The Paris flea market and another fab lunch

Kelley summarizes our Monday with occasional comments from me…

Unlike many American cities, including Little Rock, the suburbs of Paris are where the rougher neighborhoods are found. It’s terribly costly to live in the historic center of the city, so the lower-income – and (sorry to stereotype) higher-crime – areas are outside the “peripherique,” the freeway that rings the city.

Just beyond the Peripherique on the northern edge of the city is also where the famed Les Puces “flea market” is found. (Ashli note: I’ve read in decorating magazines my entire life about the fantastic treasures available there. So I was not going to be in Paris and not visit it.)

The market is open every Saturday, Sunday and Monday. We decided to go on Monday hoping it would be less crowded.

We took the metro’s No. 4 line to its final stop at Port Clingincourt, and walked a short hike to the market. Realize that crime in Paris, particularly violent crime, is far less prevalent than in Little Rock (and most American cities), and we didn’t feel the least bit threatened. But there was definitely a different feel to this neighborhood, and the people packing the sidewalks, than in the neighborhoods we had been exploring.

Les Puces is a sprawling collection of permanent buildings with stalls merchants rent – similar to American antique malls of flea markets. Based on the number of pulled-down, locked metal doors, it was clear that Monday is the lightest day. It’s organized into six named markets, exploring each alone could occupy the better part of a day. Furniture and decorative items are the predominant offering, with one dealer specializing in doors, others in mirrors, rugs, sculptures, lamps and clock parts. (Ashli note: I loved the spectacle of clock dealer’s boxes containing thousands of clock hands, faces, etc. See picture.)

The long “allees” that run through these glass-roofed market buildings were relatively deserted, in stark contrast to the hordes thronging the areas surrounding the official market. There, on the streets, were more temporary markets selling jeans, shirts, CDs, electronics, etc. And on the outskirts of these were even more fly-by-night operators. We saw some with piles of clothes poured from trash bags. One guy had a collection of seemingly worthless remote controls. (Ashli note: Only “worthless” unless you’re the owner of a 1980s Magnavox whose remote has taken permanent refuge in the sofa.)

What we couldn’t find was an ATM, believe it or not, so while Ashli perused one slightly junked-up corner I wandered the maze to the edge of the market area, where – while a woman implored in French that I put coins in her cup, an urge I resisted – I finally secured some cash.

The good thing, from my point of view at least, was that we needed none, at least not for flea market purchases. Ashli bought one fabulous necklace, a chunky brown piece. As I watched her hold and admire it I was thinking, “30 Euros,” but in fact it was 5, and she had a 5 Euro note in her billfold. (Ashli note: SCORE!)

I’m not a big shopper, but soaking up this scene -- $10,000 armoires available in well-appointed merchant stalls just a 2-minute walk from where would-be buyers dug through piles of others’ cast-off clothes that couldn’t fetch more than centimes (pennies) apiece – was quite a visual and sociological experience.

The best part of the visit, as it often is, was our lunch at Café Voltaire, right in the heart of the upscale section of the market. But the meal was downscale in price – 13 Euros (about $17.50) and included two courses.

I had an endive salad with Roquefort and a huge plate of cassoulet, what we Southerners would consider vintage ham and white beans, only in this version also featuring a big chunk of kielbasa style sausage and a duck leg. Sopped with crusty bread, it was filling and delicious.

Ashli was in a salad mood and started with “salade club,” a small chef’s salad studded with chunks of cheese and ham, followed by the richest yet soufflé-light wedge of broccoli quiche you can imagine, the rest of the plate filled with a crisp green salad.

With Nancy and Neil both out for the evening – she at Paris Choral Society rehearsal and he at a business dinner – we hit Picard, a store that sells higher-end frozen goods only. Interesting, as only wealthier Parisians have freezers. Most French don’t have or need a freezer; they stop at the market each day, cook what they bring home and store leftovers in the refrigerator. We stocked up on “haricot verts tres fine” (really skinny green beans) and “alligot,” a mashed potato/cheese mixture that comes out smooth but almost elastic in its consistency. So very tasty!

The weather has really improved this week and it was a lovely day to be outside. Today looks to be even better, so we’re off to the Luxembourg Gardens and other glorious outside sights. Tonight Neal and Nancy are hosting a dinner party in our honor – sure to be filled with fabulous food and stimulating conversation.