The sun is still shining, but that doesn't mean we can shed the layers yet. In fact yesterday was nearly as cold as it had been back in January, but the blessed sun was blazing in a pure blue sky and we decided it was time to go back to the Sunday street market at Bastille and stock up on food. It's been months since we were there and I craved the sight of fresh vegetables and fruit, shining fish and spring flowers.
Pulling our wheeled market basket behind us, we walked to the bus stop where any one of three buses would take us directly to the market in 10 minutes, but we hadn't counted on the effect of the Paris Marathon, which crossed the bus route and thus cancelled the buses for much of the day. We'd been eating out for more than a week and were determined to do some cooking this week and I had my heart set on the bounty of the market, so down into the metro we went. After lots of stairs and corridors, and one transfer, we emerged into the Place de la Bastille at last. It was clear that we couldn't return the same way once our basket was full.
I had forgotten how much fun shopping this way is, moving down the rows, dodging old ladies and meandering tourists to reach the vendors I liked. A bit of this, a slice of that, un morceau of the other, a kilo of those and half a kilo of these and we were ready for a coffee. Sitting in the Place, looking out at the traffic and the passing pedestrians while sipping a hot café crême was an accessible bit of heaven. Just a lot colder than I thought heaven would be.
Oh, the buses began running again just as we were ready to leave. Heaven's transportation works.