My friend Audrey picked me up early this morning to go the antique fair at the Chateau Barben. We were giddy with excitement, and talked about what we hoped to find. We imagined ourselves running around with our mouths open, not knowing were to look first. Our expectations were more about going inside each and every room, peeking into closets, and open drawers, seeing their lives unfold in white, monogrammed linens, and hand-painted dishes, rather than buying crowns or gilded furniture.
The Chateau Barben is outside of Aix en Provence, it is over an hour away from where I live. Audrey and I left around six in the morning, the fair was to start by eight.
The posters regarding the antique fair of the chateau (castle) said: "Attic Fair." Every time I thought of the "chateau's attic" up for grabs, I shook with excitement. A feast in the attic, a paradise on earth, almost like being Queen for a day, or at least finding a pea under a mattress! I could hardly stand the wait.
When we saw the towers, we looked at each other and screamed, it was as if we were two teen-agers going to a rock concert, or something as delicious. My feet were literally running ahead of me.
Then I saw this little annoying factor.
For a brief moment I thought I was dreaming, that I had made this Chateau-attic-fair-thing up in my mind. I felt like Cinderella without glass slippers, caught in the rain, with a pumpkin on my head.
Then I remembered, Audrey, the magic reappeared... maybe this wasn't the entrance?
Audrey pointed to the sign nailed to a tree....
We looked at it,
then each other,
and sighed in disappointment.
Talk about a popped bubble.
Talk about coming back to earth.
Talk about dreams of toile du Jouy down the drain.
Then we got in the car and drove to Aix to have hot chocolate.
Note: The Chateau Barben attic fair will happen at a later date.