It was a Wednesday morning, and we figured that most citizens of Arles probably spend it at the Wednesday and Saturday outdoor market. RS's book said it was best near the TI, so we went there first, figuring Rick couldn't be wrong all the time in this chapter...but you know what, he was! When we walked through booth after booth that more resembled those found at cheesy swap meets, we decreed that the whole place was a bust...until we discovered the stands back near our hotel. Produce, spices, meat--there was great stuff there! We bought a whole rotisserie chicken smothered in onion gravy for $8--we figured it would make a smashing lunch! We also bought hazel nuts, pumpkin seeds, salami roll for sweetie, and seasoned olives that Doug moaned in ecstasy over. Suddenly we were set on the fruits of Provençal for munching for the remainder of our trip--all for maybe $3-$4!

Famished after inhaling all the mouth-watering aromas in the market, we eagerly withdrew to our room in anticipation of the chicken we bought. Still warm, we put it on our table...but perhaps, we thought, we could borrow a real knife from downstairs to save our poor Swiss Army blade from drenching in grease? Doug disappeared downstairs for a minute or two, and when he returned, he brought not only a knife but a tray with plates, napkins, silverware, glasses, and even salt and pepper! How thoughtful and kind the people who ran this hotel were! We devoured half of the chicken and half of the soft and delicious 40¢ baguette from down the street in record time, gratified more than anything that we had the napkins.

Since the owners of the hotel were gracious enough to let us use some of their dishes, we wondered if they might let us use their kitchen a little bit, too. Doug and I had been craving eggs like crazy, having gone without them altogether since Bacharach 20 days ago. "Wouldn't it be great to boil some eggs for future use?" we thought. So we asked them (after, of course, cleaning up after ourselves and bringing the dishes down). When they said yes, we quickly dashed out into the market again before it closed, buying a half-dozen eggs as well as the hugest single carrot we'd ever seen. Bringing food back without having to eat it on the spot? It was starting to feel like home already. Call us honorary Romans.

We started to fit right in in France

WALL OF WIND!

Yes, though it was a strange way to spend a day in a foreign country, we didn't find it to be a waste at all. We learned a lot about French culture by immersing ourselves in it--could you say the same for sitting on a tourist bus with a bunch of English-speaking Americans? So we instead found a French food store and purchased French food with far fewer French Francs[78]. Once again, the cookie assortment bag was to die for, plus can you find a huge bag of shelled and roasted peanuts anywhere for only 50¢?!? Since our hotel was the only place in Arles not plagued by 100 mph winds, we lounged comfortably in the common area, watching a sequence of nature shows (since they were the easiest to understand) and stuffing our faces with cold soda and tasty snacks. Could be worse.

An entire afternoon of loafing around scarfing junkfood made us exhausted, so we went upstairs for a short nap. Oops, two hours later we awoke, hungover with that totally mangled feeling you get from sleeping in the afternoon. The cure? More food! We stumbled downstairs and, first asking permission for use of the kitchen, boiled our eggs and reheated the remainder of our chicken. We sliced up our carrot and baguette, arranged the chicken on actual plates, and sat in the dining room at a table with an actual tablecloth and sipped from actual wine glasses. Any onlookers stared in awe, inquiring when they had started to serve dinner at this hotel! Yes, it was definitely feeling more like home, and our expenses were reflecting that--a fact that always makes me rest easier!

As we polished off our meal, the couple that owned the hotel meandered out and started conversing in French with Doug. He probably remembers that evening more than any other on the trip, since he was finally able to have (and understand) an entire conversation in French with a very patient and attentive audience. The three of them sipped the wine from the Pont Du Gard[79], the father breaking out his peppers to share while they all continued to blab away. The two children of the family were busy watching "The Nanny" in French, but I had a better time understanding the French Doug was speaking, even though I found it frustrating that I couldn't possibly add anything to the conversation myself. At least we learned a lot about their opinions on a variety of subjects: They expressed their apprehension about the EU currency that would be introduced in 1999, and envied the Swiss who were keeping their strong economy out of it. They claimed that the man who was supervising us nervously when we were cooking our eggs had been the caretaker here for some 20 years, even though this family had only owned it for the past three, and so his kitchen was really his kitchen if you know what I mean. But the most comical part for me was when they talked about their opinions on Rick Steves. He had stayed there at their hotel only a few months before, saying how he was totally revamping his French sections....

After the family disappeared to eat their own dinners, we once again surfed the French TV channels for something cultural and interesting to watch. What could be more indigenous to France and Europe in general than watching a game of soccer? At first Doug poo-pooed it, exclaiming that he just plain didn't understand the game. But that was when my 10 years of AYSO and 3 years of refereeing came into `play': I made a sketch of a soccer field in my notebook, and began explaining thing like offsides, penalty kicks, red cards, etc. to him. And you know what, it became a very exciting thing for both of us to watch! It wasn't long, too, before another American guy came down to join us, and we discovered that, unlike most, he was an avid fan of soccer and not football. We had a great time talking with him and sharing all our travel experiences; he seemed a little envious of our marriage, and very impressed with how prepared he thought we were for our travels. When he complained about not being able to buy a small sewing kit, I zipped up to our room to retrieve ours. As I mended a button and tear on his beloved jacket for him, we all started to get philosophical in our discussion--how wonderful it was to not be limited to surface conversation, and to be taken out of the tourist role for once. We felt bad that we kept the English speaking daughter up. Sorry, we didn't mean to ruin her night[80]!