I've never journeyed south on line 13 to Le marché aux puces Vanves, but since my friend is in town who shares the same interest as finding trinkets with tales behind them, I had a reason to go and a partner to accompany me.
The set-up of the market is different compared to Le marché aux puces Clignancourt, tables are all lined up and the potential buyers walk down the alley. One side there are parked vans, most of them with the back doors opened. Some appear to have the objects spilling directing out of the vans onto the table.
Of course the objects are fascinating and hold stories all their own. With worned characteristic, the flaws often increase the charm. After going to a fair share of brocantes and vide-greniers, my recent interests lie simply on the people-watching. Even more specifically the older men. Now, I will add that often I see whimsical, wirey haired women with thick-rimmed glasses purusing about in an interesting fashion, but typically it's the Frenchmen they are accompanied by who seem to take my interest. Normally in the grey-hair stage of their lives, confident with their bushy, curled mustaches, and wearing foulards tucked in cardigans. At times, such men can be seen puffing on pipes, and often wearing vintage tweed sportscoats with patched elbows. The type of people who are enchanted by the things from a different era channel it in their apparel.
Though the people-watching adds the atmosphere, it is not the main reason to go. One could really get lost in their own lure. Time passes along quickly, and becomes an unusual element to the afternoon. It gets lost, and I often feel as though I have stepped back in time to l'âge d'or.
Of course the objects are fascinating and hold stories all their own. With worned characteristic, the flaws often increase the charm. After going to a fair share of brocantes and vide-greniers, my recent interests lie simply on the people-watching. Even more specifically the older men. Now, I will add that often I see whimsical, wirey haired women with thick-rimmed glasses purusing about in an interesting fashion, but typically it's the Frenchmen they are accompanied by who seem to take my interest. Normally in the grey-hair stage of their lives, confident with their bushy, curled mustaches, and wearing foulards tucked in cardigans. At times, such men can be seen puffing on pipes, and often wearing vintage tweed sportscoats with patched elbows. The type of people who are enchanted by the things from a different era channel it in their apparel.
Though the people-watching adds the atmosphere, it is not the main reason to go. One could really get lost in their own lure. Time passes along quickly, and becomes an unusual element to the afternoon. It gets lost, and I often feel as though I have stepped back in time to l'âge d'or.
Bisous,
Reba
Reba
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