Paris, episode 10. In which we flea-flea and can-can.

One of my favorite books is Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club.  (No offense to purists, of which I purportedly profess to be one, but this is a rare occasion in which the film is even better.)  When I was teaching high school students reading and writing as an English teacher, I especially enjoyed the opportunity to share favorite books with students.  On one of our fleamarketing visits to New York, Mari and I found a nice Mahjong set in a Chinatown shop and I was later able to share the game with my classes while we read the book so they could get a little hands-on experience with a treasured bit of Jing-Mei's colorful family background.  I had never seen a set of Mahjong tiles other than the computerized tiles I often enjoy unstacking in colorfully addictive solitaire games.  It wasn't until we started fleamarketing that Mari and I discovered authentic (American) Mahjong sets, popular entertainment in the 1950s and 1960s, and resurrected decades later in craftily clever jewelry forms like the ring pictured here.

As you know (and I love) Mari is a fan of vintage jewelry, especially hand-crafted and clever reimaginations of found objects. Recycling at its couture best!

On Puces Saturday, Mari found this and another treasure (below) in a tiny glass-enclosed boutique in the antiques market featuring vintage designer clothing and jewelry.  A friendly and fashion savvy English-speaking proprietor greeted us warmly and encouraged Mari to browse and admire treasures recollected and carefully curated from collections and decades past that now adorned the French fashionista's sparkling miniature museum.

The Wicker Lounge was only a tad smaller at 84 square feet.

As you would expect in Paris, lots of Chanel, including jewelry made from vintage buttons as we had previously discovered in Chicago.
I had not yet procured my porcelain M&M sorter, so Mari made the first (and second) catch that morning.  From a small display on a small glass shelf in a small mirrored cabinet, the piercing ribbed eyes of a now favorite feline snatched Mari's collector's gaze.

The Lea Stein celluloid pin didn't have a chance with Mari out on fleamarket safari.

I'm glad my wife loves bold jewelry because I enjoy admiring it (and writing about it) nearly as much as she enjoys wearing it.

You can easily and happily enjoy an entire Saturday or Sunday meandering through the (curated or cluttered) past as you wend your way through colorful collections and connect with colorful characters who vend their way there.  Some times and some days there is a place for new fleamarketed goods and souvenirs, but a trip to Les Puces de Saint Ouen doesn't seem like that time.  There is too much of the past to explore here and tourists or foreigners especially will lend Les Puces a unique perspective as they rescue half-buried objets d'art long neglected by French browsers.  Leave the new fleamarketed goods to the locals and you might catch a glimpse of your own past (or of a favorite book or pet) in a forgotten forget-me-not that's been waiting all these lonely years to find your faraway home.

Before heading back to our own home (and feline) the following day (it's still just a weekend, remember?), I had one more surprise to bestow as I commemorated our special anniversary.  With the help of TripAdvisor's Viator website, I had been able to secure tickets (including transportation) to the Saturday evening dinner show at Le Moulin Rouge.

Visit the site to view a wide variety of excursions all over the world.

viator.com

Here we are closing down the famed colorful cabaret on our last Paris evening.  Be prepared for a touristically-appealing spectacular and a bit of a tight table squeeze not unlike the glittery costumes which barely adorn the French dancers in the energetic revue.

The can-can

did not-not disappoint.

We had a truly unforgettable time during our very limited time in one of our very favorite cities, celebrating a very special anniversary, but there are more surprises to plan (more lists to make!), more cities to sight, and more fleamarkets yet to flea.  More flea favorites next time.

Paris, episode 9. In which we French flea.

Once again, I am reminded of my mom.  She would have loved this beautifully hand-detailed soup set. It's completely impractical and that's one of the reasons why I love it.  When you fleamarket, you sometimes need to leave logic behind no matter what that little voice of reason (or your spouse) screams at you. The porcelain Limoges tray is about the size of a sheet of letterhead, with each covered bowl standing 3 inches high.  When Mari saw my intense look of joy set even my bald spot aglow, she tried her best to introduce me to the voice of reason, but it was far too late for practicality.  When she asked me how often I expected to serve soup in these delicate, gold-rimmed beauties as I was already reaching for the euros in my secret pocket, I insisted I would put them to appropriate party use at our next gathering even if only to sort M&Ms by hue.  The former French fleamarket (and formerly intensely bubble-wrapped) M&M sorter is currently on display in a lighted kitchen curio cabinet, as yet to be called into impractical candy-sorting or practical soup-appetizer service.

Saturday morning, souvenir 58 Tour Eiffel red rose abloom in a water glass on the nightstand, foie gras (mostly) digested, digital camera charged, and fleamarket shopping tote at the ready!  Aside from touring touristy tourist spots when we travel and celebrating life (and each other) to the fullest, Mari and I are serious about fleamarket shopping.  We plan entire trips around special events like the 127sale and we plan detours and layovers to shop at favorite fleamarkets.  This Valentine's weekend in Paris was no different and Valentine's Saturday was all about returning to Les Puces de Saint-Ouen.

Once you leave the metro station at the Porte de Clignancourt (still puts me on the lookout for French Klingons), you will immediately see signs pointing you in the right (flea) direction.  You'll cross a busy intersection just outside the station and head north a short block on the Avenue Michelet before you start seeing market stalls on your left.  There are a handful of aggressive street vendors scattered under the large overpass whom you will want to avoid as you make your way to the market entrance.

Aggressive is never okay, even in Paris.

Upon first approach, the market will open up to fleamarket stalls familiar with a nice variety of (mostly new) personal goods like clothing, shoes, purses, and ever-ubiquitous phone cases, as well as new housewares and home goods like vases and cookware and sheets and comforters.  A few vendors in this first marketplace also sell a variety of secondhand housewares and knickknacks.  Mari and I were on a mission, however.  No time for knickknack nonsense at the market entrance.  We headed straight back to the antiques market where we had remembered (and longed to return to) chaotically charming scenes like the one pictured below.

Mari browses a discount table outside one of the crowded-with-the-past stalls.  Stepping into one of these seemingly unbalanced shops can be a little daunting at first, but investigate you must!  You will never otherwise know the waiting-to-be-treasured treasure (candy-sorter) that awaits!

Waiting for a savvy negotiator to free them from years (decades?!) of clutter, very few items are priced, so you will need your best French (or French-speaking companion) on hand.  Remember, a smile goes a long way to breaking the ice and learning a foreign phrase or two isn't going to hurt, either.  I never like to start a conversation or negotiation by asking about price, anyway, regardless of the language.  If I had my druthers (almost 50 and still don't have them!) I would smile, pick up a pick, hand over what I considered to be a reasonable amount, and walk away.

Anyone know a good

non-verbal fleamarket?

Here's a good (as I can get) look inside Mari's stall above.  Looking at this picture again makes me want to go back and look behind that trio of ducks smirking at me in French from the top shelf.  I just know they're hiding more than foie gras.

We were surprised on this particular visit to meet a recent émigré from Australia, an energetic young woman whose lovely accent startled us that Saturday morning as we browsed the very orderly rows of glass bottles and heavenly-scented homemade elixirs in her booth.  Of course, she fell prey to our story of romantic fleamarketing adventures and I felt naturally and happily obliged to add a little sandblasted bottle to my home apothecary in reciprocation.

You never know who or what (or when!) you will find at a fleamarket.  Mari had hoped to return to her expert jewelry collector from our previous visit, but good luck finding the same vendor in this French maze! Fortunately, there were plenty of antiques market booths boasting vintage jewelry.  Mari's collection would not be forgotten.

More on her captured treasures next time.

Paris, episode 6. In which Les Puces' the thing.

I blame a lot of my eccentricities on my mom, including those that have to do with her (my) collecting (hoarding) habits.  I'm also eternally thankful for her dedication to and appreciation for good taste and fine quality.  I wish I had inherited her gene for obsessive housekeeping, but I will forever have fond memories of "helping" my mom dust her treasured dust-collectors and polish our rarely-used dining furniture on Saturdays.  From my adult perspective I'm not so sure I was helping as much as staying out of her way, but I did keep the collectibles and the cabinets that housed them polished to a fine lemony glow.  The living and dining room cabinets and tables were off limits except for "company" and for those Saturday mornings when Mom and I attacked the dust that dared gather since our last weekly barrage.

I think my mom would have liked this first piece I purchased at the
Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen back in July of 2012.  I don't (exactly) have a mortar and pestle collection, but I do use a mortar and pestle in the kitchen regularly for grinding spices and blending herbs.  That one is nice, too, but definitely not freakin' French floral fancy!  We'll speak more about my kitchen collectibles another time as soon as the dream kitchen emerges from the three-month cloud of construction dream dust.

Okay, gotta fess up.

I confess that there is actually another decorative mortar and pestle on a bathroom shelf that holds Q-tips and a styptic pencil that is used when I'm in a hurry to shave on work mornings (on days when I wake up realistically too late to shave but realize I may be mistaken for an escaped convict if I don't). Three does not a collection make.  (Does it?!)  Regardless of its place in the larger scheme, this 3" diameter French hand-made and hand-painted mortar with matching pestle has been a favorite of mine since first sighting on a crowded table outside one of the most crowded fleamarket stalls I had ever seen.  Don't know how it reached my collector's gaze through all that knickknack haze, but it did and it was a perfect picked souvenir that Saturday morning.  Even more than its colorful detail and gilded embellishments, I like its heft and its promise:  the wide rim and pour spout inviting regular use by a more experienced and willing hand than mine, but satisfied to lie beautifully in wait until its utility is appreciated as much as its beauty.

This was Mari's first piece picked at Les Puces.  If you recall, it's not her first Lea Stein pin and it's not the first cat pin, either.  I still haven't retraced our steps back to that first one, but some day, dear reader, some day.

This was an easy pick for Mari for the designer, colors, subject, and especially because this delicate 3" by 2" hand-crafted creature looks so much like our sweet Mamita who we always imagine curled up so in repose on a favorite (down-filled) cushion while we travel the world in search of more collectibles for her to investigate (and terrorize) upon our return.

Below, Mari is patrolling the colorful rows of the antiques market on that spectacular sunny Paris Saturday.  Note the market map (previously pictured) posted at left, one of many triangulated intersections leading the way to more treasured temptations.

We felt a bit intimidated on this first visit, of course.  It's Paris, after all, and it's purportedly the largest antiques fleamarket in the world. All that and we're ultimately just tourists.  Mari's French was helpful in making contact and initiating negotiations, but many dealers speak English and there is always someone available shopping or selling nearby who is able and willing to translate.

I can't remind you enough that the world is full of friendly people.  A simple greeting to a weary vendor who has waited all morning for the right collector to wander by opens doors of communication you can't begin to imagine.  Enjoy the flea experience as much as you enjoy the collecting and that picked porcelain mortar and pestle or celluloid crouching cat will mean the world to you even if you didn't travel the world to find them.  (It's even more fun if you did, though.)

We're not going to leave Les Puces just yet.  This second visit to Paris was a three-night visit which was purposely planned to coincide with the flea.  We weren't just all about the flea, however.  Mari wanted to take me to Versailles which she had visited during her high school trip.  Here we are out back looking like we own the place.

We don't own the place.

One of my favorite travel photos. Thanks again to all the fellow tourists who have exchanged cameras with us!

On this visit we also spent a relaxing early evening on a narrated cruise tour which departs from the Eiffel Tower and highlights over a dozen Paris monuments and locations.  We especially enjoyed cruising at sunset when the temperatures were a bit cooler and the lights were beginning to come up over the City of Lights as we made our way back to a twinkling Eiffel Tower an hour later.

Visit the site for details on a variety of itineraries and lots of helpful information, including downloadable brochures.

bateauxparisiens.com/english.html

We return to Paris de nouveau for a stereotypically-touristy (and fleamarkety!) Valentine's weekend next time.

Paris, episode 5. In which we make an Olympic return to the city of lights.

After that first walk through Paris together, Mari and I knew we would return.  At least we hoped we'd have another opportunity to visit Paris and definitely hoped that it would last long enough to pack a change of clothes.  Such an opportunity unexpectedly presented itself as I planned our mad-capped Olympics adventure for London2012.  In a previous post (May 2, 2015, Olympics) I attempted to translate into words my exasperated disappointment when I received tickets to only two events after my initial ticket request from CoSport.  Even after we eventually accumulated tickets to additional events, it became clear that there would be a large gap in our planned (painstakingly precisely planned!) two-week itinerary.  With event tickets only available during the second week of the Olympics, what was a slightly (slightly is what I tell the authorities) obsessive list-maker slash travel-planner to do?  Not what I expected, either, because I took our initial two-week London itinerary and turned it into a three-week UK-Ireland-Paris itinerary.  Not one to dwell on disappointment or half-empty glasses of water, I looked upon this once-in-a-lifetime trip across the pond to fulfill a childhood dream as an opportunity to explore even more dreams.

More on our UK-Ireland tour and week at London2012

(including fleamarketing!) in upcoming posts, I promise.

I know.  I know how incredible it was to have this "problem" to solve.  Nothing is ever taken for granted, trust me.  That's exactly why I embraced the opportunity to visit more of the United Kingdom (and Ireland!) and embraced even harder the chance to revisit Paris which, if you recall, is a mere two-and-a-half hour Chunnel ride away.  Also, if you recall, Les Puces de Saint Ouen is a weekend fleamarket, so we made it a peremptory point to be in Paris on our first full weekend.  

We're nothing if not very serious about fleamarket travels.

Our second visit to Paris together may have begun with a partially-submerged train again, but instead of a wearying wend through ancient avenues with a small backpack and borrowed souvenir map, Mari and I found ourselves wheeling ginormous (American abroad alert!) luggage laden with a three-week supply of (mostly wrinkled) creature comforts.  Of those three weeks, however, there would be three weekend nights in Paris and weekend means fleamarket.

During this first weekend trip to Paris, Mari and I (of course) visited the Eiffel Tower again, took an evening sightseeing cruise along the Seine, visited Versailles (a revisit for Mari), and (best for last?) experienced Les Puces for the first time.

I was hanging about halfway out our hotel window to capture this shot of my favorite Paris landmark, but what a view!  I'm going to go out on another limb and highly recommend the Fraser Suites Claridge, too, for its unbelievably scenic central location and thoroughly accommodating service. July 2012 was the first of two weekend stays for us at this beautifully restored and maintained hotel; its luscious location, abundant amenities, and solicitous staff all first-rate reasons for repeat visits.  The full kitchen with dining area (and nearby grocery) were helpful in controlling our budget, but this was definitely a splurge.

Visit the site for temptingly beautiful photos and to sign up for special offers.

paris-claridge.frasershospitality.com/en

Before I get too far ahead of myself (or is it too far behind if this is a flashback?) or too wrapped up in details (I know, I like details), let me share with you our first Paris flea photo.

Yes, really.

I may be un peu (okay, maybe a lot more than un peu) sentimental, but this photo really captures for me the essence, not only of the antiques market at Les Puces, but fleamarket essence itself.  It's not shiny and new.  It's not pristinely sorted and organized.  It is, however, overflowing with the past. It is casually cluttered with well-worn and well-loved second and thirdhand goods of all tempting types and from all groovy and non-groovy eras.  Just makes me want to dive in (or at least belly flop)!

The far north end of Les Puces de Saint Ouen, which houses the meanderingly browsable network of antiques merchants, is a fleamarketer's and antiques lover's dream.  It is impossible to completely cover this shopping mecca in one visit (or one blog post), so I will return with you next time when Mari and I will share with you our first purchases at the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen.

Paris, episode 1. In which a spring stroll is on the horizon.

Up until I turned forty I had never visited Paris nor did I speak more than a few words of French.  Mari, on the other hand, had studied French in high school and spent the Spring Break of her senior year visiting Paris and other locations throughout France on a student tour.

I trained to Albany on an overnight school trip

(my first overnight away from home) in the spring of my senior year.

C'est la vie!

I had always romanticized France (particularly Paris) largely based on the exotic beauty of the language and sentimental sightings of the Eiffel Tower in movies and on television.  French was the language of love; French food was rich and luxurious, but I had never felt a burning desire to travel to France, particularly since I understood very few words of its lovers' verse.  As my fortieth birthday in 2006 loomed large in 2005

I began crafting a plan (one of my many multi-layered lists) for a special trip to celebrate.  My travel true love as far as a dream trip, however, was not Paris.  Stonehenge had always been number one on my list of life adventures for so many reasons:  mystery, mysticism, spirituality, nature, beauty... England!  I've always been an Anglophile as much as Mari had been a Francophile.  For me, it all started in the very early hours of July 29, 1981.

Like millions (billions?) the world over I too had fallen in love with Diana, Princess of Wales.  The Royal Wedding was everywhere on media that had not yet begun to be social, but was the biggest social event in world and television history.  Even as an about-to-be high school sophomore, I knew this was a big deal although I had yet to learn its significance.  Having never witnessed anything as grand or regal or beautiful, I was determined to learn more so I set out to become an Anglophile and eventually here I was, finally, 25 years later ready to set off on a Spring Break adventure and tic item after British item off my list.

So what does this have to do with fleamarketing Paris?

You may be wondering how all this love for all things British connects with a visit to Paris and I have a simple, one-word (mashup) answer:  Chunnel.  The (English) Channel Tunnel connects London with Paris in a feverishly fast and friendly two and a half hours.  I got my trip to London for my 40th birthday and Mari got a return trip to Paris in the bargain.  That first visit to Paris together lasted all of ten hours.  Chunnel in the morning, Chunnel in the evening.  One of the best (and exhaustingly longest) days of my life!

We exchanged cameras with a couple from the exotic land of Kentucky for this photo at the rear (buttress end) of Notre Dame.

Aller irlandais!

No, not exactly THAT Notre Dame, but an entertainingly romantic

(I promise!) aside on Going Irish in Paris will be forthcoming.

We meandered our way on foot through Paris for ten hours on the Thursday of our 2007 Spring Break to have this final photo taken at a most special place.

About five years later, there was a longer, weekend visit.

About two years after that, another weekend visit.

I'm excited (embarrassed?) to tell you that both those weekend visits were planned specifically around fleamarketing at Les Puces de Saint Ouen at Clignancourt (in my head I always call it "Klingon Court" although I have yet to unearth there any French Star Trek collectibles).  Mari had learned about this famed French antiques slash flea market, which proclaims itself the world's largest, from her high school French teacher.  Even though fleamarketing was not on the itinerary of her initial Paris tour, Mari had long wanted to return and rummage Les Puces and this attentive husband slash travel guru made note long ago.

The "Paris Perfect" apartment rentals site has a great section on shopping in Paris and a well-detailed page on Les Puces.  Often a google search has led me (way) astray, but sometimes you just never really know where you will find the best travel information.

parisperfect.com/paris-flea-markets.php

The markets are open Saturday through Monday and you would be tres sensé to visit this site, consult a guidebook, or at least a map of the markets before heading out.  Here's our souvenir photo of the map (antiques vendors in French blue!) at one of the antiques market entrances off the Avenue Michelet.

Vache sacrée!  Intimidating?  Maybe.  Exhilarating?  Definitely!  Seeing this colorful laminated map as we walked through one of the gates into the antiques section of Les Puces for the first time was a sign of validation that our very carefully planned and perfectly timed weekend was worth the miles and the jet lag.

But wait!

Faire attendre!

I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

Next time a leisurely stroll (of the ten-hour variety) through Paris in the spring.