1 September 2003

Monday Morning in Senlis

Living in town is one big adventure after another.  Most of my adult life has been spent in the countryside.  Even on vacation I love the luxury of forests and beaches where people are rarely seen.  Rural life offers comfort to me.  Being happy living in Senlis France is a surprise.  I will try to explain.

First of all, I love to just walk around this ancient town and study the flowers or the buildings.  I never get tired of what I see.  I suppose if you are serving on some governmental body that is doing a study for some funding, or you just like to check out the neighbors you might have walked around with a spying eye, but for most folks it isn’t a normal thing to do.

There are pansies, clematis and roses blooming everywhere.  The colors spring together like tiny rainbows.  Even though it is fall the window boxes that hang from the houses look as if they are paintings.

No matter how long I live in France I cannot get used to the fact that the shops are closed on Monday.  The only places that are open in town are the bread shop, the magazine shop and one café.  Monday is the day when there are plenty of parking spaces. 

On Mondays we walk over to the street café after dropping Cat at school.  There have only been a couple of times that we didn’t sit outside. 

While we wait for the server to bring our café avec crème (grande) we usually read the French newspaper.  Rather Jay reads it to me.  I just watch the old and young walk by carrying their bread under one arm.  Sometimes the bread has paper wrapped around the middle to protect it from human contact, and sometimes it doesn’t.

When the coffee arrives, steaming with foam on top one of us gives the server 5.50 Euros ($5.85 with tip).  We don’t complain about the price because the place across the street has worse service and brings a smaller cup of coffee for the same price...and it is closed on Mondays.

Women in tight skirts and men carrying brief cases pass right in front of us as we drink our coffee.  Women walking down the cobblestone street in high heels drag their dogs past us.  Once, a little black dog stopped at my chair to see if I had anything to eat.  The woman dragged him on so he raised his leg at the next chair.  The woman just waited for him to finish.

Sometimes there is a group of older women who go into the café together.  They each wear little strands of pearls around their necks and carry special oblong bags for their daily bread purchases.

From my seat on the sidewalk I can see the Banque Populaire ATM machine, which is very quiet on Mondays.  The La Licorne directly in front of us is advertising Plat du jour Canard crème (plate of the day:  creamed duck), and poire vert pomme (pear and green apple something), which must have been the special on Saturday since they aren’t open on Sundays or Mondays.  To my left I can barely see the metal door of the fish shop, and the awning of the perfume store.  (It is probably a good thing they are right next door to each so one smell can cancel the other one out.) The corrugated metal doors that rolls down over their windows are locked up tight.  The Pharmacie, Mobistore (mobile phones) and L’Encrier (school supplies) are also closed.

Every shop window has posters of events happening in Senlis and the surrounding area.  The posters often have pictures of beautiful paintings.  The painting exhibition being advertised for next weekend is “La Caverne des Arts in Creil” by Michel Moreau.

As we read the paper and drink coffee the cars pull up to go inside of the café to buy lotto tickets or a quick cup of coffee.  The drivers only stay a few minutes.  It is easy to see why every single car, Mercedes or tiny Ford has many dings on the doors and fenders.  The French drive like maniacs.  Sometimes I am sure the driver is going to drive right up over the curb and into the café.

It would not be Monday morning though if the man who begs didn’t come by.  He looks pretty old and wears a French beret.  His cigarette hangs from his lips.  Just like clock work he walks up to Jay and in a mumbling voice asks for one Euro to buy coffee.  We always say, “no”.  One day his glasses were taped together.  He must of fallen or something.  The next day he had new glasses.  One day he had on new black dress shoes.  Sometimes he is inside the café.  I guess he gets lucky once in a while.

On Tuesday what we see from our street café seats is totally transformed.  The market…this is where the French way of life is rooted.  Every Tuesday and Friday, just like clockwork, the downtown streets are blocked off and stands that sell anything and everything fill up the space. 

Friends meet as they shop for their bi-weekly food, and neighbors kiss each other on both checks.   They come here to buy the freshest and best quality they can afford because they will buy only what is needed until the next market day. 

There are no bargains here but everyone is contributing to the welfare of each other by buying from local merchants.  The Senlis fish seller moves out onto the street, and so do the people who sell produce.

On market days the flower seller’s stall is blocking our view of the shops.  He has a long display of roses and greenery just waiting to be purchased.  His big white fluffy dog sits on the pavement patiently waiting for a pat.

Next to the flower stand is a guy who sells fresh cut herbs, olives of every possible description and corn meal.  When I don’t have fresh basil in my garden I buy some from him. The seller wears a head set (I guess he is listening to music) and he doesn’t say much except to ask if you are finished.

Across the street from the flower seller is a huge white van that opens up on the side to create a shop to sell meats and eggs.  Eggs sell for 20 cents each and you can only buy them by the half dozen.  They are fertilized eggs and very big, but that is still quite a price for an egg.

Further away is a giant display of high heeled shoes.  Bras and panties hang from another stall’s awning as they wave in the wind.. 

I prefer market days to the quiet of Monday.  Sitting on the street at the café, any day of the week is like watching a terrific show.  There’s always something new to see, and sometimes it makes me laugh, but there is never a dull moment.  

Promptly at noon the vendors pack up because it is lunchtime, and everyone must eat.  At around 1:30 the garbage men return from their lunch and begin to sweep up the streets under the watchful eye of the local police.  Pretty soon the garbage truck arrives and the streets are spotless for another afternoon.

Tomorrow the street will be fairly quiet…there is no school on Wednesdays in France.  Lots of shops are closed in the afternoon.  By Thursday though business will be booming.  AND on Friday and Saturday every parking spot will be taken because the shops will be very busy.  On Sunday only the boulanger (baker) and marche (market) will be open until just after lunch.  Then they will rest through Monday as another week begins on the main street of a small town in France.