We had tea in our new cups from the flea market and toast with butter and Bonne Maman jam. There was local French honey and a pretty bottle of milk and a toy elephant and Barbapapa. It was fun.
A Sunday Afternoon Snack
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Tidepooler in Paris
Paris Style: Rocking the Fox
It has been fa-reezing here in Paris, hovering just below zero degrees celsius for the past couple weeks or so. So I did what any person in their right mind would do and bought a fur coat. I don’t know what kind of fur it is, since I didn’t understand the word the man at the thrift store said, but all I know is that it’s “better than rabbit.” Don’t worry little bunnies, you make very nice fur coats too. It could be fox, but I’m pretty sure the word for “fox” is “renard,” and he didn’t say that. As a former vegetarian with a history siding with anti-fur activists, I’m having a slightly hard time reconciling my new daily article of clothing. Well, not really. Maybe a little bit. But not enough to put it on every single day before I head outside into the frigid air! Plus, lots of Parisians wear fur coats. And conformity is the thing here. I’m just trying to fit in. Isn’t everyone? I think I look pretty cool to be honest with you.
Treasure Hunting in Paris
Here’s a little peek at a few of the treasures I’ve picked up over the last few weeks in Paris.
Teapot 1: 6 euros
Teapot 2: 5 euros
Tea cup: 3 euros
2 blue bowls: 4 euros
Five forks, four spoons: 18 euros
Mirror: 10 euros
In Paris, flea markets are called “brocantes” and they’re held in various places around the city on any given weekend. If you’re coming to Paris and want to know where and when the good brocantes are, check brocabrac.fr.
The first one I went to was right in the heart of the city, near all the big “Grand Maison” department stores and close to the Tuleries. Its prices matched its fancy setting. Out of curiosity I asked a carpet dealer about the price of one Persian beauty. He commended me on my eye, pulled it down, spread it across the table and unleashed a flurry of French that included the word “mille,” which for you non francophones means “thousand.”
The next guy was selling a trove of the most gorgeous antique mirrors ever. I pushed the baby carriage gingerly around their gilded frames and tried not to make eye contact.
Disheartened by this ultra posh marché, and rather dismayed about my prospects for picking up a few French treasures during my year in Paris (I had visions of flying to Berlin with an empty suitcase on flea market day, or else training it across the Belgian border to see what kinds of deals I could find there), I headed home with a sole conquest: one of those quaint candle holders that Mrs. Claus might use if she had to leave her bed in the middle of the night. It adds a bit of French charm to our plastic IKEA dining table.
Well, you must be wondering, if I’ve had such bad luck at the brocantes, where did I pick up all those fabulous items in the photos above? I learned quickly, that if I was going to satisfy my innate desire for antiquing, I was going to have to stay away from the single-digit arrondissements.
The day after my visit to that fancy flea market, I headed to the 11th. Just past the Place de la Bastille, site of the former prison and the spot where it all went down that night that sparked the French Revolution, I stumbled upon a long line of cigarette-smoking antiques dealers. How much for the teapot? Six euros you say? Now that’s my kind of flea market. I didn’t even try to talk him down.
Slowly but surely our generically adorned, modernly swayed, IKEA-clad maid’s quarters are getting a little bit of French flair. And I owe heaps to that farm chair I picked up off the street tonight.
Paris Je t’Aime
I think I am going to like living in Paris. It’s only been four days and I’ve already learned how to make a delicious fish dinner. I could be the next Julia Child. We had no idea what “aiglefin” was when we saw it at the Biocoop, our local organic supermarket, but it looked pretty good. We looked it up when we got home and it turns out to be haddock!
We’ve been exploring the city and settling into our cute little apartment these last few days. Last night we put the baby in the Ergo and went out for a moonlit stroll. Up over one bridge, across the canal, and back over another bridge. We peeked into the windows of the adorable bars and restaurants full of pretty people having fun, and started wishing for a babysitter. How lucky we were to have found this spot. Now if we can just get lucky enough to find a nice French nanny we’ll be all set.
Elodie visited Sacre Coeur, Palais Royal, and the Tuleries for the first time and she adored them all. Chasing the pigeons proved to be endless fun. It’s definitely a different experience being in Paris with a toddler. I’m hoping to find some kid-friendly cafés in the coming days. Let me know if you have any suggestions and if you know any babysitters in Paris.
