We arrived in Paris via TGV late at night, and it was after midnight by the time we got to our apartment, still needing to eat and unpack a bit before bed. We woke up just hours later to metro to Vanves, on the outskirts of Paris. Flea marketing in France was on the top of my to-do list, so I wanted to be at Le Marche aux Puces for 9 at the latest, but that was a struggle. The boulangerie en route to the metro was clutch, as it kickstarted an early morning croissant-and-cafe-creme habit. Let’s keep it real: David is not a morning person in the best of situations, we were both pretty tired, and I was nervy about not having a French data plan for gps yet. But caffeine and pain au chocolat were necessary fuel, and I was awake and back to being giddy about being in Paris by the time we got off the metro.
And as we walked into the market, I pretty much morphed into a heart-eyes emoji. ?
I didn’t mind the somewhat crowded sidewalks since they were lined with treasures, and I was in no rush. I meandered along, looking at each vendor’s wares. I nabbed an antique cheese knife, for picnicking, and a few other little bits, but lots of things were unreasonable to transport home.
I’m always interested in a le Creuset collection, so the rows of brightly enameled pots drew me in. And then I thought about having to lug that iron weight home and moved right on along.
Nothing’s more likely to get me happily digging than a basket of vintage linens. (As I wrote that, I literally thought to myself ‘my poor husband.’) R and C are difficult monograms to find, as is good vintage condition, but when I do, it’s like striking gold.
That happened a little later, as I perused a stand of vintage gloves. The darling shop madame exclaimed over my minuscule hands, and pulled a valise from near her register. It was filled with gloves too tiny to be available to try on (and stretch out) but that fit me perfectly. After lovely conversation and careful deliberation, I ended up with an elbow-length blush leather pair and handcut ivory leather racing gloves.
Vintage glassware gives me some serious lust, especially gold-accented or brightly colored. I knew from my attempts with Spanish wine that I would not be shipping souvenirs home, so I loved them and left them.
The same went for this sweet puppy. He was so gentle and loveable, I certainly wanted to take him home, but I settled for a good visit while I shopped within his domain.
I’ve been obsessing over calligraphy in the wild, so I was fascinated by the collection of travel photo journals with roundhand captions. I could have flipped through every single one- the gentleman who authored them had beautiful adventures. But after several hours of patiently supporting my shopping, David needed feeding, and we both needed to get our nap out. So we headed back to our apartment in the Marais, stopping for lunch at Poilâne, the boulangerie around the corner.
Fresh salad and the most incredible bread, fragrant cheese and velvety brandade soup, the fixed lunch menu was amazing. My duck tartine nearly made me weep with pleasure, and two glasses of rosé disappeared with the help of a few enthusiastic toasts. The most perfect little shortbread cookies, their house special “punitions,” ended the meal, and I couldn’t help but shopping in the bakery for more goodies. As we headed around the corner to our walkup to rest and unpack, I was delirious- both with exhaustion and sheer excitement and delight at being in Paris.