The next day I went with Marlène and Barthelémy to the Sunday-morning market in the town square. It’s really cool to see how some things as simple as this weekly event haven’t changed since the Middle Ages. There were clothes stalls selling clothes, flowers, fruits, cheese, and many other things. And there were fishmongers. French fishmongers. Rot in hell, Disney.
Right after the market I went by myself to the Collegiale, the church in Montmorency, for mass. The architecture and stained-glass were beautiful, but the acoustics in the church were so wonky I could hardly understand anything. Also, I failed to note that since it was Pentecost the mass went on for the entire morning, so I ended up staying for an hour and a half, until I noticed that people seemed to be coming and going as they liked.
“More salvation, monsieur?”
“No, thanks, I’m good. I gotta get going.”
After Jean-Jacques left to visit his mother for her birthday in Brittany, Marlène suggested I go to the Jean-Jacques Rousseau Museum in town, the house where he endeavored to live in poverty away from the frivolity of Paris. I explored the garden and then took the guided tour of the house. The tour was in French, but I understood it almost perfectly.
For dinner that night, along with the potatoes, we had rillette, an incredibly delicious pork paste from Jean-Jacques’ hometown.
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