"There goes the baker with his tray like always, the same old bread and rolls to sell."

So while using this photo as a potential prompt and cure for my recent writer's block, I begin to realize the gravety and the intensity of it's image.  Yes, everyone, I confirm that these are same-day slaughtered chickens neatly displayed at a French market (on a random weekday, for that matter) as if they were not dead, but merely sleeping and had forgotton their "winter coats."  If you look closely, or dare to in any case, you can see that their heads, beaks, and feet are still intact as they patiently wait to be sold to old, grumpy, French elders who continue to complain about the inconvenient currency change from the French Franc to the Euro--mind you that this change had taken place over 12 years ago. 

Below, I have posted the several pictures I took "at market" that day in order for you to get a feeling this "this provincial life" does indeed still exist:

Nope, this classy woman taken in the picture is not going to mass or out to dinner.  She is simply going to market!

Sorry Giant Eagle, your cheese selection is pretty good, but I don't know if it can stand up to a variety of 102.

Bonjour Mr. French Fisherman! Sorry to disturb your sales with my abnoxious tourist behavoir and taking pictures of you while you are trying to sell the fish you caught that morning.

Strawberries anyone?

So needless to say, while Benoît Jego (the "other Benoît) was off making cookie sales, I had a wonderful morning walking around the weekday market in a port town called La Rochelle.

--Although I must say that as delightful and endearing as I find most French people, "creepers and weirdos" do exist here, as they are present in almost every country I presume.  For example, while walking through the market, the sausage man whistled to me and offered me a taste of his sausage.  Okay, okay, I know that previous sentence and what I am about to tell you present obvious sexual inuendos, but I find no other way to describe this particular situation lol.  "Venez goûtez mes saucissons, Madameoiselle.  J'ai plusieurs parfum ici car je suis bien le roi des saucissons." (Literal translation: Come and taste my sausages, young girl.  I have many flavors here because I am very well the King of the Sausages.)  Now, as I did indeed sample the small piece of sausage he offered me because the saucisson in France really is rather good, I was happily saved from the Sausage King by Benoît's perfectly timed phone call telling me that he had made his necessary cookie sales and was ready to go.

I am so thankful for my friends in France.  The story of my poor camera bouncing off the stone pavement in front of the church made everyone cringe to the point where Benoît Jego actually gave me his old digital camera that he does not use anymore.  I have to say, I love the French and 2005 Sony Cybershot cameras!  So thanks to Benoît Jego, I was able to capture these beautiful images below of the breathtaking port town of La Rochelle:

Well, today is the day that Benoît gets to pick up his brand new car! I promised him that I would make a few photocopies of the necessary document he needs to present at the dealership, so I will have to explain the rest of my Wednesday outing at the beach in my next blog, which is soon to come!  

Bonne journée ! (Have a good day!)

Love, Laura