My absolute favorite part of Paris was the markets. Our apartment in le Marais was just a few blocks away from a major greenmarket. Sunday morning there reminded me that the world hasn't changed all that much: A fruitseller shooing away a little boy who was running his hand over all the oranges and ruddy-faced fishmongers chatting with basket-weilding old ladies.
Unlike our city farmer's markets, which feel quaint but inaccessible for a regular shopping trip, these rows and rows of stalls definitely seemed like the place to get fixings for Sunday supper as well as a bit of old-fashioned people-watching.
Maybe it's all an act, and the French folk all return home and pop open foil-lined TV dinners, but it just seemed inevitable that they would all be as inspired as we were to construct our own little Belgian still life (we couldn't get enough of those strange paintings at the Louvres).
Indeed, we spent a good part of our last day wandering the stalls, and we even put together a little charcuterie picnic for the plane. When they came around with airplane pasta, we just shook our heads and gestured to our parcels wrapped in butcher paper.
No comments:
Post a Comment