Saturday Market in Uzes (a.k.a. Bedlam)
The market in Saint Remy de Provence is rightly considered to be one of France’s finest. But Saturday market in Uzes rivals, if not surpasses it.
Uzes’ market is held in the Place aux Herbes, the iconic center of town. A classic French square, it is lined with stately buildings to all four sides (restaurants and stylish boutiques occupying their lower floors), and has a thick planting of plane trees which provide shade during summer. But what sets the Place aux Herbes off from most other villages is the beautiful fountain set slightly off its center.
The fountain splashes noisily throughout the day, and is irresistible to young children who eagerly rush up to it and run their hands through its cool water. The fountain also serves as “the” meeting place in Uzes. Simply telling someone “Meet me at the fountain at three” is sufficient. Everyone knows what you are talking about.
The square is quiet and peaceful through much of the morning, and becomes progressively busier as the lunch hour approaches. But it’s at night, when the fairy lights that have been strung along the trees come on, that the square is transformed into something worthy of a French romance novel.
Twice a week, the Place aux Herbes hosts Uzes’ rightly-renowned farmer’s market. The Wednesday version is smaller and tends to focus on fruits, vegetables and other comestibles. But Saturday market in Uzes is an entirely different sort of thing.
It’s full-on bedlam. All the prime parking places in town are taken, and latecomers are reduced to trolling the side streets for an empty spot. (Good luck, to them.) The boulevard is so crowded that…when there is no more room on the sidewalk, people just take to the street.
But that’s part of the fun: the insanity of it. And it doesn’t take long before you realize that there is a certain order to the affair. The boulevard is lined on both sides by booths selling…to be honest, the less desirable or popular stuff: cassette tapes of old French crooners, surprisingly expensive used books, hunting clothing, lingerie for plus-sized women, and garlic presses.
But it’s on the side streets that lead to the square, and the square itself, where the stuff of dreams is to be found.
The amount of olives alone, is staggering. More olives, cured in ways you would never have imagined were possible, are displayed in pretty reed baskets. And everywhere you look, liter bottles of olive oil gleam golden in the sunshine.
Fruits and vegetables of an incredible abundance and quality greet you everywhere you turn; and most of it is locally grown.
And there’s more. Brightly-colored market baskets from Africa. Large baskets full of spices and herbs from the Levant. Salad servers and bowls made from olive wood. Pottery from nearby St. Quentin, and further abroad. There’s even a booth that specializes in zippers and pretty buttons.
Saturday market even has a section devoted to Provençal tablecloths, boutis, linens and ribbons, and lavender: fresh lavender, dried lavender, lavender essential oil. The selection and quality is staggering.
And the wine! It’s everywhere. Award-winning labels are a dime a dozen. There’s even a booth manned by a little nun who sells the vintage made by her fellow sisters at an abbey not far out of town.
And there’s so…much…more.
Cheese is every bit as ubiquitous as wine and ranges from small blocks of chèvre to wheels big enough to serve as car tires. Chickens too: alive or turning on rotisseries. Sausages as well: boar, rabbit, sage, seemingly a thousand and one varieties. Fresh Meat. Fish that gleams and shellfish that glistens. Homemade pasta. Fresh eggs. And always…the most tantalizing bread imaginable.
Saturday market is also not just about shopping. It’s a place to see, and be seen. Where you meet and greet old friends. It’s where you can take memorable vacation photos. Where you can be exposed to a multitude of different tastes, smells and sights.
What Saturday market is…is an event.
And then it’s over, and the Place aux Herbes returns to its former self. The fountain splashes. People stroll by. Birds sing from the trees.
From the Book:
Chapter 17: First Summer
And then one day, Linda made it so much worse.
“I’d like to go to Saturday market,” she said. “Manfred and Jeet took me there the day we signed the papers, and I’d like to see it again. It was a lot of fun.”
Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I stupidly agreed. “I’ll bring the camera,” I said. “There are probably some great pictures to be had there.”
It ended up being horrible, and I was knocked back on my heels the moment we entered town. Uzes had turned into an anthill. I was used to markets, even large ones like the vrijdagmarkt in Antwerpen, or the one in St. Remy. But they were nothing compared to this.
I didn’t walk, as much as was carried along by a tide of humanity. Vendors bellowed at me from market stalls. They wanted me to taste their goat cheese, sample their wine, chew a tug of bread, admire the quality of their olives, sniff their herbs and spices, or watch them demonstrate the world’s best garlic press.
I was overwhelmed, completely intimidated, and kept my camera clutched tight to my chest the entire time. Linda, however, was enjoying herself immensely, and had a bright smile on her face as she walked past stalls selling antiques, delightfully-smelling soaps, rich-to-the-touch fabrics, brightly-colored pottery, a thousand and one varieties of olives, amazing cheeses, wooden toys, and an incomprehensible variety of fruits and vegetables.
To me, it was a horror show. There was no room to move less to think. People bumped into me, coming so close that I could smell them: the scent of patchouli on one man; mimosa on a stylishly-dressed older woman; and the baguette with fresh strawberry jam that had been eaten for breakfast by a third.
Linda effortlessly flitted from stall to stall, Jeet having taught her the gift of being able to flow with the crowd. I bumped into people, apologized, turned, and bumped into someone else and again had to apologize. I quickly lost contact with Linda, saw the top of her head in the mass of humanity ahead for a brief moment, and then she was gone. It was like watching someone go over the edge of a waterfall.
TIPS:
• Come early, or suffer the consequences. The locals know to arrive early and enjoy a pastry and coffee first, and only afterward drift over to do their marketing. We’ve learned from them and leave the house at seven and stop at Nougatine first for breakfast.
• Dealing with the crowd is part of the fun. If that’s not your thing, come to Wednesday market, which is more manageable, or attend the Friday market in St. Quentin la Poterie.
• Saturday market in Uzes essentially ends with the arrival of the lunch hour. Do what other people do and find a nice restaurant. Zanelli’s, just off the back of the market, is an excellent choice. (But don’t dawdle, or you won’t find a place available.)
• The esplanade that leads to the roundabout (place de la Liberté) is devoted to plants, and is definitely worth a stroll-through.