On a lazy Saturday morning in Paris, we casually decided to do something – in a city under curfew from 6 pm to 6 am with restaurants, museums, malls and other tourists sites closed since what seems like eternity. But what to do? While visiting the historic churches and/or gardens was one option, we chanced upon the Paris Flea Market, a market that claims to be the largest antique market in the world! And a market that is actually not one, but 15 markets under the one umbrella. 

And so, our day began…

Paris at this time of the year can be cold and not welcoming with constant rain, hide and seek between the sun and the clouds, and the strong winds that seem to literally push you away from the city. On that day too, as it continued to rain, we braved the weather and headed to the 18^th arrondisement for what’s officially called ‘Les Puces de Saint-Ouen’. Literally far away from where we were in the 16^th arrondisement (almost an hour-long train ride), it is metaphorically a different Paris.

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The first thing you learn about Paris is the social construct of its arrondisements; each with an endemic resident population characteristic of that quartier. Of course, I had visited the 18^th before, for it is home to Sacre-Coeur, the post-card image of Paris only second to the Eiffel Tour. But, this was different. We had ventured into a neighborhood, not a tourist sanctuary. A neighborhood dominated by immigrants. First things we noticed – the changed racial profile, noticeable poverty, a distinctive aroma of a cuisine unknown (not the characteristic scent of French bakeries that dominate many areas of the city) and familiar music (in terms of rhythm) to a South Asian, like myself. 

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Guided by google maps, we found ourselves entering what appeared to be a typical Saturday market lined up along the pavement and street. Having never set foot in the Flea Market before, we confused this for it. The long line of street vendors selling rip-offs of big brand products reminded me of a walk down Sarojini Nagar in Delhi. With tentative stalls, blaring music, vendors shouting to lure customers and the heightened emotion of bargaining in the air, the market was a far cry from the Parisian shopping experience at Rue de Rivoli, Galeries Lafayette or Marais district. 

Instinctively, we had all been clutching our belongings from the moment we got off the train. But as we walked through what, after a really long time, seemed like a festival of people enjoying a weekend in Paris, there was a skip in our step. In that moment in the market, there was a semblance of normalcy one has been yearning for. Whether it was the loud music on the street, the commotion of ecstatic customers or the familiar banter between customers and vendors that one is used to back home, in a way, the place humanized Paris.

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We exited the main street in our hunt for the antique market and after many deviations we finally landed at the entrance. As we stepped in, the world outside blurred and the sounds drowned. In what would have been less than 500 m, again the social composition of the crowd changed, resembling the one from the touristy streets near the Seine. A quaint market, with far fewer people (compared both to the outside as well as the website claims of footfall), it was a coup de foudre (love at first sight). As clouds covered the sky, in perhaps just that area they were pregnant with the treasures of history, culture and passion, with a trickle here and there of ‘Combien?’ (How much?). We navigated through the maze of small bylanes decorated with trinkets and ornaments that gracefully adorned the old-world charm. 

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You can find everything from toy soldiers to doorknobs to posters to furniture in this enchanting market. Each shop has its own character; reflecting a bit of its stores but also its owners. A shop entirely covered by a creeper, another colored a vibrant violet and yet another with a rustic decor for its tribal artifacts – each is a chef-d’œuvre (masterpiece) in itself. We had reached at about 1 pm (or 13 h as the French call it) and found owners/shopkeepers, many of them elderly, sitting down for lunch. They would look up and smile if we entered but continue to eat. That momentary interaction was reflective of the celebrated French work-life balance – where work does not come at the cost of the joy of a simple meal! 

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After about two hours of walking through the market, we left empty handed, for flea markets demand the deadly combination of patience, a discerning eye and bargaining power. Caught between the existential crisis of being neither tourists, nor residents, we left with a “we’ll come back”. With many shops shut presumably due to COVID-19 and the slim crowd, the Flea Market is definitely worth a visit this curfew season.

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As we treaded back to the metro station, this time the clamor of the outside market seemed familiar and comforting. It was like crossing two worlds; something most of us who live in host countries straddle every day and with time become accepting of both. And so, an outing that began with the intent to rummage through the treasures of a famous French flea market transformed into a journey of discovery. There is something for everyone in every arrondisement. Perhaps, no wonder, there is a little bit of Paris in all of us too…