When I arrived at my apartment, my "greeter" Jennifer, told me that Sunday was market day at the Bastille and it was worth the trip. Considering that the trip was all of a 25 minute walk, I was definitely up for it.
Some 300+ years ago this spot was the site of one of the most terrible prisons in world history. The wooden structure that was the Bastille is long gone and now it's a bustling intersection and home to the market twice a week.
This market runs 7 days a week and moves around so everyone in Paris gets a turn. Thursday and Sunday belong to Bastille and since next Thursday is the planned national strike against retirement reform and I'll be marching with my new compatriots, I decided that Sunday was my day.
The market is HUGE and a cacophony of sounds and smells both wonderful and nose pinching. You can imagine what the aisle with the French cheese across from the fishmonger smelled like. If you've ever been in a french cremerie then you know the word pungent is polite. And we all know what the fish market smells Iike. Wow.
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| 30 different kinds of honey and cute candles |
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| Yes, cuisses de grenouille are frogs legs |
I wandered up and down the aisles until every sense was filled and then made my way to Place des Vosges, where Victor Hugo used to live. I found a little restaurant whose chalkboard highlighted Quiche Lorraine and I said, yes please.
The restaurant was run by your basic angry french waitress who looked like Lola, in Run Lola Run minus the bright orange color in her hair. Even though I spoke only french she had me pegged as an American because she took me to my table and asked if I wanted an English or French menu. I said, "Ca n'importe." (it doesn't matter) to which she replied, "you get English" Thank you, Lola, you should dye your hair.
The quiche was delicious. I'm sure Lola didn't make it.
After Lola, I made my way down the narrow streets of the left bank lined with expensive designer boutiques and packed wall to wall with what seemed like the entire country of Italy. I wanted to say, hey, you guys have all this in Rome and Milan already, why come this far?
The Italian women were hilarious to watch. The ones walking in pairs or trios seemed to all be wearing matching shoes or boots. I mean identical shoes and boots. I saw so many that I decided it must be some Italian law that women who walk together must be seen in the same shoes. Or maybe they just don't have much originality....although I will say they were almost all dressed to the NINES in the latest of fashion and many of them looked amazing.
The other funny thing about the Italian women was that they have no sense of age when it comes to fashion. The 60 something grandma was sporting the same outfit as the 40 something daughter who matched the 20 something grand daughter. It was a good lesson in, you are too old when.... There comes a time when you have to say, "Nana, no." (I'll write more on fashion later)
I made my way past Les Halles and now know why I was advised to stay away at night. It was pretty full of nefarious youth with chips on shoulders and an angry stare.
It has started to rain again. I found a great cafe where I can have a pichet du Bordeaux, reflect on today and do what my new compatriots do best...people watch.
A la prochaine.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Location:In the shadow of St. Eustache
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