Au Marche

There are few things I love more about France then the Market. Here in Toulon, we have two daily markets and both are amazing in their own way.

The big market, in downtown Toulon, is the biggest in Var, the "state" in which Toulon is located. It runs for several blocks, has every conceivable item from produce to clothing to jewelry to toys and then even more produce. The smell of all the produce mingling with the scent of olives and spices is exotic. The crowd of people pushing toward the tables is crazy, so many cultures melting together in what is a normal daily chore. The market is also a social event with groups of people gathered together, blocking traffic and chatting. It is quite nearly impossible to push a stroller through the crowd. I love it.

The small market is also pretty amazing. It is located in Mourillon, an area located a mere 10-15 minute walk from the big market. We fondly call this area the "village" for its small neighborhood feel. If you walk through every day for only a week, faces begin to look familiar. Visit the same stand at the market everyday for a week, and you become a regular. Everyday is different at this market. While the produce vendors remain the same day after day, the other vendors change. Some days shoes are popular, some days bedding and some days clothes. I still haven't figured out who is there when. However, every market day brings a visit to the olive vendor. Although, he sells not just olives, but tapenades (fig and black olive is a favorite), capers, pickled veggies and anchoide, a surprisingly delicious concoction of anchovies, garlic and olive oil which I can no longer have in the house as I spread it on bread and eat it for a snack. I shudder to think of the calorie count. The ducklings like the olive guy because they get a free bag of pitted green olives. Of course, free is relative, as we spend much money with the olive man.

However, what truly amazes me about the market, is that it is everyday. Well, every day except Monday. That means that every day from 9 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. the market is packed. And then miraculously, by 2 p.m., there is no trace that the market was ever there. Until the next morning, the space becomes a road, a parking lot, a walkway or a play area depending on location. The city workers literally swoop in with their trash trucks and their hoses and their street sweepers and clean it up leaving nary a trace. It is a pretty stunning transformation. Photos are below. And, I apologize for them as I am still figuring out how to post photos. The order is a little confusing....think clockwise. Until next time....eat, shop and be merry.

Self Cleaning/Pay Toilets 1, The Ducklings 0

On one of the recent beautiful days in Toulon (ok, who am I kidding? It has been hot, really hot), the Ducklings and I headed to our favorite beach. Although a mere 5 minute walk from our villa, all the Ducklings needed to visit the self-cleaning/pay toilet immediately upon arrival. If you have visited San Francsico or Paris, you may be familiar with this creation, a nice public potty, that flushes and cleans itself after each use. A brilliant idea really, but it seems the reality is somewhat different. If you have ever visited one with a toddler, you know what I mean. The floor is always wet, but at least it is cleanish. Anyway, being the organized mommy that I am, I only had 20 centimes with me, the cost of one visit to the potty. I therefore insisted that all the girls go in together, all use the potty, and then all come out. I put in the money and the girls entered. I walked away to set up camp, a distance of about 20 feet, when I heard them call to me with the door open. They could not find the lights. They found them, shut the door and then about 20 seconds later chaos, and screams of terror. Apparently opening and shutting the door set off the self-clean cycle on the potty...with all the Ducklings inside. I dashed over and yanked open the door just in time to see the biggest Duckling sliding to the floor as the toilet retracted into the wall for cleaning. Water was spraying from the walls, and the girls were pretty much terrified, the big Duckling with her swimsuit around her ankles. I did my best to put on the "good mommy face" and not laugh, but it was tough. The dark-haired, twin Duckling just kept repeating over and over, "Mommacita, that was so scary. I was terrified." After a quick rinse in the beach shower, they were off into the water. The "terrifying" trip to the self-cleaning potty quickly forgotten. I really must learn the French trick for never having to use the potty.

Notes from a summer weekend

It was an exciting and important weekend in the South of France. Sixty-five years ago, on August 15, 1944, the Allies began Operation Dragoon. The parallel to the assult on the Normandie beaches, Operation Dragoon, with the help of the French Resistance, lead to the eventual liberation of southern France. In celebration, most of the towns, big and small, between Toulon and Cannes hold some kind of ceremony each year around August 15. What this really means, is that the Big Duck is really busy, and attends lots of functions. He says it is like simultaneously planning 7 weddings that are all happening at the same time. The highlight for him so far, was the ceremony in Le Muy, where 8 US, WWII vets were presented the French Legion of Honor. These men, now mostly in their 90's, parachuted into Le Muy and liberated the area from the Germans. Also in attendance were many of the family members of the men who liberated this town. Quite an experience.

What August 15 meant for me and the Ducklings, was another long day at the beach. We spent the day holding places for us and another family to view the fireworks in Toulon. We arrived at noon for 10 p.m. fireworks. It was hot....really hot. However, with sunscreen and SPF protective clothing we survived. After a quick trip home in the evening we returned just in time to view one of the most amazing fireworks displays I have ever seen. It was set to music, all in English (which I always find an interesting choice) .....and was spectacular. Some of the fireworks burst in pastels, some at angles, and some danced. There was also a light show....awesome. The French sure know how to do fireworks. Sunday was the airshow and it was also impressive. Quite amazing, when you think of all the towns south of Toulon, that are doing the same thing simultaneously.

And, just a couple notes. I have been reading a few other blogs as I set out on this blogging thing, mostly in hopes of figuring it all out. Anyway, one of the more interesting ones I have found, is http://www.lemomparis.blogspot.com/. This woman is leading a life that is slightly more, how shall I say? Socially advanced then mine? She covers topics from her hairdresser to her vein Dr (I wish), to nannies (I really wish) etc. But a recent post caught my eye. She talked about an article in the newspapaer Le Journal du Dimanche, that discussed how the French are sun illiterate. They don't believe in sunscreen, they can't imagine wearing a hat and SPF protective clothing is unheard of. A tan is actually considered a social plus as it shows you vacationed and could afford to vacation somewhere sunny. In turn, skin cancer rates are steadily increasing. Le Mom said she is showing the article to anyone who criticizes her for sunscreening and covering her kids (the French Fries as she calls them...I love this). It made me think, while I know that we are pegged as Americans everywhere we go, (loud dog, louder children, even louder Mom, hats and rash guards at the beach etc.) I have never heard a comment about us. Then, I realized, I wouldn't understand any of the comments I hear. So I figure, for now, until my French improves a bit, we will be "the Americans" and when I make a mistake or do something that is not normal to the French, they can roll their eyes and say, "oh those Americans, they do not know anything." And, they will just expect me and my children to be imperfect. C'est la vie! I just hope tomorrow is another great day in France.

So Many Things..

Today, I could share so many adventures, but I will stick with only one, my morning run. Yes, I am running. Why you ask??? Because, in a fit of, I don't know, let's call it stupidity, I decided to run a marathon to celebrate 40 years on this earth. In my defense, I did pick what has been described as "the most fun marathon anywhere" and, there is drinking involved. In September I am running the Marathon du Medoc, in Bordeaux. My friend, Melanie, is coming to run with me, and we are a pretty even match at between 12 and 15 minutes per mile. Throw in the wine tasting every 2 km, and we may finish in the required 6.5 hours.

Anyway, this brings me to my morning run. I love running at the beach in the morning. The beach here in Toulon is beautiful. It is a series of jetty's and coves ringed by about 20-30 feet of sand (well, actually gravel, as that is what passes for sand here). Just past the sand there is a seawall and perched on top are restaurants, grouped in twos, an asphalt walkway, then grass and trees, a playground, a carousel, various food stands, a putt putt golf course etc., etc. This stretches on for almost a mile, and in the summer, it is packed. However, at 6:30 a.m. the only people you see are the workers, cleaning, watering and preparing for another day. You also see my favorite Toulonaise. There is the twenty-something swimming every morning, the sixty-something methodically preparing his sun spot...a raised platform of sand/gravel about 6 by 4 feet, painstakingly raked to perfection each day at 7 a.m. Then he lays out his blankets, his towels and his umbrella. I assume he then spends the day there. I know he leaves his umbrellas and blankets there, as I see them before his arrival. There is also the lady that feeds the cats each day and the restaurant owners setting up their beach chairs. Today, the special guest stars were the couple that seemed to have spent the night at the beach after partying at one of the nearby "discos". On one pass they were making out under their blanket, apparently wearing their clothes from last night. Hers was a lovely shimmery, silver dress. On the next pass, they were asleep...that was fast. How I would have liked to see that walk of shame. My very favorite person is the man who walks his dog every morning from his car. He drives in a very slow circle while holding the dogs leash out the window. Yes, the dog is attached. Is this lazy or what?? The dog stops to pee, he stops, the dog stops to sniff, he stops. I love it.

Today, I almost got run over by a waiter who I am sure was late for work. He yelled at me for crossing in front of him. Whatever. The walking man was up. Of course, as I turned to yell back, my french being what it is, I yelled, "c'est walking man verte". If he spoke no English he would be confused.....it should be "homme verte" and he had passed by the time I got out the rest of what I wanted...a naughty word that rhymes with "bass pole". Good thing I live in a country that knows the meaning of gun control. No need to worry about the crazy waiter jumping out with a gun. May every day I run be just as much fun.

And, before I go, I just finished a good book...."The Sweet Life in Paris" by David Lebovitz. Funny anecdotes about living in Paris...many of which I can relate to...and AMAZING
recipes...can't wait to cook. Check out his blog at www.davidlebovitz.com.