Jottings from the Journals... Villefranche-de-Rouergue

... I've been taking a look back through my journals and came across this entry. As I read it for the first time in more than two years, I found I could remember the scents and sounds of the place... 

  

River Averyon, Villefranche

Thursday, 26th

Market day in Villefranche, today.  A twenty-minute stroll from the campsite along the west bank - or is that the right bank? - of the river Averyon into town.  From Quai de la Sénéchausé I follow the criss-cross of narrow, shaded streets through to the Halles des Marchés which is a relatively modern building located on the site of an ancient cemetery.  And that's where the regular market begins. 

The bustle of people was just ahead of me and the smell of the market was potent.  The aroma of roasting chickens and potatoes. The hint of herbs and spices, olives, shallots, vegetables in general, underlined by the pungent sock smell - always there at a French market - of the cheese!  A plethora of local cheese in all its finery.  At one of the cheese stalls, I breathe in the musty smell, lightened by a bit of smokiness and the metallic accent of the blue cheeses. It just speaks fresh French cheese to me.

Place Notre Dame

In rue Durand, on my left is a stall selling nougat. I pause momentarily to read the labels detailing the flavours of the vast rounded mounds of sugar and fruit and nuts.  Honey and lavender flavoured with lightly toasted almonds. Honey and red fruits of the forest. Vanilla and walnut.  I know instantly which one I want.

'You can try a morsel,' says Monsieur.

'No thank you,' I reply as I move on.

I meander around place Notre Dame.  Vegetables, fruit and more and more people and after twenty minutes I'm back in rue Durand again with the nougat seller.  I can't get enough of those wonderfully sweet scents.  He recognises me and catches my eye again - French men are very good at doing that, I've noticed.  I reluctantly give in to my sweet tooth.

'A small piece of this one please,' I say pointing at the large semicircle of lusciousness in the centre.

'But you must also try this one,' he says.  It's made with honey and lightly toasted almonds.  It's a new flavour that I am trying.'

Reluctantly I accept a 'morceau' but I know what I want.

'So, which would you like?'  He asks, French charm oozing and a gorgeous smile on his face.

'This one please.'

He then places the knife carefully and says in English, 'you tell how much. I put the knife here and you tell me how much.'

OK so I've been rumbled, but his smile is cheeky and clearly tourist-bound!

'You must have a lot of English customers,' I grin.  'And that's enough,' I say in French.

Lusciousness!

He then tells me that the nougat will keep for up to 6 months providing I don't put it in the fridge.  'It's made of honey, not sugar and honey crystallises if you put it in the fridge.'

‘Of course,' I respond in French.

He packages my slice of nougat and weighs it and puts it in a tiny paper bag.  'So, you can keep this for 6 months, or 6 weeks or 6 days or maybe 6 minutes.  That is the record!'

I smile and tell him that I'm going to save it at least until I get back to the campsite.

He gives me my change and his most charming smile yet…

If you want know more about Villefranche from a different perspective, check out 'French Collection', an anthology of stories written by friend and author, Vanessa Couchman.  There will be more jottings from my journals over the coming months.