Market day in Pézenas

Cries of vendors, offers to taste: so fresh, local, handmade! The rain starts. The sky. Thunder and then the downpour. We run for cover under the canvas tent, among the the stylish dresses and imports from Asia. The rain subsides. We venture forth. We run into some friends and greet them in broken French mixed in with Italian and Canadian accents.



The butcher jokes with a small  boy, is he string enough to hold the bag of charcuterie on his little finger? And then we get to taste: a strong cheese, and then a milder sheep cheese, sausage for the girls . . . you like?

The rain begins again, stronger than before. We look for a café, go through an archway into the old town, la Vieille Ville, into the Jewish Quarter,  the Ghetto. No Jews anymore, not since the 1300s. Intolerance past.

The narrow cobbled streets are deserted in the rain. Shutters closed. Doors tightly shut. The rain drives down harder. Images of medieval artisans working these streets, obscured by the dampness. Our clothes are soaked. We run again, a narrow archway into a courtyard, open to the sky but protected. A moment of respite.

Then out, finally stumbling upon a bright modern café hidden among the stone walls and ancient towers.
I drink my coffee and the girls their chocolat as we watch the lightshow and listen to the sky's rumbling.