We went out one morning for croissants. We purchased them from the local baker’s where the smell of fresh bread was tantalizing. It was one of the delights of being in France. When we arrived in the village there was a fisherman selling his wares from a stall in the street. My hostess paused to purchase oysters (and I was secretly grateful that we would be moving on and not have to eat them myself as they are not my favourite delicacy). Then we went into the baker’s and I spent a while admiring the beautiful works of art that were the pies and pastries that filled the shelves. But at the point of time this short passage took place we had not yet arrived in the village. I wrote about it because it was a scene that touched my heart and brightened my day even more.
I had to laugh.
He looked so incongruous. Cars whipped past us and motorbikes roared by, all travelling at speed on what was, for me, the ‘wrong side of the road.’ I chuckled at the antics of some starlings and turned to look again at the road before we pulled out for our own journey.
And here he came.
Riding on a small scooter, he sat very upright. He was well wrapped up against the breeze his ride would cause on this cool overcast day. He was intent on his driving, looking neither right nor left, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
Putt, putt, putt. His little motorcycle approached us slowly and steadily. As we waited for him to pass us, other vehicles continued to flash past the intersection, all intent on their own purpose.
As was the rider of the motorcycle. But it was only as he drew level that I realised just what that purpose was. For there, in the pannier behind him, sticking out of their container, were two long, crusty, fresh baguettes.
He had been to purchase his breakfast and was now taking it home to enjoy with a pat of fresh butter and a pot of local honey, perhaps, or home-made jam.
I smiled as he passed us, this smart little man on his motorcycle. He was intent on his breakfast, as we were on ours. And as we pulled out of our road to purchase our own croissants, fresh from the local baker, whose shop smelled deliciously of fresh bread, I silently wished him, ‘bon appetit.’
I hope he enjoyed his meal – we certainly enjoyed our own.