The antique show was held just outside Domme, a small town that overlooks the magnificent Dordogne valley. The view was so perfect that it resembled a scale model.
The Dordogne River winds through a valley of meticulously manicured farms, groves and vineyards, splattered with barns, red roofed stone houses and winding country roads.
There were the prettiest rustic gardens around every corner.
Words cannot accurately convey the beauty of this place. We had planned to celebrate my 50th birthday on the French Riviera, however, I can't imagine a more beautiful place I would rather spend my birthday than here. Before we left, we made reservations for dinner on the terrace.
Ever since we'd arrived, we had seen signs posted here and there advertising a "Salon Antique Brocante". Finally, the weekend arrived and we were very excited to go to this huge event. Following the signs, we arrived at a parking lot. No brocante in sight. We drove around some more and still saw no signs of a sale so we went back to the parking lot and waited for people to arrive. A couple of cars parked and people got out and started walking but it just didn't feel like we were at the right place. Eventually, we decided to follow the next people to arrive but they walked into a small unmarked building. Surely this wasn't the Salon Antique Brocante. It was. Just one room. We were very surprised and a little disappointed. But we each went our own direction in the room, taking our time to browse leisurely through the booths.
A handwritten letter from WWII
Kurt's goal was to find old maps and postcards and he purchases several. Chelsea purchases some jewelry and discovered that she liked 1800's style dresses.
I bought a few pieces, some old pictures, religious charms, some linen napkins and towels, old door knobs, postcards and the piece de resistance... a beautiful 1800's linen curtain with embroidered flowers and butterflies. It is a real treasure and I can't wait to hang it in my large bedroom window and let the light shine through the ornate details of it.
The Salon Antiques Brocante Sale ran through the holiday weekend. We decided that before it was over, we would be back for one more look.
We chose the least expensive seats, so of course, they were at the top. We complained about all the steps, but once at the top, we decided the view was well worth it.
" We waited for an hour while the crowd filed in, listening to the vendors yelling, "Chapeaus", "Boisson Fresh", and "shoo shoo", whatever that is!
The pomp and circumstance started as soon as the arena was filled. Matadors, roman soldiers with huge feathers sticking out of their helmets, and armored horses all marched out in a parade, then took their places behind the perimeter wall.
Then silence, the drum roll, then they let the first bull out. He was mad from the start. A group of bullfighters with pink capes taunted him. In an arena that large, we could hear each bullfighter's "heeeeey" to the bull. He would run at them, under their cape, then to the next. At times, another bullfighter would run at the bull with no cape, but with two spears, one in each hand. The bull in response, would run full speed at him. The bullfighter would then spear the bull in the back and quickly run away.
After several moments of this, the "head matador" (I'm not familiar with bullfighting terms) came out to great cheering. The other bullfighters moved aside, and the Matador tipped his hat to the crowd in all directions. He dramatically tossed the hat behind him and headed straight for the bull. Dead silence. Exhibiting great showmanship with his red cape, he called in a deep growly voice, "Hey, hey". As the bull, growing madder and madder, ran under his cape, the crowd would yell in unison, "Ole'!" Then silence again out of respect for the Matador.
As the show went on, the Matador would walk with his back to the bull, showing his bravery. When the bull got close, he would stretch and bend over allowing the cape to take the bull.
The first Matador made an error in judgement and the bull got his horns stuck into the Matador's leg and threw him into the air, then to the ground. The Matador lost his cape and a shoe. All the other bullfighters came to his rescue, distracting the bull. When the injured Matador regained his composure, he came back into the arena, the crowd cheered, happy that the bull hadn't won.
He soon put the bull out of his misery (details too disturbing for this blog) to the great delight of the crowd. Two horses were let into the arena to drag the bull out.
There were two more fights, but we had had seen enough and chose to make out way down through the crowd of 15,000. It was a unique experience, but sad and disturbing. I will never see another bullfight, and that is okay by me.
