To market, to market

Market streets
Today was our first French market experience.  Around 10 a.m. we wandered down to the main village square to a myriad of vendors selling all sorts of meats, vegetables, fruit, eggs, as well as homemade jellies, jams and several items pickled in goose grease. Not to mention aisles and aisles of stands selling jewelry, clothing, hand-me down type items like second-hand books and dishes as well as hand-sewn linens, soaps, woven baskets and more.

Fresh pearsThe market did not just take over the central square but the entire city of Sarlat, including its narrow stone-walled alleyways. People filled the streets, shuffling from stand to stand, oohing and ahhing and bargaining for the best price on fish, eggs and pigeon meat. Most people were French, chattering softly to each other, with small dogs in tow. The second largest group were tourists--British and French tourist families and older couples. The children's faces were smeared with ice cream and pastry and they ran from vendor to vendor, running sticky fingers over fabrics and pottery while begging for a stuffed bear or more candy. Their tired parents lagged behind, toting backpacks and water bottles, pointing out the prices on fresh fruit and vegetables.

Debbie with garlicToday was one of the first days I actually felt like things in France were affordable. I bought two white-fleshed nectarines for 67 cents, a crusty baguette for 80, as well as a large container of sweet-smelling strawberries for only two Euros.
Many small towns throughout the Dordogne region live on these markets. Most villages don't have supermarkets and so the townspeople do their shopping twice a week when farmers drive their vans in, filled with their freshest wares.

Me in front of La LanterneAfter exploring nearly every market stand, my mom and I headed back to La Lanterne, the little bed and breakfast where we are staying in Sarlat. Now I must do a shameless plug for La Lanterne merely because our stay here has been so great. (Not that our other hotels weren't wonderful--they just seem to be getting better and better as we head south.)

Debbie with FrodoLa Lanterne is run by a British couple, Terri and Roy. They moved to Sarlat five years ago and bought a little house nestled into the alley behind the cathedral and had it completely remodeled. While the place is absolutely charming, complete with a private courtyard filled with flowers and little resident dog named Frodo, what makes this place so perfect are the British hosts. They will truly bend over backward for their guests.  As we relaxed in the courtyard, Terri chatted with us about dogs and Roy gave me a French cooking magazine to poke through. This evening as my mom and I wandered around Sarlat, trying to choose from one of the seemingly hundred cafes for dinner, we ran into Roy who then walked with us, pointing out the good restaurants, as well as the best items on the menu. And of course, they both help us in such a pleasing British accent that makes everything even more perfect.

Ancient France (and Austin Powers)

I'm lying in a wrought-iron four poster bed in one of the oldest buildings in a 12th century medieval village listening to the strains of jazz musicians playing Austin Powers' theme song.


I don't know if there's any greater contrast.


We arrived in Sarlat-la-Canéda, or simply Sarlat, around four p.m. after leaving our beautiful French manor house in the Loire Valley. With our trusty navigation system to direct us, (we've named her Margaret), we drove up out of the valley through rolling hills surrounded by soft green forests and the occasional field of corn or wheat.
(Now the musicians have switched to playing "Tequila," complete with French-accented shouts of "Tequila" in-between trumpet blasts.)

an ancient cottage in Sarlat
Sarlat is a medieval village left almost completely untouched by modern life. The cobblestone streets are too narrow for cars and so the pathways are filled with people and dogs instead, wandering over worn limestone bricks, open-mouthed and staring at the ancient buildings.


The city was completely surrounded by walls for many centuries as border town between British-occupied land and French territory during the 100 Year War. The entire region of Dordogne is incredibly old and tucked away in many of the limestone-walled hills are caves filled with thousand years old paintings from the the region's original inhabitants. Brochures describe the area as the "Cradle of Mankind."


I'm exhausted from the day of driving, although to be honest, driving in France is more peaceful than driving I-5 through Seattle. The French are polite, courteous motorists who actually just use the passing lane for passing and rarely, if ever, go over the speed limit or even go the speed limit at all. Most of the time, they drive leisurely as if they're just enjoying a Sunday out. The roads are perfectly maintained and there is no trash littering the sides of roads, no billboards, nothing but blue skies filled with puffy clouds and ancient villages popping into view every so often.


Each little town we pass, I exclaim over the buildings, the gardens, the walls.


"It's so cute!" I squeal. I imagine it's getting old because my mom has begun to remark that every town is that cute. I'm beginning to wonder if there's a law in France that you must own a perfectly maintained home with a colorful, orderly garden because it seems like every home we pass is engulfed by wisteria vines, rose trees, perfect topiary and planter boxes overflowing with every known flower. I can't get enough of it and am trying to drink it all in, absorb the color, the smells, and the absolute delight that is the central regions of France.


History of Sarlat-le-Canéda on the town's Web site.