At the bottom of the page click on the YouTube link to see the photos.
The sun rose in a hazy mist as we approached the Cherbourg harbor early morning. Most passengers stormed the bridge to depart for Utah Beach, that brutally entered the headlines on June 6th 1944 when the U.S. 82nd Airborne Division troops landed here. Having been there many years ago, we opted to hang around town.
What a pleasant surprise: The Cherbourg City of Commerce provided a free shuttle bus and horse and buggy ride from the harbor to the city center. We drove along brown stucco homes with terracotta roofs, and when I (Dickie stayed onboard) got off the bus, two college boys escorted me to the Internet Café and Saturday open-air market.
Market days are an especially big deal throughout France. No single event better symbolizes the French obsession with fresh products and their strong ties to the farmer than the weekly market. It seems that for the locals it is as important socially as it is commercially – a weekly chance to resume friendship and get the current gossip.
Of course I joined in – in both the gossip and friendship. I sampled olives and wine, strawberries, cherries and stone fruit. I also purchased a plate of “picnic fare” with meats, cheeses, crusty golden baguettes and pastries. It was heavenly. Samples are usually free, but the vendors expect you to buy something. Unlike here in the States, the outdoor markets charge less than grocery stores. Perishable items are sold directly from the producers – no middlemen – no Visa cards – just honest to goodness delicious, fresh food and plenty of cash.
As luck would have it, I ran into Edie, a lovely German lady who lives in Florida, at the internet café. Time melted away at the sidewalk table at Café de l’Etoile where we shared a small carafe of wine and enjoyed the carnival-like street scene. Later we took the horse and buggy ride back to ship. What an awesome day!
This being our last port in France, it’s very appropriate to end it with a Farmers Market. Having nibbled our way through Bordeaux, Brest and St. Malo, I for once knew what I was eating ………and it wasn’t the inners of an animal……..or was it? The cold cuts in the picnic sampler tasted awfully good.
Before we gussied up for a private cocktail party we sat on the balcony and watched the bummed-out geezers return from the war zone; their tote bags stuffed with souvenirs. I think some of them must be secretly throwing their new purchases overboard to make room in their luggage for even newer purchases.
Click on the above YouTube link to see the pictures.
The sun rose in a hazy mist as we approached the 
