Flea markets in France
If there is anything that can make my heart beat like a passionate drum, it is to go to an antique market. Anytime, Anywhere. Even if it means driving five hours in a car, sleeping in the backseat, then waking at 5 am, freezing cold, and walking around with a flashlight in order to see what I can find–, I am there.
The pleasure it is to see someone unloading boxes from their van, seeing a snippet of something old calling my name, and then being the first to ask for the price. The icing on the cake is when the dealer doesn't know the value of the item and announces a price so cheap that I nearly pay for it without negotiating. That has happened on more than one occasion (Otherwise, would I really drive five hours, and sleep cramped in the back seat for nothing?)
Living in France has many rewards; antique markets happen to be one of my favorites. On any Sunday, there are probably more fairs than you can shake a stick at (My mother would say.)
Often I wonder…
"How many Armoires can a country have for sale?"
My Mother came from California to visit me in France. She had heard of my many escapades and was excited to see what it was all about… as soon as she was at the flea market, she said, "It is as if I have died; I am in Antique Heaven, my tongue is hanging out plus, I am tripping over it." Her first concern wasn't how to barter in French But HOW was she going to get all that she wanted back home.
One time at a fair, there was a man unloading his wares. A crowd had quickly gathered around. People were shouting prices and flashing money, and things were selling fast. It was one of those rare moments where it seemed a chateau had fallen from the sky, landing at our feet. Unfortunately, I was standing behind the scene. The van was on my left side; tons of boxes and baskets loaded with wonderful objects were in front of me, followed by the dealer and the crowd. Suddenly, my eye caught hold of an eighteen-century, five-arm candlestick. I had never seen a candlestick like that before, and I knew it was something worth diving for… not a graceful dive but more like a jump-plop-flop dive. I grabbed the candlestick with a swoosh and held it up even though I was splattered on the ground. "Bonjour Monsieur," (That is the first rule at the French flea market, be polite before negotiating, even if you are on the ground begging.) "Combien pour ça?" How much for this? I asked. Since he hadn't seen my jump-plop-flop, because I dived from behind, and due to the fact that there were nearly 100 people in front of him, he didn't seem to take notice that I was in his stand, or should I say on his wares. He waved his hand as if to say, "Take it." and called out, "Fifteen Euros." The second rule is "No matter what price has been announced, ask for less." I said, "How about five?" He gave a quick nod as to say done deal. The crowd gasped. Was it because I had dove? Or dared to ask for a lower price for something that was worth a hundred times more?
This is my first step to sharing my journey and adventures with antiquing in France. I am an American; my French Husband exported me from California nearly 18 years ago; I arrived with two suitcases. Our very small apartment in Paris was empty; that is how the adventure began….
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