Car park shopping
Every night at 5:45pm (bar Sunday, of course) the local mesdames and restaurateurs line up waiting for the gates to open at the Velleron market.
Provence has many markets in beautiful settings. Under large plane trees, besides bubbling brooks or stately canals, alongside grapevines and in the shadows of cathedrals, extravagant town halls and squares of historical importance.
Velleron market has none of those things. It is a large car park on the edge of town, besides a fairly busy road. A long avenue of trestle tables either side parked in front of more white caddy vans than you could possibly see at the car dealership.
But it is market gold.
Markets in Provence come under three categories. Firstly the brocante - a selection of antique and vintage finds. Secondly the full Provencal market, a collection of everything imaginable. Anything you could want and need and a great deal of things you could never hope to see again - food products, clothing, artisan offerings, antiques, fidget spinners, cheap vinyl bags (getting the point?). The third is the farmers’ market, much as we are accustomed to in New Zealand.
I have often read that Provence is the fruit and vegetable bowl of France (I know I certainly haven’t seen a single sheep or cow - just the odd goat whose mission it is to deliver fresh chèvre). No place is this title more deserved than at the Velleron market.
Every afternoon the region’s producers pick and harvest their crops, pack them in to the boot of their said white caddy, drive them to Velleron and park up together - boot open behind, trestle table in front - to parade their wares.
Last time we had technical driving problems - couldn’t find an exact address for the location to plug in to GPS and our foolproof technique of driving to the centre of the village didn’t work owing to the fact that it’s held in a carpark on the edge of town. The official opening time is 6pm to 8pm. But the locals know to get there early - hence they are waiting as the gates open. We arrived around 7pm to discover many trestle tables almost bare. Now that we are practically locals (7 and a half weeks count don’t they?) we knew to turn up at opening. What a difference.
This is foodie heaven. There were so many vegetables that are difficult to find commercially in New Zealand: White beans (speckled with pinky, purply spots), white aubergine, white onions, round courgettes, zucchini flowers, frisee, tomatoes in all shapes and colours. And it was all happily growing just a few hours ago. Moore Wilsons eat your heart out.
As you wander around the market you hear the chatter of intense commerce occurring. Banter and bartering. People actually buying, not taking photos (a sure sign we are surrounded by locals, not tourists). Producers offer plates of cut fruit to try - melon, strawberries, apricots, cherries. There are wooden trays of figs - soft and ripe.
The melon season is definitely upon us with locals carrying out large plateau (big wooden trays) full of green round ones - a dozen at a time. Large wedges are refreshing straight from the fridge in this heat. The apricots too are having their moment in the sun - literally. The only problem we are finding is that it is so hot that any fresh produce spoils fast (within 24 hours often) so it is impossible to have on hand large amounts of fruit for the children (even if we do commit sacrilege and store it in the fridge). We can certainly see now why a daily market has a place, it’s crucial to buy little and buy often in this climate. Thankfully we have our own apricot tree in the garden to keep us in happy, constant supply.
No report of the Velleron market would be complete without mentioning the sacred truffle. At just 15 euros per 100g (that’s around $27) it’s an absolute steal. I always find the truffle stall entertaining at the market. It’s like a secret little world - the truffles are nicely presented in wood or cane for your viewing pleasure. There is a sheet from the Carpentras Truffle Organisation outlining critical details such as the producer’s name, the location harvested and the type of truffle. The scales sit inside a clear plastic box - I can only assume this is to avoid any tampering. The money is placed in a lockable metal container as soon as the transaction is complete. And sale details are recorded in a little notebook. As with swimming attire this is one area of French culture you simply do not trifle with.
We filled our basket with goodies. No truffles this time, I would have never been able to get that one past the Chief Executive. And this time we let the children do all the purchasing, using their very best pigeon French. Another Provencal experience to etch into our family memories. Lucky we recorded it all for posterity - you can find it in the video section. Carpark shopping has never been so much fun.
