Bonjour Everyone!
I'm sorry to say we started our day at a cafe named LaFavorite on Rue St-Antoine. It is a tragic name for a cafe in Paris - however the croissants were flakey and served with strawberry jam, so we didn't complain.
When we left the cafe, we walked towards the train. While we were sitting on the train enjoying the ride, a group of black people rushed onto the train. They were arguing and yelling loudly at each other and continued the whole time they were on the train, and were still at it when they got off. Everyone was watching and listening to this strange performance. Of course you do feel a little conspicuous when you are the only ones with shiny white faces.
After making it to Metro stop Porte De Clignancourt Terminal, we walked over to the MacDonald's on the corner, where we were to meet Bruno who would be our guide for the "Insider Tour For the Flea market, "or Le Marche aux Puces de Saint-Ouen. Originally we were discouraged from going to this area by Alex, our previous landlord, who said, "It should be called The Market of Thieves!" When we discovered there were guided tours, we hired Bruno, a born and raised Parisian, to take us around the market and orientate us.
We stood around, and finally I saw an elegant looking man, with wavy hair and a bright, pink scarf standing just behind us. Bruno introduced himself to our tiny group of six. Apparently Bruno was supposed to show up at the meeting place in a purple vest, so he could be easily identified. No purple vest - just the brilliant, pink scarf wrapped around his neck. The Asian man in the group, quickly pointed this out. He flapped the piece of paper he had printed off the internet in Bruno's face. Bruno smiled and replied, "But I am French, so I never do what I am supposed to do..." Bruno proceeded to tell us at the start of the tour that the French have two national past-times, "the first is war, but we are not good at war," and "the second is revolution, which we ARE good at." Then Bruno continued to enlighten us further about the French. "The French are mean, arrogant, snobby and pretentious - especially in Paris," he said. When someone says things like this about themselves, you have to hold your face very still and not agree or disagree.
After this clarification, Bruno began to lead us through the labyrinth of the market, winding this way and that, past stunning sights of antique furniture, silverware, dishes, jewellery, etc. The market was like a large city, divided into fourteen districts, and each district had a different name. These markets were upstairs and downstairs, inside and out. Every once in awhile, he stopped to explain some important history surrounding certain antiques which came from specific eras. He also gave us tips about bartering with the vendors.
Bruno explained that the term "Le Marche Aux Puces", actually means "market with fleas". He said that some time after 1870, the Paris rag-and-bone men moved outside the city limits for public health reasons. They settled in Saint-Ouen village and every Sunday, would spread their wares out on the ground, hoping to sell things.
In 1908, people were now able to get to the market using the metro. In 1920, the "Puces" dealers started using small stalls to sell things. By 1945, people were selling second hand furniture and antiques.
As we walked through the market along side Bruno, we could hear jazz music in different areas. We discovered the Festival Jazz Musette Des Puces was taking place in this area over the next few days. Bruno explained that Manouche jazz (gypsy jazz, or gypsy-swing) had become an important part of the Puce's (flea market) identity and explained why. Bruno showed us a jazz club which was called La Chope des Puces, the most renowned jazz club in Paris. He explained the club was named after Django Reinhardt who started gypsy jazz in the 1930s. Django lived in a caravan in the Parisian suburbs with his family. One night, there was a fire, and Django ended up with severe damage to his left hand. Because his last two fingers were paralyzed from the fire, he came up with three finger chord structures, and this is how he invented gypsy jazz. He was a pioneering virtuoso guitarist and composer. Ron and I looked at each other, and decided as soon as the tour was over, we would come over to this club.
As we carried on with the tour, we could see some people getting restless in the group. Soon we lost four members who declared they were bored, and said "Au Revoir". However, we carried on with our new friend Bruno for another hour of a private tour. We continued to look at beautiful pictures, mirrors, lamps, etc. Finally, we felt like Bruno had given us sufficient orientation, so we parted ways.
Immediately Ron and I headed back to La Chope des Puces and asked for a table. The little club was pulsating with music and activity. The waitress offered us the last table for two. We looked over at the table and saw that it was about one inch from the musicians. We agreed that would be much too loud. The waitress shrugged her shoulders and waved us off - so we shrugged our shoulders in return, knowing that we had fallen out of her good graces. We went over to another cafe which Bruno had recommended earlier.
We went into the Chez Louisette Brassiere and were seated by a large, friendly waitress. It felt like we were in Paris of old. There was a piano player, an accordion and a lady with a deep voice singing old Parisian tunes. Lots of French people sang along in a happy, lively way. We ordered two Niçoise salads, French bread and rose wine. The waitress yelled the order up to the chef at the top of the stairs. We enjoyed our salads, and then shared one creme brûlée flambé at our table. We were glad we were shooed away from La Chope des Puces and came to Chez Louisette.
After lunch, we walked around the market for a few more hours, trying to re-trace Bruno's steps. There was so much to look at, it was actually overwhelming. It wasn't possible to get to everything. We decided to leave, because it was becoming more chilly, gray and windy then even previously in the day.
For supper, we stayed in the Marais area and tried more middle eastern food at a place called Chez Hanna on Rue Des Rosiers (which means street of the rose bushes). We tried the vegetarian falafel salad, which was fresh and tasty.
Walking along Rue De Rivoli which turns into Rue St. Antoine, we came out onto Place De La Bastille. On this site was the medieval fortress and prison known as the Bastille. The Bastille was stormed on July 14,1789 by a violent, bloodthirsty, mob looking for gun powder. They later marched onto Versailles, where King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were captured, and so began the French Revolution.
When you stand here now, what you see is a large traffic roundabout which exists where the Bastille once stood. In the centre of this roundabout stands an immense, bronze column, known as the Colonne de Juillet (July Column.) It commemorates another overthrowing of a French King in 1830.
We left Place De La Bastille, and as we walked back to the apartment through the chilly evening air, our thoughts were drawn to our friends and family at home and the recent flooding which has occurred in our city and the surrounding areas. Our hearts are certainly with everyone at home...
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