We awoke on Friday with a mission- get to Marche l' Aligre by the time the open air flea market opened at 8:00. We hopped on our handy St. Paul Metro and sped to the east.
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| *Just a glimpse of my delicious breakfast, brioche a' l' amande et au chocolat* |
Then we made our way down unfamiliar streets till we came to the right one.
When we turned down it, we realized it was not just flea market day, but also Farmer's Market. The produce and fruits were incredibly stunning and went on as far as the eye can see.
Mounds of basil and herbs, along with veggies so perfectly preened they looked like supermodels to be photographed instead of eaten.
I mean, look at the size of the leeks and the celery! They were as long as my arm, in complete contrast to the delicate breakfast radishes to their side.
And in between were flower stalls that made the jaw drop. Do you see the spires that look like upended clusters of grapes in the back? Those are lupines. I have never seen them for sale as cut flowers back home.
Here is Andy, quite literally stopping to smell the roses ;)
At the end of this street was the square and, as the vans were being unburdened of their treasures, the long tables filled up before our eyes.
It was a great mix of high and low. From exquisite antique porcelain to 50's lampshades and everything in between. I wanted so many things. But when you know you only have room for a minute amount in your little suitcase you become very, very picky. I wanted the stacks of brown transferware plates to the right, and the gorgeous cake plate right in the center. But what I got was one of the red "stencil" bowls hidden behind the pitcher at the far left. It was so iconically French farmhouse and I use bowls constantly.
I loved this whole booth. It was nothing but children's games and toys. The colors and graphics were so appealing.
Lots of tantalizing linens, feedsacks, lace, and French redwork. But I had my beautiful French apron that I bought on Rue St Paul. Remember when I told you I would do a whole post on it and the things we bought? Patience, dearies.
But here is where my heart stopped and I swooned! Remember when I went to L' Escargot on our very first day in hopes of finding an implement for snails, but I knew they would be too expensive? Here is a mid-century sculpture of a snail with it's full assortment of escargot picks for digging the little critters out of their shells. It was vintage, the snail was adorable, I would actually use it, and it was a good price. I asked the man at the booth if he could take a card because I only had 30 euro in my wallet. He not only had no English, but no way to take my card. We struggled with words and both waved our hands about apologetically. Then I set off looking for a bank with an ATM.
There was nothing when I looked down both side of the very long street. I came back a bit dejected, and decided to look at some other booths to take my mind off of it. The little man found me and gestured me back to the stall where a young woman who was obviously his kin had been fetched. And she had a card swiper! Not only that, when she saw how positively ecstatic I was (I was grinning like a fool and levitating with happiness) she took money off the price without my even asking! Oh, happy day!
Andy in her favored habitat- a flea market! And a rack of vintage clothes, but not my time period...
With my beloved snail firmly in my grasp, I began to go back to the places I had been, really digging in. That is how I lifted a plate off of some candlesticks and found my dear little stuffed duckling underneath! I had joked to Moma that I was not coming home without a stuffed French duck, and it looked like it came true. This little guy is now named Pierre, and I am going to make him a tiny black beret.
I found an original watercolor for Pop, a vintage jewelry box for one daughter in law, a lovely vintage necklace for the other, and the vintage children's book above for a dear friend. And then I dug a strange glass platter with twelve round depressions out of a stack of very dirty plates. I stared at it. I held it up to the man at the table. "Escargot?" I asked, hoping against hope. He nodded. "Combien?" I asked him how much. He looked pained and then hesitantly offered, "Un?" One?? One euro for an escargot platter to go with my new snail picks?! "Oui!!" I squeaked. I wanted to yell it several more times in excitement, but the French word for yes sounds like our "wee" and I would have sounded very much like the little piggy that went wee, wee, wee, all the way home. So I managed to salvage a tiny modicum of dignity. Good snail-y things come to those who wait, I always say!
Then, just before we tottered off, I went back by the booth that had my snail and found a basket of vintage jewelry for 3 euro each. I got a lovely assortment and when I went to pay, she smiled and said I could have another one for a gift. Such nice people everywhere.
When we left the market and walked back down the street, I looked at the shops that were behind the Farmer's market tents. They were almost all food stores. This area of Paris seemed much less touristy. Fewer people could speak English, and I didn't see anyone who stood out as being a visitor like ourselves.
"Only it seems to me that once in your life before you die you ought to see a country where they don't talk in English and don't even want to."
~Our Town by Thorton Wilder
Even the shops were different in that they were a bit more rustic, full of the stuff of real life that may have been edited out of the shops on elite streets. The butchers here had every part of the animal out to sell. Inside the chickens hung by their feet, heads and combs still attached.
This open-air seafood market was a wonder. It had things I had never seen before, and all arranged like beautiful art. I wished so much my middle son, the cook, could have been there. He would have appreciated the meats so much. We would have gotten fresh veggies from the market and all types of seafood and items from the butcher shop and cooked up a storm. It's my dream to bring my family to Paris with me, to see, experience, and to eat...
We were almost back to our metro station when I saw this building. Notice anything unusual about it? How about the tiny golden arches at the base? Yep, that how you subdue the monster that is McDonald's, the French way.
I took the below picture because of the gorgeous gas lanterns that still hung over the facade of the building. I would have liked to see them at night.
When we got back to our neighborhood we walked to the Place des Vosges. It was the first planned square in Paris and it was a very luxurious area that attracted French nobility. Do you see anything incredible here? People are on the grass- gasp!! This is one of the few parks in Paris where that is allowed and so everyone is sprawled out enjoying it. There is also a stake in the lawn that quietly offers free wifi.
Here was a young lad busily feeding a pigeon bread right from his fingers. At one point he said, "Look how kind he is, he is sharing with his friends!" as the other pigeons ate from the his beak.
This was a stealthy picture at the tiny grocery. We had gone back so I could look for any odd foods I could bring back to my boys. (For a bit of what I found, see A Parisian dinner alfresco ) I wanted to show you the lovely large baskets on wheels that so many people shopped with. No matter where you went, you had to pay extra to get a bag, often 50-75 cents. It is a fantastic way to keep all the plastic and trash to a minimum. It makes me ashamed of the 300+ plastic bags that come home with me from Wal-mart, even if I do take them back to recycle.
Did you really think I'd let you go through the last day without a beautiful door? Look at the snarling dragons over it and the window, so gorgeous!
And I'm still going to torture you with incredible desserts that make me crazy...
Don't the little red bombes (above) with the spiked collars make you think of something the wicked queen would offer Snow White? (Have a bite, my pretty? evil cackle) You know I'd eat it, even if the squirrels told me it was poison. Below are meringue creations that defy all rational thought.
Alas, I did not get any pictures of our supper. It had sunk in rather abruptly that this was the last day. There has never been a vacation where I was not ready to go home. Even in my most favorite family vacation spot, I am usually homesick by the fourth day. But I found I was not ready to go home yet. That thought astounded me. It would have been different if I still had kids at home, but my last baby is almost twenty and gone as much as he is at home. I had the fevered thought that if I could only have two more days...
"There are only two places in the world where we can live happy: at home and in Paris." ~Hemmingway
Instead, we went to a small delicatessen on our street that we had overlooked. It was past the normal Parisian dining time and so there was a limited selection. But we got a menu- a sandwich, drink, and dessert for 9 euro. The sandwich was a jambon-beurre, or ham and butter, which is the best-selling French classic. We sat at the table on the street, and people watched. I am not a sandwich person in any time or country, and so Andy and I shared the long baguette, with me having 1/3 to her 2/3rds, and we reversed that with the dessert. Andy and I were a great pair! It wasn't until I was on my last bites that my brain registered that I liked the sandwich. The bread was impeccable, the ham delicious, and the butter...well, when you can taste the butter and relish it, you know that it is quality. The little dessert was an apricot galette that was very nice. I was not thinking of taking pictures because I was so intent on being in the moment, of absorbing every little detail from my retina to my brain, hoping it was being indelibly tattooed there so that I could never forget.
Then the most amazing woman walked by and I was fumbling for my camera like a crazy person, muttering, "Oh, wait, just wait, just stop..." She was dressed in a black skirt and heels and a red silk shirt. Her black hair was finger waved and she wore bright red lipstick. But the very best part was her hat- it was a tiny black straw one covered with daisies and perched on the side of her head! She was a walking vision of vintage beauty and by the time I fumbled out my camera, got off the lens cap, and tried to extricate myself from the cafe table...she had melded into the crowd and was gone. I will just have to savor her in my mind.
From there we went to our special boulangerie one last time, so that I could get my youngest son one of their football sized pavlova meringues. There was a young man there that night who was busy practicing his English on us. When I thanked him for his help, he grandly declared, "It gives me many joys!" The girl at the register rolled her eyes at me, but smiled. We took our goodies back to the apartment and then, about 7:40pm took the metro to the Louvre.
This is the one untidy garden area in all Paris. I bet it almost killed the gardeners not to put the wild flowers in strict and rigid rows. But this is a "natural meadow" and it is for the Louvre bees to savor.
Here is Andy's son's rubber chicken, remember him? He is gazing at me about to enter the pyramid and one of the most famous museums in the world. Now, you are going to think me a complete pig, but I am a bit jaded about art. I have been exposed to beautiful masterpieces since I was born. Example- I had a print of Albrecht Durer's Young Hare on my bedroom wall since I was old enough to know what a rabbit was. Our house and my Grandma Tommy's were filled with works by noteworthy artists. And in the many years since, I have been to every museum anywhere near a place we have traveled. I've seen incredible Western American art, such as Remington's great sculptures and my very favorite Bierstadt at the Gilcrease in OK. I have admired wonderful Egyptian art and artifacts in St Louis, along with fantastic sketches by Rembrandt. George Washington is my hero and we have the portrait of him done by Gilbert Stuart at our own Crystal Bridges, as well as a favorite portrait of a girl with her flying squirrel by Copely. And at the Chicago museum of art I was overwhelmed with Sargent, Degas, Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, along with an entire hall of my beloved Durer. They also have Mary Cassatt's Mother and Child there. So I have to admit I was not going to the Louvre for the paintings. I had other, extremely specific things that I was not going to miss. And they are probably not anything that another person would pick...
Winged Victory was a must. I have often wondered what she would have looked like with her head. Beautiful? Severe? Arrogant?
Andrea couldn't conceive of going without seeing the Mona Lisa, and she had been so forgiving of my many eccentricities that I could never deny her! The great thing was that while the museum was open late, the crowds were not there. It was not any more crowded than a normal grocery trip back home. We waited perhaps a minute for the people in front of us to finish looking and move so that we could be directly in front of her, pressed against the rope. I know people who said they waited an hour to finally press close enough to take a picture over someone's head. Not us. Go to the Louvre on Friday night!!
The actual building was as astounding to me as the art housed in it. I think I already told you this was originally the palace for centuries of French royal families. When you look up you are reminded of it all over again.
One of the things we saw on our way delighted me. It is a beautiful Napoleonic era screen all done in needlework. Isn't it exquisite? I'd put that in my boudoir in a heartbeat! Love the colors and scenes.
What I had been looking forward to was the Middle Eastern artifacts. Here are carvings from the throne room of Sargon II from 721-705 BC. He is mentioned in the Bible in Isaiah 20:1. Look at the man exiting the doorway to see how imposing they are.
Below is just a small section of a wall-length stone carving. I was just SO excited looking at this! It is Assyrian and shows the cedars of Lebanon being felled and transported, just like was written in 1Kings 5:15-32. Here is just an excerpt where Solomon was declaring his intentions to build a temple for the Lord. 1 Kings 5:19 So I intend to build a house for the name of the Lord, my God, as the Lord said to David my father: Your son whom I will put upon your throne in your place shall build the house for my name. 20 Give
orders, then, to have cedars from the Lebanon cut down for me. My
servants shall accompany yours, and I will pay you whatever you say for
your servants’ wages. For you know that there is no one among us who is
skilled in cutting timber like the Sidonians.” 21 When Hiram had heard the words of Solomon, he was overjoyed, and said, “Blessed be the Lord this day, who has given David a wise son over this numerous people.” 22 Hiram
then sent word to Solomon, “I have heard the proposal you sent me, and I
will provide all the cedars and fir trees you desire. 23 My
servants shall bring them down from the Lebanon to the sea, and I will
arrange them into rafts in the sea and bring them wherever you say.
There I will break up the rafts, and you shall take the lumber."
Nerves of steel!
And here is the Code of Hammurabi. We learned about it when I taught my boys in homeschool. It sure wasn't anything I learned about when I went to school! Hammurabi was king of Babylon and he had this code of laws written out in 1754 BC, so that everyone could understand and abide by them. Most of them are very wise, considering the time periods and prejudges. Here are two- 37. If a man wish to separate from a woman who has borne him children,
or from his wife who has borne him children: then he shall give that
wife her dowry, and a part of the usufruct of field, garden, and
property, so that she can rear her children. When she has brought up her
children, a portion of all that is given to the children, equal as that
of one son, shall be given to her. She may then marry the man of her
heart.
235. If a shipbuilder build a boat for some one, and do not make it
tight, if during that same year that boat is sent away and suffers
injury, the shipbuilder shall take the boat apart and put it together
tight at his own expense. The tight boat he shall give to the boat
owner.
When the loudspeakers announced the museum was closing, we had gotten to see all the things I had longed to. But as we neared the exit we could hear rain pounding on the roof. We left with the rain coming down and tried to exit the same way we came in, near our metro stop. The gates all around were locked! By the time we backtracked and came out onto the street to go the long way around, it was pouring. I have never owned an umbrella, but I bought a small one for the trip. It was just large enough for Andrea and I to get our heads under and not much else. And the wind was blowing till we were soaked. I was joking that we should be singing and dancing and twirling our umbrella like an old black and white movie, when we stepped onto a vent grate. It came on just as we went over and blew our skirts straight up in the air! We were trying to clutch the umbrella, shove down our dresses, and dash off the vent, all at the same time! We were right beside the street and thankfully it was dark. As we entered the metro and blessed dryness, we joked that we were much more like pitiful drowned rats than Marilyn Monroes in our gusting skirts- ha! Then we got on the metro back to our apartment, dripping and pitiful, while a mass of completely dry and impeccable-looking Parisians eyed us. How do they do it?!
We were chilled and soaked as we entered our little building. And there, on the last day, I glanced down at our bottom steps and suddenly realized what the words Essuyez vos Pieds meant, including the S.V.P. It's "Wipe your feet, S'il Vous Plait (please)". That gave me an enormous amount of pleasure for some reason...
There was no toweling off and wrapping in soft blankets or fluffy bathrobes like at home. So we both showered to warm up and then solemnly finished our packing. Let me tell you that getting all the breakables that I bought into what I felt were nice, padded nests was a bit crazy.
Then we had a bit of a scare when it seemed that our money hadn't gone through for the shuttle to pick us up the next morning to take us the hour trip to the airport. It was the first real panic I had since Monday during our infantile attempts at navigation. But I called a lady with the Cobblestone Rentals and she got everything straightened out. And even with several late-night calls from me, she was just as sweet and kind as can be. God is so good! Of all the catastrophes we could have had, He sorted them out. And all the plans that changed, or things that did not happen like we wished, He made what did happen even better than what we could have anticipated. I felt protected and under His care the whole time. There could not have been a more reassuring thing, in a country so far from home.
Saturday morning we got up early. We knew we weren't going to be able to find a place open to eat, so we had planned to go Breakfast in America. See what I mean about the shops and restaurants being open to the streets? I love it.
It opened early and served big breakfasts of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. It was very cute, because they tried for the air of an American diner from the 50's, but it was somehow still French.
The bar and each table has their own cherry red toaster for the bread. And if my cup of cafe creme doesn't look adorably French, I don't know what does. Looking at the sugar cube, I'm wondering if Richard decided to go American? (It's completely empty but for us)
The streets were empty of cars and the only people about were walking to work, or men in full suits out walking the dog.
The sign below is typical tongue-in-cheek. It reads Work in Progress with a man sitting and sipping a drink (of what?), above the words "before definitive opening."
The Chained Duck newspaper.
And then it was time to drag our stuff down the teeny stairs and get into the shuttle to go to Charles de Gaul airport. As we drove, we saw some parts of the city that I was very glad we had not wandered into. Then we were outside the periphery (where the ancient city wall once stood) and saw suburbs and then some actual wooded land. A sign proclaimed it a forest and I wondered if it could have been one of the areas where the Germans in WWII hacked down the trees and then stood the trunks back up in attempt to impale anyone daring to parachute into Paris. There has been time enough for trees to grow back, but all I could see in my mind was the old photos of black and white barrenness with stark spikes of trees jutting like angry fingers pointing at the sky...
Once at the airport, we checked in. This nice French lady asked me innumerable questions about where I lived, what I did in my spare time, etc. When I said that I liked to just stay home on the farm, she declared how nice that must be for me. "Paris is so hurry, hurry!", she declared. Later, when we boarded the plane, she was there to pass us through. She called to a friend, "Look at her little red suitcase, she looks like she's in a movie!" Well, it was almost a prison movie...
This trip was one of lots of firsts. At our tiny airport at home I got my first frisking after setting off the metal detector. Note- do not wear your metal credit card in a thigh band! And upon leaving Paris, I set the detectors off again. Turns out that in the throwing on and off of conveyor belts, my snail had disgorged all it's little forks. So now my bag was filled with sharp metal objects.
It was given to an officer in uniform who asked me what it could possibly be, before putting on gloves and going through every piece of clothing in the bag. Thank heavens my undergarments were in the other one! As he fished one fork after the other out, he looked at me and asked what they were for. I reached out to take the snail and show how they fit into it, but he threw his hands out and barked, "Madame, please do not be touching anything!" I felt myself go pink and I clasped my hands behind my back, much chastised. My stomach was sick and I was praying fervently that I would not end up going to jail. But also that my dear snail would not be confiscated! And beneath all of this was the sick fear that I would cause us to miss our flight. I absolutely hate to cry in public, but I was on the verge. Finally, he went and conferred with another officer. I felt them eyeballing me and trying to decide if I were the type to stick someone on the airplane with twelve tiny forks. I must have passed the test (they don't know me very well, do they?;), and I was allowed on the plane. Such relief that I was limp in my seat!
We flew uneventfully for a bit and then I began to see what looked like small islands. It was so nice, because in the front of the plane were screens with a map that showed where you were at all times, and how long to the destination. At that moment we were just passing over the edge of Ireland and I was seeing it from above! The long trip was peaceful and uneventful, with lots of reading.
Eventually, we landed in North Carolina. While on the plane, we had to fill out papers that stated every single thing we had gotten on our trip, and how much it cost. You have no idea how hard that is until you start trying to remember. And there was that little thing about how meats (I was bringing home tons of pates) and dead animals (my duckling) were forbidden. They didn't even have to remind me about the dangers of pointy things. We were in the American south, thank goodness, because when the sweet young boy at the declaration spot asked if my "stuffed duck" was an animal or a toy, I responded very earnestly, "It's a dead duck." He grinned and nodded, totally nonplussed. It wasn't till later, and the fear had passed, that the irony hit me. I should have said it in my best Bugs Bunny voice.
No, it wasn't the meat, dead animal, or even the pokey things that got me. I set off something when the bags were x-rayed. It was the burlap sack of Herbes de Province and bag of Fleur de Sel. The herbs he went past pretty quickly. But the salt got him. What is it? he wanted to know. It's French salt. But salt for what? Cooking. He was skeptical. Finally he went and got a chemical test and swabbed my sack all over and then had to test it on paper strips to make sure it didn't turn colors. I asked if I could know what he was doing. Apparently large amounts of salt can be explosives?? Good grief. Leave it to me to try to fly with just about every no-no there is. But I got through, once again limp and relieved. I had been thinking that at least it would be an American prison and my family could come to visit...
During our SIX hour layover, Andrea had the brilliant idea to watch Midnight in Paris on her phone. I had never seen the movie, or watched one on a phone before. I don't think I would have liked it nearly as much if I had not been to Paris. As it was, I loved it and we kept looking at each other, saying, "We were right there!"
It was such a small airport that we had to run outside in the rain to get on board the plane to take us back to Arkansas...
I dozed a bit on the way home. After all, we had been awake for 23 hours straight. It was too dark to read and I was simply wrung out from all the airport excitements. Soon I could see the little constellations of lights that marked the communities and farms near my home, and then we were landing. My Moma and Pop, my youngest boy, and my middle son and his wife who now live on our farm, all came to get me. What a joyous reunion! And the day after, my oldest son and wife came to see how I was.
They all wanted to make sure I had arrived home in one piece and to hear about my adventures. But as the days passed I realized I was not "all in one piece". Some new bits had been added and others had faded away. That very week I turned in notice that I would no longer be part of something that I had begun to dread each month. I never had the courage to say no before; I hate to disappoint people. But I realized that if I can go to a strange country, attempt another language, and navigate unfamiliar places... then I am much braver than I ever thought possible. I want to try more things that scare me. And I will no longer allow myself to be bullied into things. I have changed, for the better I think.
My word for this year was Intrepid. To be courageous even when scared. I've chosen to live it, Dear Reader, and I am not the same.
"I am not the same, having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world."
~Mary Anne Radmacher
Hey, Sugar! Are you reading for the first time about our Paris trip? There are five other days of Parisian wonders to see. In case you missed them-
And I still have a post to do of the vintage wonders on Rue St Paul, and one about the incredible food shops of Paris to write. So don't give up on me!
Here is Andy, quite literally stopping to smell the roses ;)
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