Marché des Puces

Bonjour à tous. I'm currently in Paris, living up these final two weeks before I head back to the US of A.

Today I visited the city's Marche des Puces, the largest and oldest flea market in the world (trivia fact!). All the guidebooks tout it as a bargain hunter's paradise, spend a day there if you can, etc. etc. So I figured it worth a trip.

The most visible part of the market consisted of several blocks of white tents under which mostly immigrants sold pretty standard street fare: cheap clothing, scarves, purses, household items, bric-a-brac. Hookahs and Rastafarians were well-represented. I did see one artist's tent with great coffee sack collage paintings, but other than that, nothing really tempted me about this area. There are certainly reasons to shop here-- if one desires a bargain leather jacket, say, or a wallet to replace the one that was stolen at last week's Marche des Puces, this is the place to go. But charm lies elsewhere.

Specifically, it lies in a tangle of narrow alleyways off the main boulevard. You have to duck into it between sportswear and deodorant tents, almost like you might miss it if you walked too quickly. It's the antiques section of the market.

Just a few steps from the bustling commercial hubbub, I suddenly found myself in a little village of overpriced, yet fabulous antiques. It was surprisingly quiet today-- just me, a Swedish tour group, and a British family examining a 3,000€ table. My inner hopeless romantic swooned over a decrepit gramophone with a sign that read: "Still works." (80€ on sale.) I settled for some old postcards and called it a day.