Previous episode : https://nathjy.travel.blog/2020/10/25/the-purple-rose-bouquet-episode-vi-julien/
Excerpt from the previous episode: My bag, and forward to the station. Metro. Finding the right platform. It’s not possible in a station like this, a cat would lose its young! After asking 5 times, here I am on the right platform, then in the right car. Place 18, place 26, place 32, a little further on, here is my place, place 46. Hop, the bag in the gallery and as soon as my buttocks touch the seat, I fall asleep.
Deeply disappointed to have missed Julien by so little, Lucie wanders for a moment, completely lost, in the Gare de Lyon. Tears of sadness or rage are now blurring her view. She walks around in circles for a good fifteen minutes, hoping to see Julien appear from any corner of the station.
-What a silly thing to do. He couldn’t wait to get back to the outback. There is no reason why he should have missed his train.
In desperation, she goes back to the path she has just travelled in the opposite direction. The underground and its homeless, the Ministry of Finance, the Bercy metro station, line 6 to the Raspail metro. Her mind is on automatic pilot. Coming out of the metro, in front of the café-bistro Le Lithographe, she has no desire to go back to her uncle’s house and decides to walk a little. It is said that this puts her mind back in order. She tries her luck.
In front of the Hotel Leopold, admiring the magnificent chandeliers, she thinks about last night’s evening and the walk she took with Julien, just before letting him slip away.
At the corner of Boulevard Raspail and Rue Léopold Robert, she finds the good smell of Mr M’Seddi’s bread, which won first prize for the best baguette in Paris in 2018. It is at his place that she used to come to buy the bread, on Sunday lunchtime, when she had lunch with her parents at her uncle’s house.
Just before crossing the Boulevard du Montparnasse, she was raving about the play of lights staged at the Brodway. As a bonus, it smells like pizza on a wood fire. She gets a little bit of energy back and leaves the autopilot mode.
On the other side of the crossroads, on the border of the 14th and 6th districts, under the wrathful gaze of a Balzac sculpted by the hand of Rodin, she sees the famous bright red front of the Rotonde.
Further down the boulevard Raspail, it leads to the Rennes station. This is where a renowned organic market is held every Sunday morning. Blending in with the crowd will do her the most good by allowing her to rediscover a bit of the atmosphere she so appreciates in Indian markets. An explosion of colours and flavours.
Lost in her thoughts, in front of the ceramics in the metro station, she remembers that a friend of Julien’s had given them a course on the subject, one evening after returning from a weekend in Touraine, a long time ago.
She sneaks in the market where there is no shortage of distractions: small smock dresses hanging from the Malagasy stand…
…rope soaps of different fragrances: a festival for the nostrils.
This is followed by an anthology of autumn squash.
Further down, a bouquet of purple artichokes dominates, from his basket, bunches of red radishes.
No hesitation, this trip to the Sonia Rykiel alley is already doing him a lot of good.
The orange colour of the pumpkins contrasts with the green of the cabbages. A beautiful harmony with the baskets deposited a little further away and waiting for the barge.
A fresh juice merchant highlighted the colours of his fruit and vegetable nectars.
The Italian family still runs its own stand and it is as attractive as ever.
Among the couple of greengrocers in the Lot, Lucie is well tempted by the few apples that remain at the bottom of a basket. The merchant caught her eye and confirmed that they are very tasty. Her brother is the producer.
The next stand is that of the cheese maker who is a good friend of her uncle.
But let’s come back for a moment to the stand of our couple of vegetable merchants. A few sweet potatoes outstrip some beautifully sized chestnuts.
Shallots bask in the sun.
Lucie would opt for this beautiful broccoli cabbage.
Unless she lets herself be tempted by one of these little red cabbages.
She also hesitates to take two or three beautiful, plump Williams; the merchant guarantees that they are medium and juicy.
But Lucie has what she needs for the days to come and her gaze is drawn to the cheese merchant who has recognised her and is waving at her.
-So, Lucie, back in France. It’s our cheeses that you missed, I’m sure. How is your uncle, still on the road? And your friend? You know, the nice guy, the one who always wore an orange scarf and with whom you used to come often, before leaving for India?
And bam, here comesJulienbetween the Morbier AOP and the Fourme d’Ambert.
-Here you are, my little Lucie, do you want me to call you that again? I’ll give you a little Neuf-Châtel, it’s good for love. You’ll see, it’s as sweet as a heart in love.
And second bam, Julien again!
-Well, I suppose I also put a piece of sweetness from the Tarn?
Lucie is amazed by the memory of the cheese maker. What’s more, she’s always so nice.
-I would like to have a small piece of tomme aux fleurs. It will be a real comfort.
The dry Breccous are also a good eye catcher. They are well aligned in their crate with a few nuts to embellish them. Here, there is no skimping on presentation. In addition to being very friendly, the merchant is also an artist. Her stall is a real hymn to the cheeses of France and Navarre. Speaking of Navarre, there is a Manchego that looks well matured.
The fresh goats wait, wisely piled up, for an amateur to spot them. Lucie asks for her account.
-18,40 €, the Neuf-Châtel and the Breccou is a gift from the house.
Lucie has always had a weakness for this merchant. It is undoubtedly the need to exchange with her that has brought her here since leaving the metro.
Good Sunday then. Are you staying in Paris for a while? Will we see you again?
-Yes, maybe next Sunday.
-Will you come with your darling?
And third bam, Julien, him again…
Going up the boulevard, Lucie can’t resist a few beautiful orange-yellow chanterelles. Unless she opts for Indian soup. It’s a sure bet against the blues.
A bunch of mint extends its arms to him, it will be used to make tea. This too is a good pick-me-up!
No fish for today, although the stalls look wonderfully fresh.
Leaving the market, she takes the rue du Montparnasse, which is longer but quieter than the boulevard Raspail. Then she takes the Boulevard Quinet where she meets the Busabri who is resting on this Sunday, a stone’s throw from the Montparnasse cemetery.
Passing in front of the Duc, the famous restaurant, she meets the valet who tells her that she looks fresher than last night.
Now all he has to do is find his keys to enter 31 rue Campagne Première.
She finally enters the flat and sees the superb bouquet of flowers deposited by the florist who left so quickly this morning. It’s time for her to take care of this bouquet left on the edge of the washbasin. Find a vase, cut off the tails and enjoy it this time.
Par Nathalie
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Translated with http://www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
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