Le shopping, silver and the sea

The weather here has returned to its normal, unremittingly grim pattern, although the grimness does not begin to compare with the horrors of Superstorm Sandy. (Sending good wishes to all of you who are affected by it . . . take care.)

What to do, therefore, but think back to the beginning of the month and reflect on the joys of that brief window of sunshine in France? The day after our choral exertions at Notre Dame in La Ciotat was free to do with it what we liked and someone mentioned the town's Sunday morning market. Several of us were off like a shot. After all, even if one cannot summon up much interest in everyday shopping for essentials, the lure of a good market is hard to resist.

La Ciotat's market snaked around the harbour and was rather wonderful. There was, of course, the best of local produce:

There were olives and hummus

teas and spices

bread

pottery in hot, southern colours

and these . . .

Parisian chic doesn't really cut it in this small corner of the Beautiful South, where there is a penchant for figure-hugging frills, glitter and ornamentation, albeit in neutral colours - black, grey and taupe. I spotted these in the main shopping street that runs down to the harbour:

But the bright, monochrome straw hats said yah boo sucks to neutral.

I was feeling rather proud of my restraint by this stage, just taking photographs and not actually buying anything. And then I noticed a jewellery stall, covered with silver rings, bracelets, earrings, all presided over by the impressively named Mohammed Ahmed Almoctar Dit Hamada, a Touareg silversmith and jeweller from Nigeria. Game up.

Wherever I have travelled, but especially in India, the Middle East and Latin America, I have bought locally crafted silver jewellery, mainly rings and earrings. However, I had recently lost one of the rings from India and the finger that it had graced was looking a little bare. I'm never quite sure how this jewellery thing works, why one piece appeals more than another, but my eye was drawn to a wide silver band, with traditional Touareg engraving.

'Do you have this in my size?' I asked Mohammed, pointing to the middle finger of my right hand. His eye was as accurate as those of the amazing fitters at Rigby and Peller, who can tell someone's correct bra and cup size at a mere glance. He plunged his hand into a large bag under the stall and produced a ring, which, just like Cinderella's slipper, was a perfect fit. We engaged in some good-humoured bargaining, settling on a mutually agreeable price, sealed with smiles and nods.

It did mean that I'd blown the money intended for a prix fixe three course Sunday lunch at a harbourside restaurant but that didn't bother me. Three of us, who have known each other for years, since long before we joined the choir, decided to have a budget picnic lunch instead, courtesy of the market. We sat on the steps of the harbour, looking out to sea, talking easily as old friends do, tucking into savoury fougasses and enormous, juice-dripping crimson tomatoes and giant peaches. 

Now, in the depth's of England's autumnal gloom, all I have to do to conjure up that day is to glance down at my hand, look at my Touareg ring as it catches whatever light it can, and remember bright sunlight dancing across the Mediterranean.

Comments

[Moira]

I like both of those rings very much!

[60 going on 16]

Thank you Moira. The other ring is from India - a silver meditation ring; it works like worry beads or a mala. Very calming! However, looking at that photo reminds me that there is no escaping the fact I now have an old woman's hands . . . still, a life lived and all that.

[Christina]

Well now, this is most interesting. I don't wear my rings (most purchased in India) because I don't want to draw attention to my "old woman's hands". But, when I looked at your picture I thought: If my hands look as beautiful as her hand, I should be wearing my rings! Then I read your comment and realized that we cannot see ourselves because we are always looking for someone we once were. Anyway, inspired by your beautiful hand, I am going to wear my rings again. Thanks you much for that!

[60 going on 16]

Christina: thank you so much for your kind words about my hand! Your comment that 'we cannot see ourselves because we are always looking for someone we once were' is so true. Delighted that you are going to wear your rings again - and anything else that takes your fancy, please. The softness of silver is kind to older skin, I think, and - like our hands and faces - those rings, earrings and bracelets (I've just brought out my old silver bracelets for an airing!) all have a story to tell too. I think I sense another blogpost coming on . . .

[Christina]

Oh, yes please the blogpost!
When I was a young woman I very much admired "old" women who wore big pieces or bold pieces of jewelry which I felt sure had rich history. These women seemed to deserve to be adorned this way while I felt I had not quite earned the right to draw such attention to myself, although I did. I came into my own in my 40s and wore what I pleased but became tentative again in my 50s as I felt a bit muttonish ;O) Now, in my 60s, I am setting about reclaiming my crown! I very much look forward to whatever you care to write about... well, about anything at all, really.