COLLISION 00032
There is a reason that so much has been said and written about Provence’s markets. And there’s a reason, too, that for the second time in three weeks I find myself featuring one of the more colorful characters I met there in my Collisions series.
Provence’s markets are a kaleidoscope for the senses – colliding colors, textures and patterns click into place around dynamic personalities and an endless, sprawling assortment of goods. Shoppers browsing for leisure, sport and livelihood, some moving at a snail’s pace and others buzzing about like determined worker bees, make their way in mismatched unison through the markets’ heavenly hodgepodge of tents.
I have a sneaking suspicion that some visitors only show up for the samples: saucisson, olive oil, tapenades, cheese and “gluten-free” macarons.
Honestly, no judgment here from me.
I tried them all, too.
I took in a total of six markets over the course of my stay in the South of France. During this eight-day window, I started to see familiar faces manning familiar tents. It became clear these folks treated the weekly markets that run year-round like a circuit, not unlike the one I had come to fashion for myself on the other side of their tables. Lord knows I’d still be on it, too, if I had had the good fortune of staying on in Provence just a little bit longer.
As I learned how this new world operated, I shifted back and forth between getting excited to shop a new and different booth and looking forward to reencountering one I recognized from the market before.
I even made little deals with myself. If you want that trench coat with the ruffle collar and it shows up in Aix on Tuesday, you can have it. It did. So I changed the deal… If it shows up a second time at the Thursday market in Aix, then you can definitely have it. It didn’t.
The one that got away.
One of the first Provençal market vendors I ever spoke to was Dongola in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. On the Wednesday morning we met, his meticulously organized tent was set up on the edge of some of the less desirable booths, in my opinion anyway. I’m talking about the ones hawking cheap cell phone cases, bargain-basement pashminas and tacky, mass-produced knock-off jewelry.
But Dongola’s tent stood out. He sold bold, bright embroidered textiles, everything from tablecloths to pillow covers and blankets to jackets and scarves. He was also the only vendor in that patch of the market who thoughtfully engaged me, albeit in full-on salesman mode.
I’ll admit I was skeptical.
I didn’t buy anything from him that day, but he did help orient me to the Provence market scene. Dongola had been the one to tell me how beautiful the Eygalières Friday Market was. I have him to thank for that perfect, picturesque morning there.
The product line he was selling wasn’t particularly unique. I had even made a deal with myself on that first day not to buy one of those textiles, at least not until the end of my travels. They were everywhere I went in Provence at one price point or another.
But when it finally came time to buy gifts, I wanted to buy from someone who I knew and who had made an effort to know me. So, on that Thursday in Aix-en-Provence, market day #6, I stepped up without skepticism to the Dongola Arts & Crafts tent. Our conversation picked up where we had left off, and before I knew it, I was filling a shopper’s bag with bold, bright embroidered textiles.
It felt good to buy from him what I’d seen everywhere around the region. And our two-part collision had left me feeling like I’d come back around to support not only a good salesman but a good human.
Before I left, he told me his brother ran tours in India and that if I ever needed to chat about travel there, his brother would be a good, trustworthy contact to have. Could one collision lead to another? I wondered. I took a picture of Dongola’s card just in case.
“Come see me next year,” he said. “I have all kinds of customers who come back year after year and buy shipment after shipment from me.”
Always be selling, I thought, with a smirk and a healthy dose of skepticism.
I made a deal with myself. When I go back to Provence, first I’ll look for Dongola. And second, if it’s there, I’ll finally buy that trench coat with the ruffle collar.
