Remi wrapped his arm around my shoulder, we picked up the pace and shuddered in unison. That Mistral wind! Always arriving precisely when it is most unwelcome. So it was on a Sunday morning in December. But the sun was gorgeous as it always is on such windswept days and for once, I had prepared, wrapping myself in layers of cashmere with gloves and a bonnet in my pocket plus fly-sized glasses to keep my eyes from tearing. I had to keep my focus. For yet again, we were on the hunt.
Of course, we didn’t actually need a thing from the brocante or flea-market at St. Etienne du Grès. But it has always been about the Art of Looking for us. The prick of possibility. From those very first weeks together in Vanves on the outskirts of Paris, we would walk the puces every weekend, sometimes on both Saturday and Sunday. It was our antiques education, not to mention free entertainment. We didn’t yet have a spare dime between us, so despite our empty apartment (I had only brought an Icart print and many pairs of heels with me from NYC), we simply asked questions of the dealers and compared likes and dislikes over a scrambled brunch upon returning home.
The Mistral whipped Remi and I off into our own individual orbits. Which was just fine as we were both too busy storing up little bits of lost history and found inspiration to be good company. Pushed forward by the wind, I rolled through aisle after aisle, past the sellers lunching on saucisson and warming wine, while mentally sifting the junk from the jewels at each stand. And somehow, just that walking while looking outwards with a soft gaze, always tends to do the same for me mentally. Stuck staring, I wondered with my head tilted just so and responded to each dealer’s enquiring eyes with a nod that was curt but kind. “No, sorry but no.” As always, I was searching without really knowing what I was looking for and perhaps that is another reason why such flea market strolls are so comforting. Anonymous, right in the thick of the crowds, we all are.
I finished first as I often do, impatient red-head that I am. But then again, it just might be that I like that moment of turning back to search for Remi’s face, that familiar face, to catch him unaware with weighty eyes. Slowly, I reeled myself in towards him until that arm was replaced wordlessly, shoulder-round. We didn’t end up buying anything as we knew we probably wouldn’t and turned to leave as the dealers started to close up shop – repacking their wares carefully and with a hint of accustomed disappointment – all of us waiting for a “Yes, thank you, I’ll take it,” possibly at the next brocante.
A boutis or typically Provençal antique quilt. They are getting harder to find…
Rusty ponies, anyone?
Vintage santons and saints for a Provençal crèche…
What do we think? An olive or grape press?
And for my friend La Contessa of Hen House…
Did you see anything that tempted you?
Sending my very Best from a tiny village in the South of France,
Heather
One of my absolute favourite things to do on vacation – made even better by the fact that we now own a house in France just asking to be filled with lovelies from the brocantes! So far the house hasn't been finished enough to fill with stuff but on our next trip in March we are planning a brocante blitz ! Thanks for a moment of vicarious travel this dull Wednesday morning!
I'll take some of the linens and the teddy bear please.
Hello my dear Hattatts! Yes, I most certainly agree with you. At times it even makes me a bit wistful – such as with all of the lovely framed photographs – how did a family give them away or sell them? Shouldn't they be treasured? But of course, everything, everything was important to someone at some time or another…
And yes, we do have willpower! But we have gone to so many brocantes over the years and hope to go to many more.
Much Love to you Both,
H
I bought my boutis a looong time ago so I don't know how much they are going for these days – although I do know that the prices vary widely depending on the condition. That one was very you!
And no, nothing at all. There was a bust that we didn't buy…and regret that we didn't but that happens…
Quite simply, those linens aren't cheap! 😮 We have bought a few over the years though when we have been able and they really are wonderful – they keep you warm in the winter and cool in the summer. "They don't make things like they used to…"
And yes, there are definitely so many pieces that are practically shouting with stories waiting to be told…
Yes, that is it exactly! We won't bring anything in unless we know exactly where it could go since we like the house as it is (and already have too much "art" that isn't even out). That is awesome that you are decluttering. We had to since we moved (aka downsized) twice in recent years – even though there is still more to get rid of, always.
And isn't that mirror amazing???
Ahhhh, consider yourself very very fortunate on that account. 🙂 And we are lucky it is true! If you get super starved you can always come to Provence as there are brocantes pretty much year 'round!
Oh that never works, Judy. Next time go with ZERO expectations and I bet you will get lucky. 🙂
And I know it, Bill, I know it. 🙂
I still can't get over that our old house in now a B&B!! I was even thinking of writing a post about it but still haven't figured out to do it. But I loved seeing those interiors again. And yes, for sure I must love antiques because we were always surrounded by them but they were never "off limits" either. 🙂