I have wanted to revisit the various flea markets on the northern edge of Paris since last seeing them in 1989, so I made the trip by myself Saturday afternoon, one of the few days the markets are busy. After several transfers on the métro, I emerged into the sunlight and simply followed everybody else. Flea markets are known for pickpockets and worse, so I had left my various bank cards at home, took a very light camera bag (one lens) and figured that if I was 'picked', it wouldn't be all that bad. As it turned out, nothing happened. However, people are camera shy, so I often took photos with the camera on my hip. I'm getting better at it.
The first thing I saw was a street that stretched beyond view, having crowded stalls and tents the entire distance. You can tell at a glance that this is just more cheap stuff, mostly made in China, junk that is likely available in most major cities. But the young people seem to like looking at this type of junk--my generation tends to prefer older junk. I'll get to that later.
You then need to go under the Boulevard Périphérique, one of the mult-lane highways that encircle Paris. It can be a bit on the darker side, both in lighting and in character. This is where the illegal hawkers attempt to entice you to buy their watches, cigarettes--whatever they can carry on their arms in on their person. I suspect that many of these young men are illegal immigrants who have little alternative. These chaps 'reminded' me that photographs were not appreciated. I just smiled and walked away. I had lots already and there were 'normal' folks everywhere.
When I emerged from under the overpass, I saw buildings outside Paris and quite unlike anything in Paris, a simpler and less grand style of architecture. The sky was so beautiful. I liked the three horizontal layers: cars/buildings/sky.
I entered an antique mall (older junk) and realized that warnings I had been reading were correct. By now, the area has been taken over by dealers who know their stuff. There won't be many fleas here. The bright pink carpet shows you where to continue walking to find still more shops.
This lonely chair may be a bargain, but it's a style I never enjoyed sitting upon. And I am way too lazy to think of tackling this project.
One of my themes for the afternoon was Getting Lost. I was continually turned around, forgot my compass, and the sky was absolutely no help. But I enjoyed seeing more graffiti before finding the next part of the sprawling market.
This man was showing us his parrot, getting it to do different tricks. I found the man as interesting as the bird.
My favourite part (haven't a clue where I was by now) consisted of a maze of alleys covered with recent flat cheap roofs, or even just hard plastic going from the wall on one side of the alley to the gutters on the other. This is where the fleas likely reside, but even so, most were clearly dealers, though dealers without deep pockets.
You seldom see a dealer making a sale, though I suppose they do. I understand that Mondays (?) are reserved for dealers only, that is likely when trading is more brisk. This chap long ago gave up on expecting tourists to buy anything heavy.
This sole restaurant (actually a café with a big ego which let it think of itself as a restaurant) was very busy. Tourists may not be buying old junk, but they eat.
I also attended a rehearsal in a convent from the 1930s just outside Paris. An amateur quartet was preparing a concert of Pierre de la Rue and I was invited to listen. We then heard the official concert this afternoon. The little chapel was packed (50?) and the acoustics were wonderful.
We are well, the weather is holding. This is about the time we start thinking of turning on the heat in Vancouver, but there is no need to do so here. This is our last week, but we are already talking with the Bloughs about returning in the spring. Time will tell.
With love from us both,
Evan
No comments:
Post a Comment