The Market at Chartrons

Spring is definitely here, and I can tell because this purple flowering vine has begun to bloom again, like it was at the end of August when I arrived. I have no idea what it is, but if you do, you should let me know.

This is the view directly out of my living room window. There's usually not a French flag there, but sometimes, on rare occasions, they fly it. Usually it's for some kind of holiday, but I'm not aware of any particular reason why it's been up the last few days. I like it, though. It's huge and transparent, and when the wind blows it takes up most of the view from our window.

This morning I woke up and Amy met me. After several tram foibles we made it out to Chartrons, which is the historical wine-trading district in Bordeaux. Every Sunday morning they have a big open-air market out there, with lots of seafood for sale. Terrifying seafood, with lots of whole, unedited creatures staring blankly from beds of chipped ice. More ice than you've ever seen in Europe. It's a curiosity, but not super appetizing for someone like me who fears eating things that still resemble the animals they used to be.

There are also still people standing around gutting or filet-ing fish, which I discovered is really something I'd rather not see done. I like my animal products to come magically deboned, deveined, skinned, or whatever else might be appropriate. Last weekend's adventure in eating whole, barbecued (grilled, really -- it's just that anything outside is called "barbecued", here) shrimp was kind of alarming. Much more alarming than eating horse, as it turns out.

The fruit stands were kind of spectacular to look at and to smell. All the different colors were very pleasing, and the strawberries in particular were very fragrant. There was one stand of just about every kind of dried fruit you've ever imagined. And some you've never imagined, which look entirely alien, and which not even the merchant could describe apart from its non-descriptive name. I got some pineapple that turned out to be really sugary. Amy got some strawberries and kiwi slices, which seemed interesting. There were whole candied clementines, chunks of melon, dates. Pears whole and halved and chunked.

There was a brass band that Nik says is there every Sunday, playing covers of contemporary music. They were, apparently, playing a Shakira cover when we arrived. I was, of course, completely unable to tell. But I trust those wiser in the ways of pop culture than I to discern these things.

And not far from the brass band was an oyster stand with the first offensive t-shirt I've ever seen on a French person. I thought they were maybe genetically pre-disposed not to be interested in offensive t-shirts, but here's this redneck wearing a shirt that says "Sex Instructor, First Lesson Free" selling oysters. I was quite surprised when I realized that. I was just trying to document the selling and eating of oysters (with wine included, of course. Can't have a midday meal by the river minus wine).

We grabbed a few macaroons before we left, since we'd yet to partake on this trip (and really, who comes to France for seven months and doesn't buy a macaroon?) and headed back on the tram.

The weather is gorgeous. Things are less ideal inside my apartment. I will be very, very excited to live otherwhere, I think.