everyday treasure
cobi's house • collecting • travel • Comments (1)
One year Bob surprised me for my birthday with a long weekend in Paris.
It was only four days but we made the most of every second. I highly recommend it as a wonderful gift to anyone special - even yourself. Yes, it’s tiring physically, but mentally it’s the biggest jolt of energy you could ever get.
Anyway, I was going to tell you a story… On this trip we went to one of my favourite Saturday flea markets. It’s called, Marche aux puces de la porte de vanve . There are many antique markets in Paris, all called “Les Puces” - the fleas - and many are more fancy than this one, with beautiful linens and furnishings - but who am I kidding? I’m not going to buy an armoire or iron bed linens. I just want a few trinkets for my kitchen or my jewellery box or mantle to remind me of a wonderful trip. Anyway, if you like the thrill of the hunt - I suggest this one. Just take the subway to the Porte de Vanve (line 13) and follow the crowd. Try to go as early as possible on Saturday as they pack things up by mid afternoon.
Bob had also arranged for friends to meet us in Paris as a surprise, and good sports that they are, they agreed to come with us to the market. Given it was my birthday, and (traveling with Bob) we weren’t doing as much shopping as I would be doing if I was alone or with a female companion, I told myself that I was allowed to buy one thing worth a bit more than the usual fare. As we moved from stall to stall and I picked up odds and sods, I spied a framed painting in one booth that was full of paintings. For some reason it drew me in like none of the others.
I asked the gentleman how much it was and he told me. It was more than I wanted to spend, even with my special allowance. It was then I realized how lucky I was to have a friend with me who was raised in Montreal and had a much better grasp of the language…I asked her to find out if he was firm on his price. He said ‘oui’. I then asked her to offer him a lower price. She did and he said ‘non’. We left the booth and disappointedly I soldiered on to look for other hidden treasure. After a while I realized there wasn’t anything else as lovely as that painting and I had to go back and try again.
My dear friend agreed to help (like she had a choice) and we circled round and showed up again. Thankfully the painting was still there and I looked at it again. I was smitten. Again I tried to barter with the owner but my language was so poor, he didn’t understand, or let on he didn’t anyway. My friend came to the rescue and tried to work with him on my behalf but to no avail. He walked away and talked to other potential customers. To his chagrin, I just stayed there - trying to come up with another tactic. Little did I know, my tactic was working without even talking. I thought I would try him one more time - what did I have to lose? I showed him my wad of euros and said the number I would pay again. He turned his back on me and said something quickly to my friend. She looked at me and said “he’ll take it!”. I handed him my money, grabbed the painting and headed out of the booth before he changed his mind…”Merci! Merci!”….as we wove our way through the crowds to show our patiently waiting husbands, I asked my friend what he had said when he suddenly changed his mind? She laughed and said with a bit of embarrassment in her voice, “he said, ‘just get her out of my booth!’”. We laughed all the way out of Les Puces.
Here is my coveted painting….
I still love it. The artist’s name is Eugene de Sante and apparently he never really ‘made it’, although he did have a famous father or uncle who painted, someday I’ll research more…. It hangs happily in our main hallway and as I walk by it many days, I don’t give it a second thought. But sometimes I look at it and remember that special holiday and of course the lessons it taught me…
- If you’re traveling and see something you really love, buy it. You likely won’t have a second chance and things that we buy on holiday are often our most treasured possessions because of the stories behind them, and the memories they hold.
- Sometimes it’s not a bad thing to be a pain in the butt
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