The Sunday morning market is AWESOME. I had all these plans to go to these markets all over the city, but the fact is, the one right behind my friend Annic’s apartment is perfect, and I can be certain I am the only American there. It’s little, just two little streets that cross each other like an X. The boulangeries, fromageries, caves du vin, seafood markets, butchers, vegetable guys and florists all open up their doors and expand into stands in the street. Rotisseries set up on the street fill the air with the smell of roast chicken. The fruits and vegetables are artfully arranged, as if someone was going to take the whole arrangement of haricot vert and use it as a decorative piece. We have Annic’s big straw bag, and we pop in and out of each store, only buying one or two things at each. The street is filled with families doing the same, and a relaxed happiness pervades, as if the tradition of Sunday market brings not just good food but incredible comfort. People greet each other and share kisses and jokes. The street vendors offer you a taste of their produce before you buy, confident that once you have a bite, you will buy from them. There is intense pride in the products shown.