It's a brocante thing (Part 2)

So, gentle readers, yesterday we learned about things you might see at a brocante.  Today is a continuation, along with some handy tips:

1) take cash, it's easier to haggle.

2) try to keep in mind what you need, as opposed to what you want (which will be many things - not good when one is on a budget).  I finally found the perfect wineglasses at this brocante (yes, after three months of making do with the martini glasses I told you about in Apartment, bitches) and restricted myself to those, but if I actually had money to spend?  Dang!

3) if you are a reasonably youthful, moderately attractive female by yourself at a brocante, it may be that the female vendors will be snippy with you, and it may be that the male vendors will try to work some flirting into the haggling.  At a previous brocante, I cheerfully bartered a kiss on the cheek for a few extra peacock feathers (hey, they're expensive!), but I drew the line this time when the guy got a little handsier than necessary when "helping" me try on a necklace.  Just saying...

4) keep your eyes peeled - not only for the cool things around you, but also for people with strollers and tiny dogs - possibly not a tripping hazard for the likes of you, but for anyone as clumsy as Miss K, it's a damn minefield.  

Just a few little tips from me to you, now on with the photos:

The sign is cool enough, but WITH the wooden gorilla looking at it?  Way cooler.

Zillions of teeny-tiny adorable doorknobs. 

Not just books, but books with a big horned animal skull underneath.  Awesome.

Arfully patinated chairs, cool vases, groovy old paintings, pop-art Marilyn AND a little wooden tiger.  Couldn't love it more if I tried.

Love the jaunty sailor painting but REALLY love the totally over-it dog.

Funky tiled table, 4' tall inflatable phone, and freaky puppet head.  No comment.

Very much liked this chest-of-drawers, but REALLY wanted the big metal cheetah.  Ahhh, someday.

Do you see it, at the back, beside the teacups?  A KNIGHT'S HELMET!!!  By the teacups! So. Damn. Cool.

I like these guys, just chillin'.

Putting the giant lion's head on top of the Union Jack stool? Genius. And please note the adorable little dog top of the photo just for added cuteness.

FINALLY!  I can drink wine like a civilized person again - from my €2 glasses, which are crystal, no less!  Worth the wait...

It's a brocante thing (Part 1)

One of my very first posts was about markets in Paris (Saturday mornings), and I've written about them since (To market), but I don't believe I've ever written about brocante before. A brocante is a very specific kind of market - not a flea market where you have random guys selling socks and dodgy cosmetics, but a flea market that is full of interesting things - not specifically antiques, just things (which tend to be pretty awesome).  I personally love a good brocante, not so much to shop at them, but to take photos - you have to give the French credit, because at these markets, things are not just piled up on a table, they're all carefully arranged to look damn cool.  So if you ever visit Paris and happen to see a sign for a brocante, try to swing by and see it - you may find a groovy little something to take home with you...

Cricket balls, pipes, police sign, boxes of Christmas ornaments, a wood and iron gate AND a Lenin banner - what could be better?

Not so sure about the crazy dog in uniform (seriously, wtf?), but loving the rest of the stuff at this stall

Oh, if I had an extra €900 lying around, this bad boy would have SO been coming home with me

Clocks! Lamps! Clocks! Lamps! (and a couple of cool chairs, too)

Chart of the human musculo-skeletal system, anyone? In French, no less.

Furry critters

Freaky hand lamp thingie

Damn cool

So nicely arranged

Yes, that's a chamber pot.  And it still smelled like a chamber pot.

The dancing lady? The Buddha? The metal giraffes?  I wanted them all!

Things you might see on the street #21 (smut)

Gentle readers, you know I generally try to keep this blog on the reasonably clean side - not much swearing and fairly minimal smut.  But I just have to share this picture with you - I saw it at a street market and I was giggling so hard I could barely keep the photo in focus.  In fact, it amused me so much that I am kicking myself for not buying it.  Because, gentle readers, this is not a painting.  No, this little masterpiece of tackiness has been done in needlepoint.    Can you imagine?!?  Who, exactly, would take the time to lovingly render every shiny, fleshy curve with needle and thread? And this thing isn't small, either, it was about a metre by half a metre.  Dang, people - that ain't your granny's needlepoint...

Favourite Paris photos - 9

Ninth photo:

But Miss K, I hear you say - what's so Parisian about that photo?  Those could be any flowers, anywhere.  But they're not.  They're my tulips, bought in the Marché St Honoré, sitting on my dining table in my flat in the centre of Paris, bathed in Parisian sunshine.  And I therefore deem this shot worthy to go in my Paris favourites.  So there.

To market

Back in November, I wrote a post about my local market.  I haven't actually been there recently because, in my neighbourhood, the market is genteel and lovely but verrrrrry expensive.  Today my landlady took me to the Marché aux Puces d'Aligre, which is near Bastille - it's a little bit of a walk from where we live, but still very central.  Ladies and gentlemen, that's a market:

All of Paris was there, along with their little canvas shopping carts, their little dogs, and their little children - it was a zoo!  But I can see why - the prices are ridiculously cheap for Paris, so I think this place and the excellent prices I found in Chinatown last week are going to be what keep me from starvation during this looooong winter.  

However, I won't be buying the roasted pig's feet.  In spite of being a happy carnivore, I just can't quite get on board with these...

I could, however, get completely on board with these crab legs - look at the size of them!  The crab they came from must have been the size of a small planet - fantastique!

Saturday mornings

Okay, I have been rubbish at the whole blogging-every-day thing. But look how long my posts are! Do you really want to slog through one of these every single day? Hmmm?

But I digress - today I will tell you about my Saturday morning ritual. It's a little something I like to call Miss-K-goes-to-the-local-market-and-stuffs-her-face. Catchy, non?

First of all, let me start by saying that I live in the 1st arrondissement of Paris, which is the equivalent of living in Mayfair in London, or the Upper East Side in Manhattan - in other words, seriously freakin' expensive, but incredibly great to live in. I was lucky enough to find a flatshare I can almost afford, but really, this neighbourhood is not a place in which to find bargains of any kind. I will tell you more about both the apartment and the area in other posts, but for today, back to the matter at hand - the market.

Every district has one, usually on Saturday and Wednesday mornings, and mine is the same. So every Saturday I roll out of bed early (the market closes at 1pm, so if you snooze, you do lose - last week I got there at 12 but still managed to snag the very last roast chicken - whew!) and head off down the rue St Honoré. On the way to the market, I pass the local boulangerie and get lured inside - after all, it's a whole two minute walk to the market, I might faint from hunger if I don't have a lighter-than-air pain au chocolat to shove into my face along the way. (I do end up with flakes of pastry all down my coat and I have to be careful that none of the warm chocolate oozes its way onto my face, but so worth it.) I haven't yet found a justification for ALSO buying a tartelette aux framboise other than the fact that it's so damn pretty (and delicious), so let's just move on...

One of the nice things about Paris is being able to buy amazing flowers at a ridiculously good price - I bought a dozen huge white roses at the market for 5 euros and they lasted nearly two weeks. But moving on to food, which is of course the most important thing: the market has several fruit and vegetable vendors (my favourite is the lady who chooses avocados for me at the perfect degree of ripeness for whatever day I need them - she's uncanny), a cheese counter, a rather spectacular fish counter, a vendor of Italian specialties (in a French market? Odd.), a table where they sell dried fruit, nuts, seeds and so forth, a charcuterie vendor, several other vendors and then we get to my favourite - the counter where they sell hot roast chicken (either whole or legs), fresh sausages - Toulouse, volaille, you name it, and the most delicious potatoes (see photo, above).

I like this seller for two reasons - one is that their roast chicken is so succulent and flavoursome that I am hard put to not just start eating it on the aforementioned two minute walk home (okay, pain au chocolat is one thing, but I think strolling down my street gnawing on a chicken leg might be just too trashy, even for me), it's reasonably priced, and they actually describe the bird not as grand (large), but as gros (fat). Hee! The second reason I like this vendor is because it's a couple who are just about the happiest damn people I've ever seen. They must have been up since dawn and they're working like demons, but they're constantly smiling and joking. They're from Noirmoutier, which is where my landlady (who is also very cheerful) comes from too, so it makes me wonder if Noirmoutier is a region of jolly people and fat, happy chickens? Sounds like a pretty damn fine place to me...