I was very happy to see again my old chum, the Marenne oyster farmer, and make a new chum, the French-Moroccan olive seller.
The fishmonger was shuking scallops into a big tub. He was laughing at this crazy guy with a broad, toothless grin. Gesticulating, the looney claimed he was from New Zealand. Could have been!
The butcher, moving around behind a glass-fronted display of charcuterie, served a long line of serious French women clutching baskets.
There were North African women in headscarves and occasionally I caught bits of Arabic.
We intend to make this market our regular Friday outing.
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