A Slow Espresso in Périgueux

 A Slow Espresso in Périgueux

There are moments when slow service is exactly what you need.

Today I’m sitting at a little restaurant beneath the red awnings in the heart of Périgueux, right alongside the city’s market. It is a beautiful, brilliantly sunny day, but my table is tucked comfortably into the shade. From here, I have a front-row seat to the marketplace.

And I’m in absolutely no hurry.

The restaurant seems to have one person taking care of an entire section of tables. If you came here with somewhere to be, that might be frustrating. But today? It’s perfect.

Take as long as you need to wait on me. Take as long as you need to bring my espresso.

Because waiting gives me an excuse to simply sit here and watch France go by.

The market spreads across the square under a patchwork of colorful awnings—deep reds, greens, creams and oranges. People wander between the stalls, stopping to inspect what the vendors have brought into town. There are crates and tables that were obviously much fuller earlier in the morning, and you can sense the market gradually moving toward the end of its day.

Then there are the streets leading away from the square. They are narrow and paved in stone, lined with old honey-colored buildings whose shutters, carved stonework and slightly imperfect walls make you want to keep walking just to see what is around the next corner.

One shop window stopped me completely. Maison Favié has filled its window with an explosion of color—ceramics, cups, bowls, pitchers, clocks and kitchen pieces stacked almost from floor to ceiling. It is the kind of window that requires more than a passing glance. Your eyes keep finding something else.

And then I noticed something beneath my feet.

Embedded among the stones is a small bronze scallop shell. The scallop is the traditional symbol marking the routes of the Camino de Santiago, or Way of St. James. Suddenly the street felt a little different. People have been walking these routes toward Santiago de Compostela for centuries, and here I was following the same streets—not as a pilgrim, but certainly as a traveler.

Back at the café, I ordered an espresso. Not a latte—an espresso. A tiny cup, a little packet of sugar, a spoon, and nowhere I particularly needed to go.

At noon, the church bells began ringing across Périgueux.

I don’t know whether they were simply announcing twelve o’clock or marking a church observance. It really didn’t matter. For a few moments the bells became part of everything else—the conversations around the tables, the movement through the market, the clatter of dishes and the sunshine spilling across the square.

And I just sat there sipping my espresso.

Travel can so easily become a list of things to accomplish: see this, photograph that, get to the next place, make sure you don’t miss anything.

But perhaps this is the part I don’t want to miss.

A red umbrella above me. An espresso in front of me. Church bells ringing at noon. A French market slowly winding down. People going about an ordinary Wednesday in Périgueux.

And me, sitting quietly in the middle of it all.

So please, monsieur, take your time.

Today, slow service is exactly what I came for.