Dehydration and elation

 9 a.m. sharp. Empty stomach. I had risen from my slumber only minutes before. The little, grey european camionette pulled into the kerb. I was instantly transported into a different world. V was driving, three kids and D were squeezed into the back. I had the honour of sitting in the front passenger seat. The happy hubbub of kids and rapid-fire french conversation was music to my ears. I did my best to respond in coherent french to the ensuing barrage of questions.V did a confident u turn and we zoomed through the quiet Sunday morning township to a local garage sale, vide grenier.

An incredible array of nic nacks were laid out in a sea of rainbow colours. I took one look at extent of the stalls and said to V, "I'll meet you back here in half an hour." 

I poked through piles of attractive old postcards,
thought hard about buying kids' movies in french,
bought a couple of cool bright pink picture frames,
viewed old ornaments that you would never see back home, 
picked through old magazines for their potential as a classroom resource,
and viewed with mild interest at clothes that have been pre-loved, etc.

I rendez-voused back with the lively young french family who were also swept up in the fun of the market.

We piled back into the car and drove off to another, vide grenier. The sun was shining brightly by now and I wished that I had filled my water bottle up with water before I hastily left home that morning.

When we parked the car, I realised that this vide grenier was a much larger version of the previous one. Car parking was scarce. People swarmed the streets. Laughter, family groups and people enjoying the sunshine was a treat to my senses. Again, I agreed to rendez-vous with V in an hours' time. As I began picking my way through bits and pieces, I cursed under my breath my thirst. I relished the last drop of water from my drinking bottle. It was clear that I needed water as the fierce mountain sun took its toll on me. Nevertheless, with a stoic attitude I pressed on with exploring the many new intriguing stalls. I had to withhold from buying many things, as it would be impossible to store and transport them back to NZ. 

Three highlights:

1. I admired another of the old gramophones. This time I just took a photo rather than a video. To my delight the owner cranked her up and put on an old scratchy record. The sound was adorable. Everyone around, paused, smiled and instantly we all seemed connected to the same thread ....  music of yesteryear. Moments in time like this are fleeting, yet the most precious thing in the world.
2. I admired the needlework on a beautiful table cloth. The material was high quality linen, cleaned and preserved immaculately from a time when women sat and prepared a trousseau for their wedding day. In this box of goodies were lace doylies and beautiful needlework. I paused, deep in thought about how beautiful these items were. I didn't notice the vendor looking at me. I broke from the reverie and made the decision to purchase the tablecloth. Whilst making the exchange of miniscule coins, the vendor told me that these items belonged to her mother. I felt sad about the sale of family heirlooms. I asked her what her mother's name was. She was deeply touched at my sensitivity towards the emotions behind the sale and she promptly gifted me an accompanying lace doyly. I was overwhelmed with the simplicity but the moment over-flowing with love. 
3. I bought a simple pancake, cooked in front of me on the spot. It was sprinkled with white sugar, folded perfectly and wrapped in a classy white cardboard cover. It tasted delicious. Just like Mum used to make as a quick desert or Sunday treat.

Midday crept up and overtook. I was still very hungry and dying of thirst.

I met up with V, but D hadn't finished doing the rounds so V and I chatted for half an hour whist the kids expended energy on the bouncy castle. I didn't take many photos. I think you have seen enough of french garage sales. Whilst hovering around the bouncy castle, I had the opportunity to observe couples, families and market goings-on. Very cool. V met up with friends and there was no shortage of animated, merry conversation. The kids were happy with all their affordable purchases of toys.

Next thing on the agenda was lunch. By now, I was starting to feel dehydrated and very sick. I kept telling myself that it wouldn't be long before real food hit my stomach.

By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I wondered whether I was going to throw up or faint. I was so dehydrated. My head was throbbing and I found it impossible to respond to questions in french as my brain had ceased to function. I wondered if people could notice that my eyeballs were doing circles.

I grabbed the carafe of water and poured water for everyone. In reality, I wanted to drink the whole carafe myself.  Over the next hour I depleted everyone's carafe and the waitress replenished the water countless times. I must have downed 2-3 litres.

Fortunately, I didn't make too much of a fool of myself, but I was a bit of a wet rag for company and conversation.

What a hoot. We ate at Buffalo Bills. Not a typically french restaurant at all! By the time the meal was finished a couple of hours later, I felt like normal and requested a photo of everyone standing around the totem pole. The person taking the group photo didn't know how to work the i phone.( When I returned home I had 56 photos of us gathered around the totem pole). I won't post a picture of us, as I haven't asked their permission to post their faces on my blog. However, this nebulous picture might suffice to show the mayhem surrounding the group photo.

On the return journey back home, I announced that I had a rendez-vous with a retired couple to view a potential possibility for an apartment. D was very kind and offered to come and be my translator. I eagerly accepted. 

After drinking 2-3 litres of water, my body functions kicked into action. Over the next hour of talking and viewing the apartment, I must have visited the bathroom at least three to four times. How humiliating! The apartment was beautiful and I  was deeply grateful for the aid to understand the details needed to ensure clarity over rent and contractual matters.

That night on the tele was a fantastic 2 hour-long Edith Piaf memorial concert. It was held in New York. I enjoyed watching it with H and M. We had a picnic dinner watching and listening as outstanding contemporary performers paid hommage to the legendary Piaf. I didn't want it to end. As each song was sung, I wafted on a cloud of deep inner glow as Piaf's iconic songs resonated in my heart. The concert itself was tastefully orchestrated and I held great respect for the understated extravaganza.

That night, as I closed my eyes, smiling smugly to myself, that I  had just been to a brilliant Edith Piaf concert, for free!