That would be : the fleas.

But not the gross, annoying ones that try to lunch off our animals {or as happened and is a story for another time — my grandfather’s arm}. I’m talking fleas as in markets.

Leave it to shopping to put a positive spin on a parasite.

Paris has three main flea markets : Les Puces de Vanves, Montreuil and Saint Ouen.

Maman and I hit up the Saint Ouen one last Sunday. After reading about the 18th century furniture, Scandinavian antiques and Aubusson tapestries, as well as objects d’art, I was ready and armed for spending. Visions of ornate dishes and décor danced in my head.

It’s a straight shot on the métro to Saint Ouen — we got on at Saint Placide {line 4, right around the corner from us} and rode it all the way to the end, Porte de Clignancourt.

Definitely not on my top list of metro stops, nor areas of Paris. It’s ghett-O, with a big capital “O”. It’s reminds me of the Projects, if that tells you anything.

It’s a hustling area. People trying to corner you and sell knock offs or stolen goods. Plenty of sirens, both cars and alarms. And in general, you just get that icky feeling walking around there. You know the one where you feel dirty just standing on the street because it’s so nasty around you. That’s the one.

Maman and I quickly hauled through the worst of this. I stopped for no one, I made eye contact with no one and Maman even says I yelled. I definitely did not yell, but I did make it clear after some weirdo tried to walk with us who was selling bad Louis Vuitton replicas, that we were not interested.

I was relieved and pleasantly surprised that the Saint Ouen flea market had none of these bad vibes. It was tucked away off a side street and very calm and quiet.

And let me tell you, it did not disappoint. Oh, no. Not by a longshot.

Everywhere I turned, there was something I was dying to buy. The antiques were out of control. Especially the mirrors. I have a thing for big mirrors. It was one fabulous sight after another. Light fixtures, paintings, random knick knacks.

So much to buy, but as Maman asked, what was I going to do — pay a shit load of money to ship something home? I would have considered it had I found something that was a good deal and that I truly couldn’t live without, but that didn’t happen.

I did, however, make off with a wonderful hand carved Buddha from Vietnam à la late 19th century {or so I was told}, a Quimper plate that I’m going to give my dear Aunt J {a Quimper collector}, and two small hand painted plates depicting scenes of the Buddha or Krishna or some God that I can’t remember.

I know Brother knows this scene well, because get this — I have an almost identical, larger version of this plate at home that I found at an antique store.

What are the chances? They’re not some super rare, Antiques Roadshow material, but they are unique, non mass produced collection worthy pieces.

Isn’t this mirror just pure fabulousness? See why I have a thing for them?

I was digging the chairs, too. Somehow the hot pink just goes with the brown wood. I can just picture the look on The BF’s face with a pair of chairs like that.

So many neat things! That was possibly the most fun aspect about it, checking out what everyone was selling … all that stuff. Good stuff, at that. Nothing crappy. Though I also didn’t see many great deals. I was thrilled I made it out of there having spent 32€.

After all the beautiful antiques, I was ready to hit up some museums. Continue on with the whole beautiful things to look at theme.

Maman and I hit up the Musée Romantique, which I had never been to. It was delightful! A small museum on a quiet street in the 9th Arrondissement.

Seriously, how charming is this place! I love when homes are turned into museums, it’s such an intimate space and adds such a personal element to everything you look at. This was the former residence of Georges Sand, who for the majority of my visit, I assumed was a man.

Maman was horrified that I was clueless as to whom she was, since she apparantly read her writing in junior high. Really I was just glad to know that it wasn’t a spelling error on George — kept wondering why there was an “s” at the end.

My thoughts on the Musée Romantique are : it’s a great home to see. You almost feel like you’re approaching a farmhouse. There is an absolutely delightful outdoor courtyard, where you can sit and eat lunch {great food} and it’s free. We all know how I feel about free.

As for the art … um … it’s not my style. Let me put it to you that way. Or let me let the photos do the talking.

If these paintings could talk, here’s my running commentary on what they’d say …

Bon courage my dear, I slept him, too.

Or … please, I beg of you forgiveness for banging your husband.

And yes, of course, I made these comments at the museum. Double horrification for Maman, as she was telling me to lower my voice and where do I come up with these things … but really now, how can one not see the humor in these paintings?!

After the Romantique, we headed a few blocks over, around, across — whichever way we went — and hit up the Musée Gustave Moreau. Another home. A big win.

This place was rocking. The energy was insane and the paintings were much more my speed. There was a lot of mythical undertones and interpretations, and I’m very into Greek Mythology.

There was also a whimsical air about many of the pieces. Plus it was awesome to check out the house.

 

This is Prometheus on the left and we have Hercules on the right — between vice and virtue. This was one of my faves, because it’s real life, everyday.

Between vice. Between virtue.

I take this also as being caught between doing and not doing … those things we know will help us, yet we resist, and the things that keep us in the same holding patterns.

Human nature does not change. We might think we’re so different from those even thousands of years before us, but art … art proves this is not so. It depicts the same battles and internal struggles and the love and the loss.

It’s that human connection, that thread, which knows no time barriers.