Local style and chapeaux

Say "France" and you probably think of fashion. Around here, you don't see many people sporting designer labels but you do see some remarkably individual style. I'm gradually assembling a gallery of innovative looks and hats. It's definitely not planned but I love it that the woman on the right has picked up a book that exactly coordinates with her outfit. 

A couple of photo ops on the same day

Beets, or beetroot or silver beets, depending on where you come from, take a long time to cook. Here you can buy them already steamed, vacuum-packed in fours at the supermarket or individually from a market stall. I'm not sure where this one originated but, dressed with olive oil, its juices had Peter leaping for his camera the other lunch time. That night, the sky was a suitably beet-crimson and olive-oil-gold. 

More finds at the Pamiers flea market

We drove to Pamiers this morning through a mist so thick and wet that most cars had their headlights and windscreen wipers on. When we got there, we saw that many of the stallholders had covered their wares with plastic sheets. It was too chilly to eat our pains aux raisins outside so we squeezed into a café on the main square and drank our crèmes elbow to elbow with everyone else. Eventually the sun burned through and the thermometer shot up but not to the high teens (Celsius) that it's been for the past couple of days. 

As usual, what was for sale ran the gamut from these 1930s soda syphons to spanners and children's clothes.

Our buys today included a saw for pruning roses and hedges, a DVD (although we still need a player) a classic tweed overcoat which I was sold by a very persistent vendeuse, a small folk art house to hang on the wall or, as you can see, stand on the stairs, and a china mold for foie gras. The woman who I bought both these from--for a total of three euros--did add that the mold could hold other foods besides foie gras.

What we listen to...

The village of Montaillou is a community with a population in the two figures. But, small though it is, its radio station totally rocks. While strong on classic French chansons by the likes of Edith Piaf and Georges Brassens mixed in with 60s and 70s Brit hits (Beatles, Stones...) the playlist also occasional the occasional bit of classical and traditional bullfight music. "Eclectic" is an understatement. It's rather as if whoever programs what's aired has put the station's entire CD collection in iTunes and then hit "Party Shuffle".

   We listen on the radio or the internet. Not sure if it works outside France but, if you're curious, go to www.radio-montaillou.com and hit the red speaker just below "écouter." Let me know if it works.

More dandelions for supper.

I've been a little remiss in posting recently mainly because we are deep, deep in house renovations and, in my case, gardening. Meteo France has forecast that the warm, sunny weather will have turned grey, rainy and chilly by Thursday and Friday.

  The war on the dandelions continues. I savagely lop off each yellow head as it appears before it has a chance to turn to fluff and send its virulent thistledown far and wide. The new roots are terrific in, or as, salad. Because they're so fresh, once washed and cleaned, they keep for a good few days in the fridge. 

  I've also picked a bag of the new nettle shoots which are destined for soup or a quiche.

Boot mending, babies and reflections.

Every week, Mirepoix market turns up a few surprises. The first this week was a travelling van that opened at the back to reveal a fully functioning shoe mender's shop. The next was this cute little kid who cheerily munched on an apple while her maman sold me a fat lettuce. The third was the perfect stillness of the canal.

A "wall" of violets.

Midweek, Peter is leading the group on a walk we took several years ago. So, because it was several years ago, we did a practice amble on Sunday afternoon. The route starts in Caudeval near a solidly built chateau (around here, these tend to look more like fortresses than fairytale castles and this one is no exception). 

   The track led uphill, deeply rutted and extremely squelchy. It was almost, but not quite, raining adding a gauzy screen to our view of meadows, hills and trees.

  This is the season for violets. (We missed the Toulouse violet festival a couple of weeks back so must mark that on the agenda for next year.) Tiny purple flowers are all over the garden of our first house. And, on this walk, we saw them growing in large clusters at the sides of the track which descend so steeply into the ditches below that what you see is like a small wall of violets.