The most famous flea market in Paris is the one at Porte de Clignancourt, officially called Les Puces de Saint-Ouen. Wandering through the flea markets turned out to be one of the highlights of my 10 days in Paris. I just wish my photos could do justice to the pure eye candy that I found this rainy, chilly day.
Saint-Ouen/Clignancourt is really a collection of distinct markets, each with it's own flavor. Being more of a junker & vintage girl than an antiques affectionado, I quicky peered into covered walkways filled with marvelous, high-end antiques of every description.... took a little peak at prices, then made my way toward what is called Marche Paul Bert:
Paul Bert was were I spent the next couple hours. Looking at all the wonderful metal chairs and weathered tables made me wish I could just pull in my van and load it up!
Great accents for Ann Arbor gardens...
I love industrial metal storage bins and drawers. They were available in many different shapes and colors.
I can picture the galvanized drawers above filled with vintage buttons or game parts at FOUND. But they would have been awkward to stick in my suitcase...
Even big ol' light bulbs look cool when they are piled into a clear recepticle.
Oil paintings and interesting lighting fixtures jumped out at every turn. I liked seeing color palattes that are not common in the midwest. As I write this, I wish I had taken pictures that would better illustrate what I mean by that.... I stood in dozens of stall and just soaked in what they had on display.
Flea market food. As I wandered through the Paul Bert Market in Clignancourt around lunch time, it was fun to see the assortments of cheese, breads, steaming hot casserole dishes, fruits and wine that dealers had spread out on beautiful dishes/linens for their mid-day meal. Good food is a part of French culture, even at the market. Whether the dealer was eating alone at a tiny table in the back of the booth or gathering with friends at an antique table out on the walkway, taking time to eat something fresh and flavorful seemed to be the norm. I did not witness a single corn dog slathered with mustard. Back home, savoring elegant food is not part of the flea market equation. It was lovely to observe (and smell). My lunch was a savory crepe and strong coffee with a shot of cognac to warm me up.
Above is a stall in the section called Marche Vernaisson where I purchased an artist paint box and a couple little books. The nice dealer in the cute layered sweaters, skirts and jacket packed it for me in a bag made from old newspaper. That photo reminds me of how pleasant and helpful most of the dealers were to us non-french speaking Americans. She had lots of french school books with red covers.
I felt comfortable here. The displays reminded me of things that I do - like playing with folding rulers...
To really walk through all the aisles and alleyways of Saint-Oeun would take days. I'm glad I was able to find the sections I did. And glad that I could find my way back to our meeting spot!
That night, our last in the city of lights, was spent at the Eiffel Tower.
It was an wonderful way to end an amazing trip, accompanied by friends who understand that life is a journey...
To your journey through life, wherever it may take you!
Warm regards,
Mary