Our local boulangerie offers a wide selection of breads and other treats during regular hours, and the almost irresistible smell of baking bread before and after. At the counter, Marie-Claire is there without fail, rain or shine, and in sickness and in health. And if one needs a bottle of cold champagne, fear not, for she will pull one out for you, suitably chilled and ready for your celebration of love. She always smiles and accepts your greeting. If some clumsy Englishman fails to say, “Merci… au revoir… bonne journée,” upon leaving, she will mutter a few words (most likely an ancient Provencal curse), and then beam at you as you stumble through a carefully rehearsed French phrase that is supposed to mean, “One baguette, and that little cake over there, please.” If your choice of words or the article (you know… the le or la thing), are not quite right, she will repeat the proper French for your edification.
I had the opportunity to observe her husband yesterday as they were exiting their front door for the afternoon hours. In one brief snapshot I suddenly understood what a burden it must be if you are the village baker. He is tall but stoop-shouldered. He looks like he has been working for a hundred years. He starts work at about four a.m. and finishes long after we leave for a dinner out. Price controls on the traditional baguette were removed in 1978, but few bakers dare to inflate the price of that special loaf (forget not the French revolution). It still sells for less than one euro most places. I do the math sometimes when I am standing in line waiting for my bread. How many baguettes must it take to pay the rent – ninety cents at a time. Hundreds each day I think. This must be why I purchased the champagne this morning.
A sense of duty seems to be important in a lot of professions. The baker does this job because it is the path he has chosen. A lot of people depend on him, especially the exceptionally long-lived women of this village. Even on holidays there will always be one bakery open half the day. The same goes for the pharmacies and often the restaurants too. Speaking of those, our son Ben and his partner Marina came to Villefranche late on a cold New Year’s Eve a couple of years ago. They had no reservations and no food in the apartment. A lovely little restaurant down the hill from us made a special table for them outside in an enclosed area with a heater, where they toasted one another and the kindness of some toward strangers. Please, always be kind to strangers. For some without knowing it, have in that manner hosted angels, or so I’ve heard.
