du Savon.

Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday mornings are market days in St. Tropez (place des Lices). You will feel sardined-in, guaranteed. You will also need to use your elbows, as if you were on a basketball court. The most governable looking older French woman turns aggressive in these moments and you might take an elbow. She will disregard that you have been standing there waiting from the moment she walked up to the booth. No matter. The lady behind the market stall won't seem to notice either, even though you've made direct eye contact with her, compelling her to turn to you after she's taken the money from the customer at hand. Instead, she yields to the loud, shrill "Bonjour, je vais prendre..." from the old one with the elbows. I admire them, I swear. It is just that I wasn't taught to be hawkish when waiting in line to pay for peaches. I am no good at it. I ended up waiting at least two times longer than any French lady. Go figure.

Soaps. Soaps from Provence. To look at them was enough. I waited my long turn and bought some too. Divine.