Читать книгу Our House is Certainly Not in Paris - Susan Cutsforth - Страница 22

Visiting Isabelle’s shop has become a part of my weekly ritual. As well as going to the twice-weekly markets to buy our fruit and vegetables, on Friday morning we now go to Martel once a week to do our grocery shopping. Such a prosaic task has become one of pleasure. We have now established the habit of first having our weekly treat of going to the boulangerie to choose a delectable pastry. There is always an immense pleasure in lingering at the counter and gazing at the sumptuous array of mouth-watering pastries.

Then across the road to the locals’ café, as opposed to the ones in the market square that tend to attract the tourists. While the café is right next to the road – we seem to be attracted to places situated on roads, just like our petite maison – like so many French towns, it overlooks tubs of brightly coloured flowers. We order our espresso, ‘Deux café s’il voux plait.’ Yes, I can actually manage the simple phrase for ordering two espresso...

and we linger over our melt-in-the-mouth croissants.

It is a chance to sit and observe the daily life of a small French town. The café is also a Tabac. There is a place to precariously park right at the front of the café and the locals dash in to buy their Gauloise. It is like a drive-through tobacconist. Once when I went in to pay for our espresso, I was puzzled by the fact the young woman behind the counter did not move from one end of it to the other, to collect my euro. After quite a while, I moved to the other end of the counter to pay. I told Stuart about the puzzlement of paying. Ah, the first end of the counter is the Tabac section and you can only pay for those purchases there. Hence the dash-in-drivers who hastily grab their daily Gauloise.

Our bank, Bank Populaire, (literally, a popular French bank), is next door and on the other side of the café is Les Marchands de Journaux, where people grab their copy of Le Figaro to read over their espresso. Next there is the pharmacie and like all other chemists in France, it displays a poster of mushrooms to be able to identify those that are poisonous. Mushroom gathering in spring is a very popular pastime in France. Each year Brigitte and Erick tell us when they are setting off for a few days’ break to pick mushrooms. By now, as we have our espresso, we actually know a few locals passing by and going to the shops, to exchange ‘Bonjours, ca va? ’ with. This simple greeting fills me with delight. In some small way, we do belong.

It was on one of our café sojourns the previous year that I glanced across the road and my eyes landed with happiness on a newly opened petite shop, complete with a hat stand and other second-hand wares out the front. I exclaimed with pleasure to Stuart that I simply had to go and investigate straight away. Knowing my predilection for any possibility of second-hand treasure, Stuart settled back with another espresso while I skipped across to investigate. A second espresso can only last so long, and by the time he thought my time for exploring had definitely been sufficient, I had my arms laden with potential purchases to eagerly share with him.

When friends and family come to stay, Isabelle’s shop has now been woven into my personal itinerary. So now mum has her pink jacket in Australie and Liz has a petite watercolour in Wales. As with all my treasure, I eagerly display my new chapeau to Françoise next time I see her. She duly shares my pleasure in my pretty pink hat. Not long after, when I go La Vieux Prieuré, Françoise and their youngest daughter, Bénédicte, show me what they have unearthed in Isabelle’s shop, for they too call la petite shop by the name that I do. Just like last year, when Dominique appeared in her first-ever purchase of second-hand clothes, it is when I introduce my French friends to sources of second-hand delights, that I truly feel a part of life in Cuzance.

Actually, I don’t know the name of la petite shop at all. However, I always chat to Isabelle the immaculate and chic owner, so that is what I call her treasure trove. I’m thrilled to actually say it’s part of my weekly routine in a new village, in a new country.

To start to establish rituals, means that I feel a part of the rhythm of life in Cuzance.