A few years ago, at an antique market tucked in the folds of the French countryside, I came upon a stand that made my heart skip. Everything there whispered to me—colors, textures, stories. I wanted to jump right into the back of the dealer’s truck and make it my home. But I kept walking, assuming it was well beyond my reach.
Just then, someone picked up a portrait and asked, “Combien?”
“Quarante euros,” the dealer replied.
I stopped in my tracks. Turned around. Surely I had misheard.
Forty euros?
I walked right up, still not quite believing, and asked again. He nodded. That was the beginning. I started asking prices—this, that, the other—and to my surprise, everything was within reach. Maybe not the truck, but certainly enough to make my heart dance.
And then, in my usual way, I couldn’t help myself.
“Do you have more at home?” I asked. “Can I come by? I bring groups who love antiques… could I visit?”
More surprising than the €40 portrait, he said yes.
That moment opened a door to a world I hadn’t imagined. A magical journey to his home, where beauty spills from every corner and no space is left untouched by inspiration. You don’t know where to rest your eyes—because everything is a vignette, a story, a poem waiting to be read.
Imagine walking into a beautiful home where everything is for sale, where the objects change, move, shift, yet the soul of the space remains—full of wonder. It’s a place of constant metamorphosis, a revolving beauty.
This is what the French la Vie is about.
Not just antiques—but entering into the heart of the French experience.
Past the façade, through the garden gate, into homes where enchantment doesn’t hide… it lives.
Next year’s dates will be announced this week.
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