Tails From Provence

Broke at a Brocante

The best translation we’ve heard for ‘Brocante’ is ‘flea market.’ It’s a step above a car-boot sale and definitely a couple of steps better than a jumble sale. You’ll find some tat for sure, but you’ll also find some really nice stuff, good quality not-quite-antiques-yet but very French and very unusual.

The BFF is visiting and she spotted a sign for a Brocante in the nearby town of Mane. So that was Sunday morning planned… off we set, but as we neared Mane I remembered that I had almost no cash. I had precisely ten euros in my pocket.

“Don’t worry,” said the BFF. “I can give you a loan if you’re stuck.”

Well, I wasn’t planning on buying anything, but it was good to know that if I saw something that I really, really liked, I’d be able to buy it.

The first stall we looked at was mostly clothing. Don’t need any of that – I’d just bought a lovely pair of Levis at a second hand stall in a market for ten euros and my wardrobe was now fully equipped.

The second stall had loads of china ornaments. I spotted two little horses, of a type I used to collect when I was in my teens. I have two survivors from my original collection, slightly chipped but I still love them. They now have two friends. The blue one and the white one in the middle came home with me. The vendor wanted three euros for them; I got them for two. She had no change and made a big deal of going off to change my ten euro note.

I now had four two-euro coins jingling around in my pocket.

We wandered on, coming to a stall run by a Dutchman. We got chatting to him and discovered mutual friends (of course). He had a load of jigsaws for sale. Jigsaws are good for the dark winter nights, aren’t they? There was a box with two 1000 piece puzzles, still with its plastic wrapper intact…

I now had seven euros in my pocket and suddenly I began to wonder, just how far could one make ten euros go at a Brocante? Hmm…

The BFF likes purple. She spotted a pair of Adidas tracksuit bottoms, in her size and her colour… How much? she asked the vendor. One euro. She proffered a twenty euro note. Non, non, said the vendor. Pas de monnaie… she had no change.

“No problem!” I said, fishing out my one euro coin, and the BFF became the proud owner of a pair of purple tracksuit pants.

That particular stall had several rails of clothing and, before we moved on, we both spotted a very pretty grey cardigan, with a brooch type thingy in the shape of a dreamcatcher. The BFF has a dreamcatcher tattoo on her arm…

“How much,” we asked. Three euros was the reply. I offered two. The last of the big spenders, that’s me. But my BFF has a lovely new cardigan.

We stopped for a coffee break to sharpen our wits and then we continued up a narrow side street. Nothing caught my eye until I spotted cute a little jug with cave paintings on it. I didn’t need it but I really liked it…

How much? 50 cents? Sheesh, I couldn’t leave it there. Sure, it’s got two little chips, but I still like it.

We carried on browsing, the BFF mostly looking at clothes, me just looking. I spotted an interesting book about a guy who had ridden 7000 kilometres across Asia, but it was in French. Naw, leave it behind…

There was a hand-made sweater that I really liked, but the vendor wanted four euro for it. Determined to stick to my ten euro limit, I asked if she would take €3.50 for it. She shook her head and said no, she had knitted it herself. Fair enough, I’m a knitter myself and I wouldn’t sell my work too cheaply either.

We had a lunch date to go to, so we said we’d better leave. We were happy, we had a few nice bits and pieces and still had €3.50 left. One final stall caught our eye, set up beside the main road. We went over and browsed. I didn’t need a duck. I really didn’t.

But he’s home with me now and he makes a great place to keep small things like nuts…

We set off on foot towards our friend’s house. Who did we meet along the way but the LSH who was ducking in to the Brocante for a quick browse before joining us for lunch. Of course he had no money. I gave him the €2.50 that I still had in my pocket and we all joked about not spending it all in the one shop! The BFF and I continued on our way and I began to have a niggling doubt.

Feck it, I thought, and I rang the LSH.

“There was this book I saw…” I said, and I described the stall where it was to be found and what the cover looked like.

So now I have a French reading project for the winter.

And I still have €1.50 in change.

Ten euros is currently worth 7.37 pounds sterling or 11.16 US$

Tags: brocante, Provence

Tails From Cardiff

I’m not into sport unless it’s either equestrian sports or rugby. For those who don’t know, the Rugby World Cup kicked off last weekend and we were lucky enough to have tickets for Ireland’s opening game against Canada. In Wales. So we flew to London on Thursday, stayed with our daughter and did some cultural stuff around London on Thursday and Friday.

Then on Saturday, we boarded a train in Paddington and headed for Cardiff!

On the bus leaving Hackney

The atmosphere was fantastic. Cardiff was looking kinda green!

There were even green motorbikes parked outside Cardiff castle.

But there was the occasional splash of red here and there. Fair enough, Canadian fans had a lot farther to travel than Irish fans.

Like all rugby matches, fans intermingled happily in a festive atmosphere. None of yer ould football hooliganism with the rugby crowd, no way.

Besides the green of Ireland and the red of Canada, there were some other – um – interesting colours to be seen around the place.

And even some French fans, who I guess hadn’t been able to get tickets to the France/Italy match later that day.

We had breakfast and wandered around the town a bit.

Inside Cardiff Castle

In all fairness, I thought this was rather offensive towards the RWC hosts. Mind you, the English did come up with the Hakarena – if you can dish it out you need to be able to take it, too I suppose

I loved these stone animals along the castle walls, complete with glass eyes

The lioness looks positively regal

The bear, however, has an expression that resembles Cinnamon when there’s thunder around

I got talking to one of the mounted policemen and admired all their horses.

They gave us a tip-off that the Irish team bus had left their hotel and that they’d be passing this point in about ten minutes. Well of course we had to wait and watch the bus go by, cheering and flag-waving as it went.

It was nice to read in the match day reports the next day that the reception they received while driving down the street blew the lads away. I like to feel I contributed in my own way (jumping up and down like an idiot, waving my flag and yelling COME ON IRELAND).

Millennium Stadium is huge – normally it has a capacity of 84,000, but for World Cup games they have restricted it to 71,000.

It was almost filled to capacity – the official figure was 69,400.

We were near the top, far away from the pitch, but we had a great view of the whole stadium. I spotted a row of Mounties over to our right and zoomed in as best I could with my little camera :

St Patrick arrived just before the game started, accompanied by some Vikings. Not sure they were all from the same era? But they were clearly having fun.The teams arrived on the pitch, anthems were sung and the game was ON.

Ireland were hot favourites to win, but they looked nervous for the first five minutes. Then they got into their stride and started running in tries. By half time, they were 29-0 ahead and had the match plus a bonus point securely in the bag. The full time score was 50-7 which is definitely a rout, but I have to say I would have been a lot happier if our defence had kept Canada out. (Some people are never happy!)

The only downside of the day was the train journey home. Or rather, queuing for the train for the journey home. We were lucky, we only had an hour wait, but there were stories of people waiting four hours for a train to London. I don’t understand why National Rail failed to cater for the 69,000 people that they knew were attending the game. Irish Rail lays on extra trains for big match days, and when we attended the Munster/Clermont Auvergne match in Montpelier, there were at least a dozen Metro trams sitting outside the stadium, waiting to be filled when the match was over.

That’s my only gripe about an otherwise excellent day out.

Thanks for the tickets, Aideen & Tansy!