out of their bags, we find the man didn’t really know the sizes of the sweaters. One of Kelly’s sweaters ends up with me and one of my sweaters ends up with Charley, but they’re all very good sweaters and we’re proud of our luck to find such sweaters for just one euro each.)
Our hands are now filled with the bags of sweaters, but we continue our way around the market. Some Saturdays Kelly and I split off from Charley… we’re more aggressive shoppers with a different agenda than his. He’s happy to look and we like to buy. Today we all stay together until near the end. Charley and I check out the vegetables at a couple of stands, thinking we’ll buy the heavier produce on our way back to the car. The produce is wonderful. At this time of year we think much of it is brought over from North Africa, not too far away from southern France. I spot one man selling fresh asparagus, the first we have seen, and I ask for half a kilo. The same man is also selling wonderful looking strawberries, big and luscious… unusual at this time of year. He gives Kelly a sample, and we buy a half kilo of these also. I notice he’s also selling truffles, but these are too expensive for us. Our straw basket is filling up, and Charley takes it from me. At another stand we buy five potatoes, several ripe tomatoes, and one enormous mushroom.
I’m trying to find the man who sold me a pair of blue jeans before Christmas, a Christmas gift for Charley. Although I thought I got the right size, they didn’t fit and I’m hoping to exchange them for a different size. I only paid 15 euro, but most importantly, I want Charley to have a new pair of jeans. We go to the square where I thought the man was located, but suddenly I’m confused. Usually you can find the sellers in the same general place. Where exactly had the jeans man been that day? Was it this square—or perhaps this next area? We look down several streets and I find several sellers with clothes, but I can’t find my jeans man today after all. We’ll have to bring the jeans back another Saturday.
Near the library (bibliothèque), we see our favorite pizza people—a husband and wife. They bake pizzas to order in a specially-equipped pizza truck, a familiar sight at the markets of Provence. We mainly know this couple because they bring their truck to Bonnieux almost every Friday morning, parking down near the new church. Charley often places an order for pizza when he takes Kelly to school on Friday morning and then picks up our pizzas when he picks her up for lunch at noon. The French don’t make pizza with pepperoni, but I like the pizza with ham, mushrooms and black olives—a pizza royale. The “pizza truck pizza” has become an anticipated Friday lunch tradition for our family, and Charley has a nice rapport with the couple. The man is a retired policeman. Today in Apt Kelly asks us if she can have just one piece of pizza. They sell a plain cheese pizza by the slice. She’s excited to greet the couple, and I can tell they remember the American girl who speaks to them in French.
I have a normal route I like to follow at the Apt market—from our starting place at the Place de la Bouquerie, down the narrow Rue du Marchands, to Rue St. Pierre and finally to the Place Lauze de Perret parking lot at the other end of the town. Then I wander back through a series of narrow streets and squares north of my initial route. There’s always some surprise—something new for sale, some different produce now available, a stand I hadn’t noticed before. At one point in my route, we come into a big square surrounded by tall stark-looking apartment buildings, laundry hanging from the windows—we’re in the middle of some type of housing project. We also feel like we’ve stepped into a different country. (In a strange way it reminds me of moving between Frontierland and Adventureland at DisneyWorld.) Many of the people shopping in this square have a different complexion and style, even a different language. I think many of them are immigrants from Arabic countries. Some of the women wear long robes and head coverings. The stalls in this part of the market sell some different foods and clothing items. It seems exotic, more foreign, another aspect of Provence.
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The largest markets have an incredible array of merchandise that appeals to both tourists and locals. Some sellers have very elaborate booths and displays, some have stores set up inside refrigerated trucks, and sometimes (like our sweater men) there’s just a very simple table. In Uzès we saw one wizened elderly woman standing in a doorway selling brussel sprouts from an oversized basket, probably picked the afternoon before from her garden.
Most of the sellers have a weekly schedule they follow, rotating to a different market every day. The helpful man I bought two scarves from in Lourmarin also sells in Aix, normally in the square just across from the Mephisto shoe store. We’ve seen him there every time we go to Aix. We’ve talked several times with one friendly young man who sells cheese for a farmer—three variations of the same cheese, just different ages. He offers free samples to attract people to his simple table, and he has an effective sales pitch. Charley and I first met him in Vaison-la-Romaine, sampled his cheese, listened to his pitch, and bought a hunk. He cut our cheese off a huge wedge and wrapped it in plastic wrap and white paper. We passed his table again as he was closing up and we were heading to lunch. We said “Bonjour” and then “Au revoir.” He beckoned us over and gave us a parcel containing all his leftover samples. Kelly loved the cheese we brought home. A few weeks later we saw him again in Uzès and of course bought more cheese. He rattled off a weekly schedule that also includes L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue. He travels to seven markets a week, one each day.
Locals can buy almost all their fresh food at the weekly market: fruits and vegetables, meat, fish, sausages, cheese, bread, olives, olive oil, tapenade and hummus, honey in all different flavors, nuts, herbs and spices, jams, homemade fruit juices, and local wine. Many of these products are grown right in Provence and sold only in season, perhaps picked or packaged on a nearby farm just the day before. We really enjoyed the luscious Cavaillion melons we bought at market last June, smaller and sweeter than a cantelope. Cherries—a major crop in the area right around Apt—were also plentiful in early summer. At the Apt market one Saturday in November, Kelly and I found a stand selling baskets of freshly-picked apples—and also freshly-made apple juice. We bought a bottle of the juice for Kelly and it was just wonderful. The next time we were at the Apt market, we looked for the apple man again and couldn’t find him. His season must have been over.
In Aix-en-Provence the market fills up several large squares—hundreds of sellers several days a week. There’s one entire square dedicated to flowers… beautiful bunches of colorful cut flowers and pots of small houseplants. Another square has only fruits and vegetables. Two other streets are closed to traffic and have mostly booths selling clothes. The biggest square by the Palais de Justice has food at one end and a flea/brocante market at the other end. The Aix market is extremely busy, but there are also lots of wonderful-looking regular shops… and they all seem busy too. One Tuesday Charley and I shopped the Aix market in the morning, then went down to the Cours Mirabeau for lunch. We walked back up through the squares about 2 pm in the afternoon. We couldn’t find a trace of the market that had been so busy only two hours before… just a few city workers hosing down the cobblestones.
In the produce market in Aix-en-Provence I saw one large stand selling only fresh mushrooms. There must have been at least fifteen different kinds. I decided to try some unusual mushrooms—girolles they’re called here. Since they were extremely expensive (about 28 euro for a kilo), I asked for just a quart-kilo. Apparently I should have asked for 250 grams, as the man raised an eyebrow and started aggressively filling a very large bag with the pricey mushrooms. The lady next to me looked at me in awe. They both thought I wanted quatre kilos—four kilos, over eight pounds, over 100 euro of mushrooms! I was able to stop the weighing process and clarify my order.
Some of the produce sellers don’t want you to handle their products. When it’s your turn, you say what you want and how much, and the seller picks the right produce for you, sometimes even asking when you plan to use it so he or she can make the best selection for your needs. Other sellers have little baskets set out here and there. You fill your basket with what you want, and then they weigh the individual items.
There are usually several kinds of cooked foods for sale, perfect for taking home for lunch or on a picnic: whole chickens and other birds cooking in large traveling rotisseries, the juices dripping onto potatoes cooking in the bottom; enormous pans of paella covered with shellfish; oriental noodles and eggrolls; crispy pizzas baked in the special pizza trucks. The cooking aromas drift over the marketplace, mingling with the smell of fresh bread wafting out from the many boulangeries. Most people leave the marketplace with at least one long baguette, sometimes poking out of their straw shopping basket and sometimes just tucked under an arm. Baguettes usually aren’t put in a bag at the boulangerie, just circled around the middle with a small piece of wrapping paper, perhaps designed to protect the bread when it’s carried under the arm. In Sisteron Charley and I noticed a workman walking down the street with two long wooden boards tucked under one arm and two baguettes tucked under the other. It was a very French sight.
The big markets are also partly flea markets… like the sweaters we found in Apt, there can be a wide variety of other items for sale: shoes and slippers, kids’ pajamas, lingerie, bedding, shirts, blue jeans, socks, cooking pans, coats, kitchen utensils, knives, hardware, hats, books, videos, eyeglasses, scarves, make-up, toys, sometimes even grocery items. The markets in Aix and Apt have many of these types of sellers, and we’ve found some great deals. We’ve seen several people attracting a crowd of spectators with energetic demonstrations—an instrument for cracking nuts, a special pair of pruning shears, a magical frying pan, a unique scissors sharpener, a fancy wine bottle opener. Local crafts are sometimes for sale: jewelry, pottery, prints of local scenery. We’ve seen a few sellers with assortments of products from Africa—drums and carved giraffes and animal skins. The market in L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is known for brocante—as one person told us, brocante is something between antiques and junk. Every Sunday a large part of busy L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue market is dedicated to brocante, supplementing the many permanent antique and brocante shops all around the town. L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is also special because of the narrow river Sorgue which winds its way through town, criss-crossed by little bridges and still supporting several old waterwheels. The market in Aix also has a brocante section, including several stands of old books.
Provence is truly a sensory delight of colors and tastes and scents, and it all seems heightened at the marketplace. For the short-term visitor who isn’t shopping for vegetables or cheese or flea market deals, there are other treasures to be found. The first purchase should be an inexpensive straw basket—perfect for shopping and then a carry-on bag to get everything home. I love the fabric items—tablecloths, placemats, napkins, aprons, dish towels, cushions, little purses—all in bright colors and Provencal designs. I think every visitor to Provence should take home a tablecloth—something that can be used on a regular basis as a reminder of this special place. The “paniers” (little fabric bread baskets that are tied up in each corner) make unique gifts. I also love the colorful and substantial-looking pottery. Some pottery is rough and very inexpensive—tiny bowls for tapenade, bright garlic graters, a spoon rest, or perhaps an olive dish. Upscale pottery shops sell unique handpainted designs that make lovely serving pieces—to be proudly displayed, not hidden away. (We especially like the pottery our friends the Rohdes bought at the Terre e Provence shop in Aix and are contemplating making a major purchase before we leave.) There are many beautiful items made of Provençal olive wood, and although some are quite expensive, a small cutting board or set of salad utensils can be a reasonably-priced purchase. What else can fit in that new straw bag? There are so many choices of items uniquely Provence… a bottle of locally-produced olive oil or wine, a few pots of tapenade or honey, a sackcloth bag of herbes de Provence, an assortment of olive oil soaps, a fabric-covered lavender sachet… the tastes and aromas and textures of Provence to carry back home.
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I look at my watch on this Saturday morning and realize it’s already 11:40. The market starts winding down at noon and the shops close then too—after all, it’s lunchtime. Charley volunteers to take our bags of sweaters and vegetables back to the car, while Kelly and I make a few last stops. We pass by the old Cathédrale Sainte-Anne, which is hidden in the center of Apt. Although it’s been remodeled many times, the original building is from the 11th or 12th century. Some relics of St. Anne (the mother of the Virgin Mary) were supposedly brought back here after the Crusades. Not far from the Cathedral on the Rue du Marchands there’s a kitchen shop we like a lot, with a neat cave down in the basement filled with high-quality pottery. We’re looking for some type of water carafe that Charley’s mentioned wanting, but we don’t find it. Instead we buy Kelly a fold up bag with cats on it to take on her ski trip.
I pause to look at a table of scarves. I’ve bought two scarves since we’ve been in France and have gotten two others as gifts. I like wearing scarves as so many of the French women do—now if only I could drape them around my neck in that same stylish way. I feel the urge to buy another scarf today, but Kelly is anxious to move on. And she says she thinks the scarves look too much like India. I’ll have to do my future scarf shopping without her. Today I’ll just be satisfied with my one euro sweaters.
Kelly and I make our way back through the main street to Le Louvre, where we began our day. Charley’s waiting for us at a sunny table, and the nice owner greets Kelly and I again. Almost every table in his café is filled today. I check the board for the plat de jour (lamb), and we study the menus we now know by heart. We settle back for another leisurely lunch and a few glasses of wine… a perfect way to end another Saturday morning in Apt.
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Links to more information about the Markets of Provence:
Partial list - markets in Provence
Markets of Provence: A Culinary Tour of Southern France by Ruthanne Long (a wonderful book with photos - less than $15 on Amazon)
