Sunday morning, juillet 2. Marché. I guessed wrong about sleeping in. At 5:00AM the street below my window was filled with the noise of vendors setting up their stalls, and the smell of trucks idling while they were unloaded. Lots of fun anyway.
I ran into a fellow who had moved here two years ago from Toronto and made a living selling his paintings. (He saw Ramorgue's maple leaf flag and gave me a shout from across the street)
My hotel room was just above the yellow 'Presse' sign.