Paris Journal 2013 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
Find me on Facebook 2012
Paris Journal ← Previous Next
→ Back to the Beginning
|
In the early mornings,
classical music and cool air drift into the living room from a French door,
open to the balcony. I’ve wondered a little
about the identity of the neighbor who plays this music on her stereo in the
morning. I don’t know which of the
many studio apartments across the street is hers. I don’t know anything about her, but I
imagine that she’s female, and of a certain age. I think she is my age, or maybe a decade
older. She’s fairly well educated, and
she has good taste in music. She leads
a quiet life in her studio apartment in this fine city. She is at home in the
mornings, perhaps drinking coffee and reading the news as the music plays, or
maybe she’s doing yoga. She
contemplates her plans for the day. Our plans for yesterday
became apparent in the morning, after the coffee I made took effect on Tom’s
brain. He asked, “Do you have any
interest in going to Saint-Ouen?” “Oui!” I responded, with enthusiasm. I knew that the standard
way to go there was to take the line 4 of the metro to its conclusion at the
Porte de Clignancourt. But I also knew
that place is a chaotic zoo. I noticed the line 13 on
the metro map, and in particular, its stop called Garibaldi. Garibaldi is on one of the true main
streets of Saint-Ouen, which is NOT the rue des Rosiers, where most of the
famous marché aux puces
is located, but rather the avenue Gabriel Péri. Soon, it will not be
possible to go to Saint-Ouen this way for a while; part of the line 13 will
close on August 3 for renovation work.
(Later, when the line 13 is fully operational again, if you do decide
to take this route to the puces,
please be sure to get on the line 13 train that goes toward St.
Denis-Université, not Asnieres, because there’s a split in the line 13 at La
Fourche.) We took our regular line 10
route a short distance to Duroc, and then changed to the 13. At Garibaldi, we exited the metro at a
slightly chaotic place where some people had set up tables to sell scarves
and other accessories, but it was only a small clump of chaos, and we easily
slipped out of it and made our way across to the parvis in front of a nice looking church, Notre Dame du Rosaire. Mass had recently concluded. We stepped inside to look around. “A proper church,” Tom said. I liked the somewhat modern stained glass
windows. We could have walked
through the park next to the church – Square Marmottan -- to access the rue
des Rosiers. But I wanted to get more
of a feeling for the town of Saint-Ouen, so we walked up the avenue Gabriel
Péri to the beginning of the rue des Rosiers, then down to the area of the marchés. We spent hours and hours
looking at beautiful things in the marchés. We had a pleasant chat with a lady who
sells chandeliers. She goes to Bonita Springs
frequently. Small world. She, like many of the vendors at Saint-Ouen
marchés, was eating an elegant
lunch on a large plate. I suspect that
restaurants in Saint-Ouen deliver lunches to vendors who are regular
customers. In the middle of our time
in Saint-Ouen, we ate lunch at an authentic-looking seafood restaurant called
Le Petit Navire. Its décor was a
little campy and rustic, and all of its windows and doors were open to the
street, where terrasse tables were
set up on each side. We elected to
dine indoors, away from smokers. Earlier, we’d rejected the
fancy, trendy looking place that sells 20-euro cheeseburgers in the marché Paul Bert. I selected Le Petit Navire when I saw the
grilled sardines, a daily special, on a young woman’s plate on a terrasse table. “Looks pretty great,” I
thought. We asked the patron for a
table inside, and he readily agreed.
He looked Greek; he reminded me much of my friend Peter Pappas. The entire resto had a Greek fishing
village ambiance, but was so French, too, that we decided we might as well be
in La Rochelle. We had entered the resto
just past peek lunch time, around 2PM, so we did have to wait for quite a
while for main courses to arrive (the wood-fire-grilled sardines for me, and
grilled salmon for Tom). Meanwhile, we
were given a mis en bouche of
little triangular corn chips that could have been Doritos, but weren’t (no
MSG and less spicy), accompanied by a shot glass full of VERY spicy
salsa. It is rare to be served
something so spicy-hot in France. With that little snack and
a big bottle of Badoit, we were able to wait for the lunch to arrive on our
table. Meanwhile, we enjoyed the scene
and the people-watching opportunity. A
middle-aged woman set her Karaoke machine up on the sidewalk across from the
resto. She seranaded the resto with
classic French songs. The lunch was good. After lunch, we felt fortified and went on
with our meanderings through the vast markets. It was reassuring to see that there are
still many beautiful antiques, oriental rugs, chandeliers, and fine paintings
available in the world. The only way we’d ever have
the space for more things like this would be if we built a large house. If we did, I told Tom, I’d rent a small
warehouse space one summer in Paris.
Then we’d buy antiques, paintings, chandeliers, and rugs at the marchés of Saint-Ouen. At the end of the summer, I’d arrange for
everything in the small warehouse to be packed into a shipping container
which would then be loaded onto a ship bound to cross the Atlantic to the
Port of Miami, where it would then be loaded onto a truck bound for
Sanibel. Dream on. We did see an elegant and
large painting of a great blue heron that would do well in Florida. But it was on reserve. We saw a beautifully carved
rosewood bookcase/etagere that was handmade in China. We asked about the price. The man tending the stall had to go find
the real shopkeeper. She came over and
apologized, explaining that it had been sold. While strolling down the marché Biron, we spotted a piece of
furniture that stopped us dead in our tracks.
It was similar to something we own, the likes of which we’d never seen
before anyplace else. We thought it
was practically unique. But here was another one,
similar, but nicer than ours. We asked
the shopkeeper about it, and we learned more from him about this kind of
piece, which is Japanese in origin, but made for export. We asked him what price would be. We gulped when we heard his response. I hope he didn’t notice. We checked out one more
huge, bi-level marché, Dauphine. There, we had a nice time talking with a
couple vendors of oriental rugs, many of which we cannot have because of the
embargo against importing items made in Iran.
But there was a lovely
Kazak rug that we could purchase and bring home legally. The vendor quoted us a deeply discounted
price if we’d pay in cash. We asked
him to write it down on one of his business cards, and we said we’d seriously
consider it. It is a lovely old rug with
a very tribal look and a gorgeous deep blue in much of its design. By that time, we were at
the end of the market area that is closest to the Porte de Clignancourt, so
we gritted our teeth and walked under ther Periphérique and down the wide
avenue to the other end, where the metro stop was located. Along that Porte de
Clignancourt stretch of avenue were people hawking doodads of various
kinds. They did so noisily, shouting
about their wares and prices. Each one
seemed to be trying to shout louder than the next guy. The result was a tremendous level of
noise. This activity continued down in
the metro station, where the noise amplified as it ricocheted off the hard
walls. Finally we reached the
train, which was waiting for a few minutes because this a terminus of the
line. The train was crowded, and
chaotic as the line 4 usually is. I
don’t like the line 4 because of the crowds, which the pickpockets love to
work. Many people board the line
4 at the Porte de Clignancourt, and many, many more board at the great train
station stops: Gare du Nord, and then
Gare de l’Est. We had been planning to
take the 4 to Odéon, where we’d switch to our normal line 10. But I didn’t want to stay on the 4 that
long. I suggested that instead, we
exit the 4 at Strasbourg-Saint-Denis and take the line 8 to Commerce. That was an excellent
idea. In the Strasbourg-Saint-Denis
station, when the train headed for Balard pulled into the line 8 platform,
the driver used his P.A. to announce, “On
depeche! Allez, allez!” Tom thinks he was joking. I’m not sure. After we pulled away from
that station where the lines 4 and 8 intersect, the driver waited until after
we passed the next station to announce that there were indeed pickpockets on
this train, and to pay attention! Somehow, I think the driver
was more unnerved by the interaction with the line 4 than we were. As we passed through the
Richelieu-Drouot stop, a sense of relative calm descended on the train. All seemed normal again. Drouot, you know, is the famous French
auction house – the French version of Sotheby’s or Christie’s. Another place to find fine antiques and
paintings . . . . But Drouot maintains that
quaint, old-fashioned, outdated Parisian custom of closing for the summer,
from June 29 to October 1. That
coincides with our stay in Paris, almost precisely. No Drouot auctions for us! Too bad for Drouot. We couldn’t believe the
time when we arrived at home at last.
We just settled in at the apartment, and dined simply on radishes,
cheese, roasted chicken slices, and fruit. Then I picked up Colin
Jones’ Paris: The Biography of a City. This is a perfect book for me, because I
think it requires a bit of knowledge about the city, or at least its
geography, in order for it to make sense.
I love the way Professor Jones is telling the story of this city. What a tale it is! (Thank you, Cynthia S.) |
Monday, July 29, 2013
Colorful
and funny art in a fenced-off vacant lot in Saint-Ouen.
A
Saint-Ouen furniture-maker’s shop window displayed
bottles of powder used for making classic pigments.
Beeswax
sold in a big block at that furniture maker’s shop.
Vine-covered
market stall at Saint-Ouen.
Woman
singing French songs across from Le Petit Navire. Below, a snippet of the restaurant’s
kitschy décor.
|
