I know it’s Sunday morning because the squeaky wheels that carry the wooden sign-post from the house down the road have stopped under the tree in front of my house. It’s market day, and the sign saying “organic, home-grown vegetables and roast chicken 150m down the road” has assumed its position to inform passers-by.

I live in L’Isle Sur la Sorgue; a tiny old village built on an island that was formed by the Sorgue river’s course, where it splits and then merges again.

But this little village isn’t so little anymore—having sprawled with schools, urban developments and supermarkets beyond the island—but it’s managed to retain its charm. It’s famous for concentrated collections of antique brokers, artists and a beautiful Sunday marché.

I open my shutters and check to see if the weather is market-friendly, and it is! I decide to message a friend.

“Frederique! would you like to join me? I’m about to head out to some vide greniers…” (Vide grenier directly translates to attic-emptying, similar to the concept of a garage sale). Fred’s thumbs-up is followed by a quick jump in the shower while the coffee brews. The doorbell indicates it’s time to go.