Episode 9
THE MARKET:
A short story about a relaxing Sunday that didn’t involve me.
Let me set the scene.
I was in France shopping at a local farmers market and it was hot. The kind of hot where if someone asks you a simple question you explode. The kind of hot where you’re so uncomfortable it’s like when you clog someone else's toilet and can’t fix it at someone's house you don’t know very well.
Now that you have an overexplained idea of the weather, let’s dive in.
Those coming for another humor story will be disappointed as this one is more philosophical or so we’ll try.
The streets were lined with people. There were so many people that suddenly the heat wasn’t the issue anymore, it was the crowd.
Every vendor had three lines of people waiting to taste and buy endless items.
To your surprise, I was filled with anxiety. I didn’t know how to start. So, I did what we all do in this life and pretended. I acted like I'd been coming to this market for years. I pushed my way through the crowd, passing people who looked lost.
As someone who hasn’t mastered the English language yet, I decided I’d give French a go.
When in Rome!
Or… France.
As I passed the market goers, every third word out of my mouth was
“Excusez-moi”
“Pardon”
My confidence in my French didn’t last long.
I made my way to the olive stand. I’ve never seen so many olives before. These olives were coated in all sorts of different sauces. Big olives, small olives, red olives, black olives, green olives, good olives, and bad olives. Every one of them is different, just like us.
Told you I'd be more philosophical.
I pointed and said in French,
“Pardon”
Then in English
“Can I try?”
The man responded completely in French.
I answered completely with my face.
After a minute of international charades, I decided none of the olives were speaking to me anyway.
I continued to walk through the market which featured ten million people.
At this point, I was tired from that interaction and the heat, so I decided it was time for a café. I couldn’t recognize any of the signs in French for coffee, so I wandered aimlessly. Eventually I spotted a sign that simply read:
“COFFEE”
A word has never looked so beautiful.
I don’t know if it was the heat, the amount of people, the failed language, or the lack of liquids but in this interaction I decided to go a different route. Instead of pretending to speak the language to the barista, I pulled out my phone and showed her a picture of an iced coffee.
Yes.
Judge me if you want.
She smiled anyway.
A few moments later, I got exactly what I wanted. A café glacé. For those of you who don’t speak French like me, that means iced coffee.
Once I got my iced coffee I said,
“Merci” which sounded like “Mercy” and she laughed and responded with,
“You’re welcome”
A small moment, a few words in another language, an easy laugh and an interaction that will stay with me for life.
And of course you as well, now that I told you about it.
With my coffee in hand I made my way back into the madness. I walked around for another hour stopping at every vendor I could.
Towards the end of the market, I locked eyes with another foreigner about my age, maybe ten yards away. We held eye contact for about four seconds, long enough to be weird, short to pretend it wasn’t.
He had the same look I did: sweaty, overwhelmed, slightly proud of himself for being there.
I gave him a nod. The universal, “yeah, I could move here” nod. He gave the nod right back.
Neither a classroom nor a guidebook could have taught us what this single Sunday had.
Sometimes the best education is through experience outside of four walls.
Glamour didn’t make itself known here, rather, beauty revealed itself at every stop.
Peace here wasn’t found through isolation. It was found in each interaction.
Nobody Asked. Now you know anyway.
