Market days in Uzès are not merely an opportunity to stock up with fresh, local produce: fruit, vegetables, foie gras, goose rillettes and the like. They are also, perhaps even primarily, a social occasion. The one-way system is clogged, Le Parking Gide is complet from early in the morning and the bars and restaurants, diminished in size by market stalls encroaching on their outside space, are full as the inhabitants of the Uzège converge on the town to catch up with the gossip and enjoy an early pastis.
The schlepp
For me, it is an excuse to walk into town from our village, along the ancienne route: past the sewage works and the sunflower fields, over the small stream, up a 70m incline to the cemetery, entering the old town via the cobbled, pedestrianised rue Xavier Sigalon, named after the Romantic painter who was born in Uzès in 1767 and lived and died in a stereotypically Romantic – that is to say, unsuccessfully and unsold – manner. (He deserved more: his painting Locusta, exhibited in the cathedral of Nîmes, is an extraordinarily powerful work.)
From our gates in St Quentin la Poterie to a coffee at Marie’s Le Bengali in Uzès is a distance of just under five kilometres and takes me about 40 minutes, which is – serendipitously – the duration of a single podcast of Melvyn Bragg’s In Our Time. Schlepping there and back makes me something of an expert on at least two topics each day.
For those unfamiliar with this excellent programme, I should explain that the admirable Melvyn gathers around a microphone a collection of learned academics, each of which is a specialist in the subject of the day. I have downloaded the complete back catalogue and enjoy choosing the educational backdrop to my walk from the huge, eclectic collection of programmes.
From our gates in St Quentin la Poterie to a coffee at Marie’s Le Bengali in Uzès is a distance of just under five kilometres and takes me about 40 minutes, which is – serendipitously – the duration of a single podcast of Melvyn Bragg’s In Our Time. Schlepping there and back makes me something of an expert on at least two topics each day.
For those unfamiliar with this excellent programme, I should explain that the admirable Melvyn gathers around a microphone a collection of learned academics, each of which is a specialist in the subject of the day. I have downloaded the complete back catalogue and enjoy choosing the educational backdrop to my walk from the huge, eclectic collection of programmes.
Melvyn by Jill
There appears to be no rhyme or reason to the selection of these subjects, beyond the random decisions of Melvyn Bragg himself. In the last couple of months, we’ve had Queen Zenobia and Levi-Strauss, cosmic rays and Icelandic sagas, gnosticism and prophecy, Montaigne and Checkov. Each has been illuminating and fascinating and one arrives at one’s destination if not wiser, certainly far better informed.
Currently, I am able to tell you a great deal about the Putney Debates and Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall, the war of 1812 and Bertrand Russell. I can tell you very little, however, about game theory and Fermat’s last theorem, despite listening to each of those programmes twice. I suspect this is because Bragg, representing the intelligent but non-specialist listener, was also struggling to prompt his very smart guests and ask the questions necessary for elucidation. But like him, I did try.
A friend of mine, in his post-graduate days at Nottingham, used to walk to Forest games in the company of fellow academics. To pass the time, they would take turns to deliver a paper on the way. I have always thought what an excellent idea that was.
A walk through the French countryside, with In Our Time on the headphones, is my version of that pastime. And when I arrive at my destination, I have the pleasure of coffee and conversation, pastis and producteurs rather than analyses of the failings of Forest.
Thanks, Melvyn. (And sorry, Martin.)
Today's listening: John Fahey at the Great American Music Hall in 1975, thanks to a free download from Wolfgang's Vault. His Tribute to Mississippi John Hurt is sensational.
Currently, I am able to tell you a great deal about the Putney Debates and Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall, the war of 1812 and Bertrand Russell. I can tell you very little, however, about game theory and Fermat’s last theorem, despite listening to each of those programmes twice. I suspect this is because Bragg, representing the intelligent but non-specialist listener, was also struggling to prompt his very smart guests and ask the questions necessary for elucidation. But like him, I did try.
A friend of mine, in his post-graduate days at Nottingham, used to walk to Forest games in the company of fellow academics. To pass the time, they would take turns to deliver a paper on the way. I have always thought what an excellent idea that was.
A walk through the French countryside, with In Our Time on the headphones, is my version of that pastime. And when I arrive at my destination, I have the pleasure of coffee and conversation, pastis and producteurs rather than analyses of the failings of Forest.
Thanks, Melvyn. (And sorry, Martin.)
Today's listening: John Fahey at the Great American Music Hall in 1975, thanks to a free download from Wolfgang's Vault. His Tribute to Mississippi John Hurt is sensational.
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