Antibes

by Nicholas
Antibes is an old port town about seven kilometers west of the farm. There among the shops, restaurants, tourists and locals,  is a long standing marche (market) that is held each day. The merchants have held their same positions week after week, and are threatened by new competition. On this day Fabrice (our host) Rhea and Markus will represent our farm at the market for the very first time.  I intend to bike to Antibes with Jennifer, follow the buzzing of trade, and find our farmers turned sales reps.


As I begin I am feeling down. The joy of partnered adventure is not present; my day-trip will be alone. The bike intended for Jennifer was not built for her unique size and so I leave the farm with her encouragement. I ride south toward le plague (the beach) then west for Antibes. Pushing down each leg with growing intensity, I pedal in rythm and gain speed.


Sweating and with heavy breath, the low of the morning rises with the sun to high noon. For now, independence is my companion. After arriving in Antibes and searching for the marche without success I decide to enjoy the narrow winding streets without cause. The herbed and oiled meat caresses my appetite. The vibrant gelato cools my skin. These fulfilling eatables are enjoyed only through my eyes and nose. Feeling satisfied, I decide to head in the direction of home. Making a turn down a more broad street I see, at last, the marche! I dismount the bike and enter the pavilion with accomplishment and pride. This is what I find...

The empty cases and vegetable remains were surely left by my farming friends, but I am too late to share a greeting. The marche is over. Not disappointed by my tardiness,  I buoyantly walk away. Through an archway along the port and through another arch way, I strole a few hundred yards to find this  place to write...

Perhaps, next, a swim....


*Other images from Antibes*