|The market meanders along several streets in the centre of Lorgues|
We visited Lorgues on a Tuesday - market day - and navigating the narrow streets in our hire car I found myself confronted by a plethora of market stalls and the car I was following rapidly reversing towards me.
|Trying shoes for size at the market's leather stall.|
|Sacks full of herbs and spices tempt those culinary skills.|
Fresh vegetables, ripened under the Provenҫal sun, tongue-zinging raspberries, juicy flat peaches and tree-ripened apricots like my mother used to grow. I felt a glow of health just looking at them.
Then of course were the cheeses, the stalls stacked with all kinds of sausage, sacks of bright spices and pungent herbs, the nougat – every kind you can imagine, lavender and acacia honeys, an array of hand-made ‘sirops’ (cordials) with exotic-sounding flavours of elderflower, tilleul (linden flower), or blackcurrant.
|Colourful baskets by the hundreds.|
There were hats and baskets, and scented terracotta shapes for your wardrobe. There were belts, and bathers and buckets and spades for the children. There were soaps - the special Savon de Marseille - and perfumes, kitchen utensils and tea towels and beautiful quilts and table cloths. There were even mattresses!
There was just so much, far too much to take in.
It called for a pause to collect our thoughts and to stop buying everything we saw. So the dark shade of a spreading plane tree beckoned with an ice cold beer for him and cider for me.
|Welcome respite after a morning browsing and shopping.|