French la Vie

Paris Fashion Week

Photo by Chelsea

 

Paris Fashion Week, it's a big deal.

With extremely tall. thin people walking around.

Olivia is wearing a sweatshirt was Gabriel’s.

Her statement piece is from the Brocante:

A dinosaur.

Photo by Chelsea

 

 

What Do We Do on the French is Vie?

 

We go to antique shops. 

We also talked shop and learned about France from the things we saw.

 

 

 

We look, eat, breathe, talk, dance around, and buy antiques.

 

 

 

We shop at open markets for baskets, clothes, cakes, and whatever pleases us.

 

 

 

We visit studios and artisans.

 

 

We go beyond the facade into French people's homes and share meals with them.

We find charm.

We share our passions and our lives.

And we stop at every brocante that we can.

And feel like we are hanging out with our best friends.

 

 

 

We visit villages that have brocantes.

And eat figs off trees and laugh at Yann, the jokester.

 

 

 

We visit tucked-away antique shops.

 

And family-owned businesses.

We visit my favorite places.

 

 

 

Friends give us beautiful bouquets.

And wine.

And desserts.

 

 

My friends set up private brocantes for my guests and me.

And when I say what we are looking for, they bring it out and make our day!

 

 

We have amazing meals in different French homes and meet my friends.

We share recipes. We roll out to the van.

 

 

We smile at all the charm and goodness before us.

Friendship happens.

 

 

Inspiration and discovery.

The Brocante Bug bites.

 

We talk and talk.

Eat and eat.

Shop and shop.

Drive and drive.

And do it again.

 

 

We pack boxes to mail home.

 

 

 

We have the best time, so most guests come again and again.

In Between

photo by Sandy

In between.

 

French la Vie Kindred Spirits

Are we having a good time?

You bet we are!

 

Four women who did not know each other, but who share the same passion came on the French la Vie and found more than just antiques. What a pleasure it is to meet kindred spirits!

Friendship in France!

I am fortunate to have met so many of you, to feel your friendship,

to read your comments, to share the goodness that we feel.

I never imagine my blog to give all that it has given me,

and I pray that I can give back as much to you.

Thank you my friends!!!

A Girl by the Window

Photos and Text by Corey Amaro

Living in France opened my eyes to an artful way of living. It has shown me the depth of color in celebrating seasons and layers of textured history, how we apply paint on a canvas daily, and that our actions and feelings are brush strokes.

While at the Musee d'Orsay, the little details are in the corner of the paintings, the scenes within the scene. I noted the reflection of light, the moment's movement caught and held up as an example—reflecting on that which is at hand, the beauty of the small things that are often overlooked.

 

 

 

Living an artful life: To put my habits and attitudes in my back pocket. I want to absorb what is around me, letting it soak over time and recolor my days. I want to spend an entire afternoon at a cafe with a glass of the day unfolding around me and let the sun take its time to move over my head.

 

I spent endless time listening because I didn't speak French when I first arrived in France. However, I realized it wasn't just words I was listening to. Listening for me had more to do with seeing and observing the unconscious language of the body. Most of the time, I understood the conversation, though I could not repeat one word that had been spoken. Isn't it like that when we listen, we hear the heart, which often speaks without uttering a word?

 

A girl by a window. Her dress is like the curtain in front of the window, barely concealing what is inside. Her lips are closed, her regard...what is she thinking? That is how I started to learn French. Instead of asking myself, what are they saying? I began to look at them and wonder what they were thinking or feeling.

 

 

 

Have you ever noticed hands speak without measure? Words can be guarded, but hands and eyes talk about the depth of feeling, the truth.

 

 

 

Often, with nothing being said, the hands and eyes keep speaking.

 

 

                                    

 

         
Another thing I started to pay attention to was how others handled objects and how they used things. Like a dance, their movements spoke of either hurriedness, a quick two-step, and getting the job done. Or they moved with grace, gentleness, and awareness of things around them. Their actions could resemble the tango if they were struggling with contained emotion. Paying attention to how someone moved, set the table, ate their meal, and carried themselves made me more aware of my actions and the message I was giving out.

 

Ah, the importance, yes, the importance of setting the table, writing a note by hand, baking a cake, ironing the shirt, saying thank you, opening the door for another, letting someone go in front of us, not eating the last cookie, the taking out the garbage, not jumping to conclusions, letting someone hog the blankets...

Those little things count, like many other things, speak volumes. They color the world around us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Life imitating art is the reverse of the normal process whereby art is made to resemble life. The concept derives from an Oscar Wilde aphorism, "Life imitates art far more than Art imitates Life."

Layers upon layers, stories within stories, love mixed with odd bits that create an artist to sing and stir another with their words and bring healing. Or paint a picture that puts the experience in place... Daily, we are painting our lives on each other's canvas.

What color are you today?

Note: Photos taken while at the Musee d'Orsay in Paris.

 

Repost from 2009

The French la Vie started yesterday. A fabulous group! The best comment was repeated again, "... if today was the only day of time together it is worth the entire week!"

That is music to my ears. 

 

Where to Go Antiquing in France, How to Find the Brocantes

Where to go Antiquing in France

(A Repeated Post because it is that time of year again.... when I start receiving many emails asking me, "Antiquing in France."

1.

Where to go antiquing in France? If only I had a dime for every time someone asked me that question! I use an online site to find out about antique fairs in France. It is in French, so that I will break it down for you today. Most French antique fairs happen on Saturday or Sunday. However, others do occur during the week as well.

I've included the link and how to understand it below.

First - Click on the link below:

ANTIQUING IN FRANCE

------------------------------------------------

2.

- On the "Where to go antiquing in France website," the first thing you need to do is click on the sign that says:

Calendrier des
Manifestations

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

3.

- When you click on it, it will open up and look like this:

Calendrier des
Manifestations
• Février
• Mars
• Avril
• Mois suivants

The first three words are MONTHS. They are starting with the present month. The last series of words says: Mois Suivants which means = Following Months. Click on the month you will be in France, or the month you want to go to antiquing in France.

------------------------------------------------

4.

Choisissez votre région

You will come to the page above when clicking on the month (mois). Next, click on the region of France where you will be and want to go antiquing.

Paris is in "Ile de France".

When you click on the region of your choice, a slew of towns and cities with fairs, brocantes, and antique markets will appear in order according to date. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

5.

An example of what that will look like is below:

 

DIMANCHE 20 FéVRIER 2011 (Sunday 20 February 2011)

04 (04)			CERESTE (entre Manosque et Apt) (Cereste town between Manosque and Apt)
			GRAND VIDE-GRENIERS BROCANTE - sur les Places di Village - 8h à 18h - Extérieur - Entrée gratuite 80 exp. (Professionnels + Particuliers + Habitants + Association) Tel : 04-92-76-66-55 - 06-79-83-12-55 ORG: "LIFRAT"

First, it will have a weekday. (I have listed each item in red alongside the French text so you can see where and understand the listing better.)

Then, the area code number of each region of France, 04, is the area number of Cereste. Then it will have the town or city's name, in this case, Cereste (when a town is small, it often will say which two larger towns it is in between.), which is between Manosque and Apt.

GRAND VIDE-GRENIERS BROCANTE  (Description of what type of antique market.) Large Garage Type like sale Grand Vide-Greniers Brocante means: Large Empty out the Attic Brocante (please do not let me explain that word, God I hope you know me by now.) - sur les Places de Village (Where it is located. Usually in the center of town, or large parking lot, or nearby field.) - 8h à 18h  (The time of the market. It always starts earlier then listed.) - Extérieur  (If it is outside or inside.) - Entrée gratuite (How much, if anything, it costs to enter.) 80 exp. (Professionnels + Particuliers + Habitants + Association (This part means: How many dealers are signed up, and what type of dealers will be at the fair. In this case, every type of dealer will be there, Professional, plus small weekend dealers and people from the town, since everybody is allowed to sell at a vide de greniers if it is in their hometown.) Tel: 04-92-76-66-55 - 06-79-83-12-55 (The phone number in case you need to call.) ORG: "LIFRAT" (The organizer of the fair.)

The Little Things

 

1) The first page in a century old book.

 

2) A bronze drawer pull, 1700s.

 

3) French antique textiles

 

4) A worn silver thimble, and a religious medal.

 

5) A scissor for fine lace or needlework.

 

The little things

like most things

hold importance.

We might not know why.

We might not care.

But the little things matter

Like a smile,

a thank you,

a look of compassion ...

Here We Go Again

The French la Vie guests arrive Tuesday.

So many new places to add to our antiquing escapades!

I cannot wait to show my guests, and you.

 

Time

Some days are unhurried

Other days disappear in a few hours,

yet some days are packed tight,

and other days seem to chase the hands around. 

I hope your Sunday was good to you. 

Next Week, The French la Vie

 

 

Next, a week of antiquing and a one-of-a-kind experience begins as I invite my guests to a world where history and artistry intertwine. I hope you will tag along as the French la Vie delves into the colorful French markets and cherry-picked brocantes. Also, my enthusiasm for "very old stuff" led my next group to experience France in a delightful, unforgettable way. With that said, those who have joined me and those coming next week share a discerning eye and a love for all things antique and French.

Each day, I aim to give each of them a discovery, a forgotten tale, and armfuls of memories to take home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Preparing for the next group, we are full of anticipation and in full-throttle mode. As we swing open our doors to welcome each one of our guests, I can't help but feel a sense of shared anticipation and wonder. Coming to Provence isn't just a destination; it's a portal to the essence of French life and culture, or at least I hope so.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the days leading to the group's arrival, we're bustling with preparations, keeping an eye on the details that every corner of our home radiates charm and character, setting the tables with fresh flowers, brocante treasures finding their perfect spots, and an ambiance steeped in the romantic magic of France— every corner needs a look over as I aim to make our home a mini museum of curiosity and give our guest the feeling that they can find what they see in our home in the days to come antiquing.

 

A bit stressful, I might add. I do not want to disappoint my guests.

 

 

 

 

When in France, I extend a special invitation to my guests, one that goes beyond the typical tourist experience. Together, we visit the homes of local antique dealers, delving into the very essence of the French lifestyle. These exclusive visits provide an intimate opportunity to step behind the facades. Within these private homes, we have a peek into their lives, style, and what they collect, and we can shop if we want. Each home carries its own unique narrative.

 

 

 

So here I go again, praying I give them a genuine experience... Diving in garages, warehouse, studios, shops, homes and a public brocantes.

 

 

I hope you will join me one day.

 

Now, back to cleaning and cooking and making sure everything is ready.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You

 

And before I fall

asleep at night,

you should probably know

that you're

my final 

and favorite thought.

via Samira Vivette

New Way of Collecting

Oh no.

Not another chair and stool.

Walk on by,

Keep going.

And I did.

Taking a photo is my new way of collecting.

Common Art History

 

 

 

Rolling past my feet was a ball on the run. Picking it up, I saw that someone had taken fabric remnants a very long time ago, torn them into strips, then tied them together end to end and rolled them into a ball.   

 

This is no ordinary ball; it is art history rolled up in one.

 

 

Turning the ball around and around, I could imagine the different vintage cotton dresses, work shirts, and aprons that had been made. The clothing that had become too small or aprons soiled beyond lemon and sunshine. I could see the time it took to rip the fabric in long, narrow strips and the nimble hands to tie such delicate knots.

 

 

Why would someone go through so much trouble? It didn't seem likely that the person created this as an art project, nor as a way to remember the clothing she had made or that her children had worn. Then, as swiftly as the ball had rolled past my feet, I knew what it was.

 

 

Like a ball of yarn, this was used for braiding or crocheting. The old bits of clothing had been recycled into a rag ball, which, woven together, would create a rag rug. Something very common during the Depression era was being creative with what you had.

 

Fortunately, this ball had escaped the crocheting needle and was tossed through time towards me.

 

Instead of calling it rag ball or seeing it as a project yet to be done, I admire it as a work of art history.

 

What cherished piece do you have that most would not notice but speaks to you each time you see it?

Poem and Photo by Emory Hall

Poem and Photo by Emory Hall 

from her new book.

 

My Afternoon Date

We walked hand in hand

to the ice cream shop.

After that treat we around the corner to the park. 
A band was playing so we stopped and listened.

 

 

If ever you want an authentic view of Paris, go to this park on a Sunday afternoon or any day after 4:30.

Park Villmin

 

For a delicious original bit to eat breakfast, brunch, lunch, drinks, or dinner... outdoor dining too.

Cafe A

 

Fav handmade ice cream La Fabrique a Gateaux et a Glaces

A neighborhood ice cream shop with classic and original flavors.

Along this street and the surrounding blocks is the Canal Saint Martin. 

Shops, restaurants, small hang outs, very local flair.

Boheme style of Paris.

___

 

 

 

The Beginning

Paris Walkabout on a Saturday Afternoon

Paris Side Street in the Marais

 

 

Pont Neuf 

 

Favorite Street Artist

 

Place Vosges

 

Patron Saint of Paris Saint Genevieve

 

Walkabout

 

 

Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois

 

Le Jardin du Palais Royal,

"Réflexions" by Emmanuel Barrois.

 

 

A stone fountain inside the Science Academy courtyard.

 

Science Academy Entrance

 

Lunch Break

 

Cobble Stones Paris

 

Science Academy Paris

 

Need a Walkabout Guide?

 

The Flower Child

 

 

Love Tanks Brimming

 

Sacha is back in France (work-related) so he stopped in to see us briefly, as he heads down south where he will meet Yann and drive to the Alpes. 

 

 Love tanks were filled.

(Gabriel’s idea for the photo)

 

  

 

We spent most our time in the park.

It has been nearly two years since I haven't worn black.

 

Our two children.

Chelsea 33 and Sacha 31

I started my blog in 2005

They were so young back then.

 

 

 

 

Elena, Sacha’s Italian girlfriend is studying in Paris, Sacha surprised her with a brief visit too!

 

 

 

She is loved up too.

 

 

A very happy afternoon. We were missing Yann. But, Sacha and Yann will see each other soon.

Today felt like Christmas !

A Sea of Gold

 Please follow this link to see the video of the sea at sunset.

As a Reader, Catherine Witt-Jirikowic said, 

"Klimt in water."

And my cousin Judy said, "Liquid Gold."

It was mesmerizing!

The reflection of the cliff spilled into the sea, transforming it into a sea of gold.

Click anywhere above to see what I mean.

 

The Artist and His Animals

 

 

Gabriel's artwork is his gift to me.

I love the various hoove colors.

And who stays in the lines without being told so?

Gabriel does. 

The striped leg,

The orange mouth.

One yellow leg.

So many intentional details.

I am going to Paris tomorrow to be with the two little chunks of my heart.

xxx

Swimming in the Dark

Swimming in the sea in Cassis is a delicious delight for me. Whenever I'm there, I aim to take the plunge at least twice a day. Are you the type to wade in gradually, or do you dive right in? I prefer to jump right in.

Cassis' beach is not sandy; instead, it is full of pebbles.

 

 

Lately, I have entertained the thought of swimming at night, but something about that dark water and sky made me question what lay underneath.

 

Today, I did my usual jump-in. There weren't as many people in the water as there usually are. The sea was crystal clear. I swam out further than I typically do. I looked at my feet and wondered how deep it was below me, and I saw something brown; assuming it was a rock, but as I looked at it closer, I saw that it was moving and then realized it was a stingray. I shrieked. A brief thought went through my head," I am never going to swim at night."

 

Photo via wiki.

The first thing I did when I arrived home was look up stingrays. It said the stingrays are a shy fish. It said they don't attack unless they feel threatened. I thought out loud. OK, I was in a bright pink swimsuit, wiggling like a worm. I guess I thought I wasn't delicious enough. Thank God for small miracles.

Would you swim at night in the dark sea??

 

 

Cassis by Night

The Rugby World Cup is hosted in France.

Rugby fans have descended from all over the world.

I am amazed at how many fans are in Cassis and how many of the bars/cafes and some restaurants have enormous screen TVs set up for the fans to sit, drink, and cheer on their team.

It is like one big happy stadium. And I feel like I am in an English-speaking country due to how much English my ears detect. 

If the Rugby World Cup attracts this many people to come to France to watch the games on TV screens, how many more people will come to France to watch live the Olympics, which will be hosted in France in 2024?

 

 

 

May You be Well, May You be Happy

Happy Weekend.

 

Chiseled Grace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The carved slab of stone appears 

soft and delicate 

as silk fabric.

I can almost see it move with a gentle breeze. 

Where was he going? 

Who took the time to care about such detail? To imagine perfection in this design? 

How did he feel that day when the stone was a hunk of sheer force, 

and the idea of such an image was about to take hold of his hand?

The first step is that one must trust and begin, 

no matter how hard.

Chiseled grace.

NO POST NO SERVICE

Yesterday, the service I used to post my blog was down.

In the nearly 20 years I have posted every day, I have missed posting only thrice.

All due to TYPEPAD's service being unobtainable due to technical issues.

Hence, today, there are two posts.

 

Porto, Portugal A Superstar of Generosity and Kindness, A Must See

 

A little video of Porto!

 

Swimming in the Atlantic

 

The Tidal pools of Leça da Palmeira Piscinas de Maré de Leça da Palmeira 

A swimming area on the beach of Leca da Palmeira.

 

The structures consist of two natural pools filled with fresh seawater,

designed and built between 1959 and 1973 by Portuguese architect Álvaro Siza Vieira.

My friend Ellen, an architect in North Carolina, has longed to visit the creation of Alvaro Siza Vieria since she was in her twenties. As the sun gave way to setting, we went to the seawater pools of Vieria as the waves pounded around us.

Yes, it was cold, but not as cold as Cassis. We swam and admire the architecture from different vista points.

If it weren't for my friends Ellen and Frank, I would have never seen Porto through the lens of architecture nor experienced swimming in this pool.

 

 

Porto Portugal

 

Breaking News: La Rentree

First day of school.

Someone is not happy.

As Gabriel said this morning, "Maybe we can figure out a way so I do not have to go to school?"

And what is Olivia thinking? She begged to put on a backpack and to go to school.

The two remind me of Chelsea and Sacha, though Sacha is Gabriel and Olivia is Chelsea. Oh, and that feels like yesterday.

"In France, school is compulsory from three years old (since the beginning of the 2019/20 school year) until 16.

A child's year of birth determines when they start school,

and the school year starts at the beginning of September."

I personally think that it is too young and shouldn't be compulsory.

School in Europe,https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-43562029. Click here to read more.

 

Last year, Gabriel started school.

And it went well until...

____

 

Luckily, the day ended well, especially when Gabriel found out Billie -, his best friend, was in his class.

Billie is his superhero, and she is unlike Gabriel. A little firecracker of energy in the playground daring to do things that Gabriel admires and cheers her on.

What I think about the French Education:

 

Someone once told me that the difference between a French person and an American person could be summarized like this:

"If you put a French person and an American person in the middle of a dense jungle and asked them to find their way out, the French person would bend down and look at the soil for clues, look up to see which way the wind blew the trees and which way the sun was moving across the sky... in other words, the French person would study the situation at hand before making a move. On the other hand, the American would climb up the nearest tree, look around, and holler, "HEY, Anyone out there?"

In general, because thankfully we cannot label a whole country, let alone a single person, the French are more methodical in their approach, trusting that they can find their way by themselves. In contrast, the Americans look at teamwork and will go on a limb to find a new way.

Why?

If you ask three hundred thousand French people, "Did you have fun (as in liked, enjoyed, considered it the best years ever...) school?" Two hundred and ninety-eight of them would answer solemnly, "No." Then, they would look at you oddly and ask, "Why?"

French students go to school to learn how to study. Fun is rarely in the equation. On the first day of school, they are taught to come into the classroom and sit at their desk quietly. They are not allowed to talk unless they are asked a question. If the teacher asks the students for a response or "Who knows the answer?" The French child is supposed to raise their hand no higher than their shoulder, with their pointer finger in the air. Unlike an American student, they cannot wave their arm frantically and excitedly say, "I know, I know, ask me!!!!"

The French are taught from a very early age to sit still, listen, obey, and if in doubt, re-think; if you don't know the answer, listen, and if you think you are right, you probably are wrong.

Therefore, when they know the answer, they know they are right. Their opinion is well thought out; they can back it up with many examples. They will listen to your arguments and ideas but ultimately believe they are never wrong.

American students are taught they are the masters of their universe and can accomplish whatever they want if they believe it, work hard towards it, and have the money to get it.

The Americans and the French come from very different upbringings, educational approaches, and ways to be. In France, you rarely hear: "If there is a will, there is a way!" Watching my children go through the French schools and listening to many of them talk about schools, I believe I would have suffered dramatically in their mold. I was raised to climb a tree and believe in myself, even if I didn't have a single example to back it up.

This is not to say either approach is better or worse than the other. Both have advantages, both are worthy, and both ways of educating can shape a different way of thinking.

In the end, the American who climbed the tree and the French person who studies the surroundings find their way... and both ways bring for an exciting conversation at the end of the day.

 

Tatty McLeod says it best... as she inmates a British woman and a French woman on many differences between the two. Tatty is French/ English

___

 The Local: an online newspaper, a very good source of French for ex-pats

and others who are interested in life in France

 

Their description of going back to school and the meaning of "La Rentree."

 

 

My Long Time Friend … We Are in Porto Portugal

Guess Again

Not Italy,

Not California,

Not a brocante,

Not the Azores

Not Greece…

Think blue tiles-

A fabulous art museum

An old bookstore 

and along the coast.

 

I am with my friends Ellen and Frank.

xxx

Guess Where?

Guess where I am going tomorrow?

and if you do I will send you a postcard when I am there.

 

Tree of Life

Nothing to do with where I am going.

Often I walk by. It looks better in real life. So I thought to take a photo of it.

 

Blue Moon

Many miles away, a glowing moon gets our attention.

I remember seeing memorable full moon risings in my life...

Many over my dad's rice fields, no moon rising has ever looked that spectacular.

Also, many times over Saint Baume as we were driving back home and rising over the chateau in Cassis.

🌝 

When I saw this photo that I took of the Blue Moon, I laughed so hard -

I couldn't stop. It struck me funny.

That’s it, the truel little peephole.

The Pearl.

 

Then, with focused effort, the moon came out behind the silhouette of the landscape.

It could be a more spectacular photo. But the memory of taking these two on a back road will make me smile.

Did you look up at the full moon?

Blue Moon The Marcels

Blue Moon Billie Holiday

Blue Moon Elvis

Blue Moon Grease

Blue Moon Time Evolution 

Sacha Takes a Hike and a Dip

Photos via Sacha’s friend Nelson.

Cooking with Olivia

Set up a makeshift kitchen outside

Take a cup of water, some dinette set dishes, a spoon...

Uncooked pasta,

mint, basil, oregano, rosemary, lavender and bay leaf.

Rocks of course.

 

We spent the morning pretending.

Olivia likes basil, pasta, and rocks, the rest forget about it.

-----

I found a lovely old child's cupboard at the brocante. The makeshift kitchen.

What to Expect to Find at the French Brocante

 

What to Expect to Find at the French Brocante

Brocante markets are known for their antique items, including furniture, home decor, ceramics, glassware, clocks, and more. These items are usually older than a hundred years old and have historical or cultural value. 

From decorative plates and mirrors to vintage lamps and candle holders, brocantes offer your home a diverse selection of decorative items. Old stuff that is rustic to elegant, to refined to barely hanging on. Brocantes usually show things not spruced up, generally showing the antiques in their "jus," as they say in French.

Many brocantes have sections dedicated to collectibles like coins, stamps, postcards, comic books, and other items enthusiasts might be interested in. Postcards are usually in long, narrow boxes organized by what the image dictates. Postcards are easy to find, as there are plenty of them. The price can vary from a few cents to hundreds of euros.

Post cards from Paris, an interesting tale; click here.

The Oldest Postcard, 1840. Now, I am going to try to find an older one!

 

Paintings, sculptures, prints, and other art forms, both contemporary and from different periods, are often available at the brocante. My friend Gina at "Seen in Provence" (isn't that a clever name for an art website!) She comes to France regularly and buys paintings for resale. She has a wide variety of oils, watercolors, and charcoals. Her prices are reasonable considering her effort and cost in finding them. So, if you cannot come to a Brocante in France and are looking for artwork, check out her Brocante finds here.

 

Silver table top, flatware, tumblers, teapots, platters...

Silverware is a given at the brocantes, and not expensive.,

Poincon in French is Silver Marks

 

The items you are sure to find at the brocante:

cotton bedsheets

dishes

books

paintings

silverware

pottery

religious items

lace

...

to be continued

 

The Hidden Gem, Off the Beaten Path, Tell me about France ...

 

I am often asked about France. It makes sense, given that I live here and write a blog about it. When I travel to a new place, I like to have a few facts about the place in my pocket, too. A good restaurant, a must-see or do sort of thing, where to stay... a few starting bits so that I have a foot on the ground when I arrive.

The main question I am asked (outside of brocantes and where to stay) is about the secret spots, the hidden places, the off-the-beaten track, the real "France." I have thought about that question for a while. Imagine a secret spot, some hideaway, where few tourists have been, a place that captures the French essence. Somewhere where someone could go and feel France embracing them in one juicy double kiss to the cheeks.

  

 

 

The Hidden Places in France...

Behind the iron gate, inside the kitchen, on the other side of the garden wall, deep down in the wine cellar, inside the turret...

When you are in France, it does help to know that wherever you are is most likely knee-deep with wonder and awe. With France being the most visited country in the world, what secrets remain? In Paris alone, there are over fifty million tourists a year...

"6,100 streets in Paris
13,260 crossroads
3,000 km of pavements
33.7 km of Boulevards des Maréchaux around Paris 
4.4 km of Grands Boulevards (between Place de la Madeleine and Place de la Bastille) 
9,884 benches, 107 clocks, and 1,856 bus shelters
109 Wallace drinking fountains 
 2,417 km of sewers..."

Via Paris.FR

 

 

Secret places in France... 

I like grocery stores. And old-style cafes, bakeries that are not famous, and sitting at the counter sipping on something, usually a hot chocolate.

Over ten years ago, I remember turning on the internet for the first time and instantly typing words such as:

France,

French,

Brocante,

Antiques,

French Antiques,

Undiscovered France,

Touring France

 

and not one single thing popped up; instead, a blue screen stared back.

Now, anything, everything, whatever we are searching for is ours within seconds.

But then again, the places that are not on the internet are the ones you might want to discover.

 

 

How do I answer the question I am so often asked?

The first time I went to France was with my cousin Linda. My cousin was living and working in Germany when I arrived. Linda asked, "Do you want to go to Paris? I need to go shopping."

So we went to Paris.

Linda shopped. I tagged along.

We didn't see any of the sites other than take a drink on the Champs Elysee. We walked along back streets and into little shops; we rarely saw a tourist, and the monuments we saw were from a great distance. We searched for a crepe suzette. My first experience in Paris was magical.

Paris was fantastic, and the train ride was equally mesmerizing. I was hooked.

 

Years later, my parents visited me when I married and moved to France. We walked every single day from sun up to sunset. Each morning before heading out, I would say, "Let's focus on Pain au Chocolat," "The perfect rose," or "The best garden bench," and off we would go without any other agenda.

What does this have to do with off-the-beaten trails and secret spots in France?

Not much.

 

 

 

 

Discovering a place is about going with your shoes off, with your hands ready to reach out. It is about closing your eyes and breathing with your heart. It is about getting lost and finding what you are looking for. Discovering a place is seeing the beauty in the minor details: Holding beauty because you see it and not because someone has told you where to look. The secret spots, the hidden places, the off-the-beaten path... they don't exist per se. Instead, I think people want to experience France of their dreams. They want to wake up to what they have read about or dreamed about, and we want to have more to carry back than a souvenir; we want to fill our hearts.

They need a brocante.

What am I saying? Forget that. 

 

 

Some of my favorite places in France:

First and foremost, all brocantes

La Boutique De L'Antiquaire: 9 Rue du Grand Pré, 84160 Lourmarin

Vox Populi

Reves d'Argile

Aurelie Alvarez

Domaine Lucien Jacobs

Jouvaud 

Walk along the beach in Countainville 

Any Market in France

Chez Gilbert

All Trocantes

Maison du Empereur

Chez Paul my favorite restaurant in Paris

Saint Baume

and so many more... 

 

What makes a place come alive?

The people you meet and the experiences you share.

Friends who open their doors with their hearts.

 

 

If you want to discover a place, let it soak into you and take root. Expect the unexpected as a gift. If you're going to find that secret place, that off the beaten path, where tourists don't go, if you want the place that you dream about, be it the cobblestones, the church bells, the croissants with butter-filled happiness, the berets, the baguettes, the movie set imagery than come to France with your five senses as your guide. Trust yourself to find what you are looking for; leap.

If you want to be one of few and not one in thousands,

Then explore France in the countryside, in the middle of France.

Drive aimlessly.

 

 

France. 

Add your French favorites in the comment section.

Summer's End

 

Summer's end, and when it does, please take the heat with you.

It has been too hot this summer.

Though it feels like this might become our new normal.

 

 

Some Useful Artful Ordinary Pieces of French Antiques

 

 Classic French antique Provencal lard pots in green.

"French Provencal antique lard pottery pots, also known as "pots à graisse" or "pots à lard," are traditional pottery containers used in Provence for preserving and storing lard or rendered pork fat. These pots are known for their charming and rustic appearance, often featuring distinctive colors that reflect the region's landscape."

 

 

 

Dating back to the 1800s through the 1900s, these handmade French lard pots, also known as confit pots, hold a captivating essence of Provence that I find irresistible to cease collecting.

The more I encounter them, the stronger their enchanting allure becomes. Available in a range of sizes, no too are alike and have no manufacturer markings on them. The classic green and yellow varieties are more common, yet the blue and white pieces, particularly the white versions, possess a hold on me that resists letting go. Blue is the less common, especially if they have a lid.

These pottery pieces are becoming harder to come by and have a permanent place within my home. 

 

 

The straw, wicker, basket-covered bonbons... oh my, I could not pass this one up, could you? If you say yes, don't tell me.

It has nothing to do with confit pots. I just for fun. Look at that handle.

Common pieces, useful pieces of the time. Crafted by hand, pieces of understated art.

 

 

Unintentional teardrops can appear on French antique confit pots due to glaze drips from pots stacked above during firing. The teardrops result from accidental glaze interactions, creating unique markings on the pottery. These glaze drips add character to each piece.

Provencal summer ware. This is why I do not have any new clothes... how can I go clothes shopping if there is a brocante in town?

The photo above and text below via Lolo Antiques

"The Antique French pot de confit or confit pot from southwest France having a beautiful yellow glaze with rare green drips and 2 handles, circa 1890s. Utilitarian earthenware vessels like this one were a staple in French kitchens, especially in the South of France, where the weather was warmer. The word confit means “to preserve, " and these charming pots made it possible to cook different types of foul and preserve the meat in its own fat. French confit pots are easily recognizable because of their beautiful glazed upper sections and unglazed bottoms. The bottom half of the pot was left unglazed because it would be buried in the cool soil of the cellar or placed in a stone-lined larder up to the glazing line. This storage process preserved the cooked meat without refrigeration so it could then be enjoyed throughout the winter months. The vibrant glaze of this pot, with the rare green drips, has aged with character and developed a beautiful patina."

 

 

Not Cinderella's Slipper

Balancing delicately on a chair

in a clothing shop window,

Encased in an antique souvenir glass box,

A new shoe that had yet to start its journey.

I did a double-take, drawn by the juxtaposition of modernity and antiquity.

Perfection curation.

The glass box was one of the largest I had ever seen.

The shopkeeper shook her head.

'Box and chair not for sale.'

Darn it.

 

The Haircutting Memory

I wrote this on my blog in 2006

                               

 

When I lived in a monastery, the Abbot asked who knew how to cut hair. I raised my hand; I had never cut anyone's hair. But being 19, in a monastery, I had to claim amusement where I could.

A person from the town came to the monastery to teach me how to cut hair. Basic lessons 101. It was fascinating; I started cutting the hair of those in the monastery between work and prayer. The sisters and priests were patient with me. They always seemed satisfied and gave me free will to do as I thought best. I took their trust in me very seriously.

Laura, a community member and a real kick in the pants, came to my makeshift hairdressing station. Father Dominique was the kindest and most gentle-hearted man. I admired him, and I loved Laura as a dearest friend. Father Dominique sat on my barber's chair, and I put a cap around him, preparing to cut his hair. Out of the blue, Laura asked if she could try. I looked at Father Dominique, who nodded yes. He wasn't concerned that she did not know how to cut hair. She took the clippers from me and asked him what haircut he wanted; he said a trim. Grinning ear to ear, with a spark in her eye that made me have chills up my spine, she buzzed off all his hair. Every single hair! He grinned patiently. I was lost for words; how could she?

Then, with the same crazed funny look in her eye, she asked if she could trim his beard. I held my breath as he said yes. She shaved it off- his beautiful salt and pepper beard was gone! Shyily, Father Dominique asked if she was having fun. Laura giggled. Yes! I assumed haircutting would be an exciting challenge, but I never expected it to be like this: a complete folly. 

Then she asked him if she could trim his eyebrows. I shook my head no. But Father Dominique agreed; she shaved them off, and he looked stark naked in a bizarre way. Thank God, we lived in a semi-cloistered monastery where we rarely went out in public because people would think he was from a psych ward and not a respected monastic priest from France.

Father Dominique looked in the mirror and then at Laura, holding the clippers. He slowly stood up, shook the hair off, and politely said: I must go now, for I am certain you will ask me to trim my eyelashes, and I fear I would agree.

Sometimes, the holiest thing we can do is to say no.

The Memorable Haircut

  

A little haircut by the pool for Gabriel while on vacation. I thought I was giving him his first haircut. Such a memorable spot, a good memory creation I would be smiling about for years.

I know how to cut hair. You will never guess where I learned unless I wrote it on my blog years ago. I want to remember if I have mentioned it here. But I need help remembering.

 

My daughter burst my bubble by telling me I had given Gabriel's first haircut about two years ago, in Willows in my Mother's kitchen. But do I remember doing so? Terrible! I didn't believe her; I was convinced this was his first haircut. My daughter brought photos to correct me, and I looked at them in disbelief. 

I am not losing my marbles, maybe just a few sweet memories.

Thank goodness, I can still make them.

Brocante Bébé

Brocante Bébé will she take after me? Or just inherit a bunch of stuff she doesn’t want, and sell it at a vides grenier for, “Any ten items for 1 euros?”

Time Seemed to Tick Away.

 

Have you ever been in a situation where time seems set to a different standard than the 24-hour clock?

The past week spent with Chelsea and her family at our friend's home in Ardeche seemed to pass by quickly. It's perplexing, as time isn't something we can control, yet the sensation was that only a day or two had gone by, not a whole week, The unfathomable speed at which time seemed to tick away.

Our days were filled with simple pleasures; lounging by the pool, tackling manual tasks which Yann and Martin did to assist our friends, enjoying playful moments with the children, and preparing meals in the kitchen. Our happiness here is immeasurable, anchoring us in a reluctance to leave. This place, this expanse, this paradise has a hold on us.

---

I read this, and it made sense to explain the phenomenon of time :

" Novelty and Experience: When we're engaged in new and exciting experiences, our brains tend to pay more attention to details, making the time seem to stretch. However, when we're engaged in familiar and routine activities, our brains can process information more efficiently, making time seem to pass quickly.

Attention and Memory: Our perception of time is closely linked to how we form memories. When we're having a great time and fully immersed in an enjoyable experience, we're often not paying as much attention to the passage of time. This can lead to a feeling of time slipping away when we suddenly realize how much time has passed.

Subjective Time vs. Clock Time: Our sense of time is only sometimes aligned with objective clock time. Sometimes we feel that time is dragging because we're waiting for something, while other times, we're so absorbed in an activity that we lose track of time.

Psychological State: Our emotional state can also influence our perception of time. If we're feeling anxious, stressed, or bored, time might seem to move slowly. On the other hand, if we're engaged, excited, or having fun, time might fly by.

Age and Routine: As we get older, we accumulate more routine experiences, making time seem to pass quickly. Children often feel like time moves more slowly because they constantly encounter new and novel experiences.

Temporal Compression: Our brains tend to compress and simplify memories, condensing the feeling of an experience into a shorter period than it was. This can lead to a sense of time passing quickly when we reflect on past events."

 

 

 

Summer Figs

Steps away from the century-old stone house where we are staying,

wild fig trees grow.

Amidst their aromatic scent, I plucked from their bounty, carrying them by folding up the hem of my dress.

All the while, I was dreaming up recipes.

A savory almond crust, goat cheese, fig, and honey tart.

River Swim

 

 

"The Ardèche River is a prominent river located in the Rhône-Alpes region of France. It is known for its stunning landscapes and the famous Ardèche Gorge, a natural wonder that attracts tourists and outdoor enthusiasts. The river is popular for various water activities, such as canoeing, kayaking, and swimming." 

 

 

 

We went to the river for a swim. Fish were visible in the water, and the rocks along the bank were slippery. The water had a greenish tint, which made me hesitant to get in.

Gabriel, known for his overly cautious nature and doubtfulness, surprised us by jumping in and swimming across to the other side with his Dad and Yann. It was a wondrous sight! His bravery encouraged me to overcome my reservations and join him in the river.

In the end, he managed to swim back and forth eight times.

Olivia was the first to jump in. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera ready at the time. She's genuinely fearless at times, especially when compared to Gabriel. Her 'go for it' attitude often paves the way for him, motivating him to follow suit.

 

Selfie by Chelsea

 

Photo by Chelsea.

Olivia is decked out. She liked that we both had glasses on.

Plenty to Know About the French Brocante

As you prepare to venture into the fascinating world of a French brocante, let me share a handful of insights that will undoubtedly enrich your experience.

Timing, they say, is a secret whispered amongst the savvy. To uncover the one-of-a-kind pieces that await, set your alarm a tad earlier than the rest. As the sun begins its ascent, so does the magic within these stands. With that said, there is plenty to go around; most certainly, you will find more than you can imagine, no matter what time you show up. The main thing is to GO! and go around a few times and in the opposite direction, allowing a different viewpoint.

Cash, the currency of connection, is your companion for the day. Plastic cards may rest in your wallet, but the jingle of coins'll make these treasures truly yours. Slipped into the pockets of time-worn aprons, your coins find a new home.

Engage with the keepers of curiosities; every piece holds chapters of history, even a song or two of years gone by. Let your interest unravel their mystery. Antique dealers love to talk about the "hunt" as much as they like to let their finds go.

As you stroll, a bag suspended from your arm becomes more than a mere accessory. It's your vessel for dreams, your holder of passions, and your bag of collected memories. Let it cradle your finds, for within its depths lie passages that will take you back to France as soon as you empty your lucky finds back home.

Let the dance of conversation flow like a melody. While the price tags may appear steadfast, a twinkle in your eye and an earnest word could find the notes of flexibility. Connection is the key to discovering. Wandering through the aisles of a brocante, you step into a realm where the lives of objects share their tale. Amongst weathered pieces and forgotten creations, time's embrace is palpable. Each antique, no matter the size or the importance, is curated and displayed, carrying a story waiting to be heard by those who pause to listen.

To know more about when and where brocantes are in France my favorite go-to site to find brocante listing is: BROCABRAC https://brocabrac.fr

Terminology:

Brocante: A flea market or antique fair where vendors sell second-hand goods, vintage items, and antiques. It often is a curated selection.

Vide Grenier: An outdoor sale where individuals set up stalls to sell items they no longer need. Not necessarily antiques or old. Expect to see clothings, toys and plastic.

Salle de Vente: An auction room where auctions take place for valuable items like art, antiques, and collectibles.

Vide Maison: An extensive sale involving the contents of an entire house, often during a move or estate sale.

Puces: A term used for flea markets or smaller antique markets.

Belle Brocante: A flea market that emphasizes higher-quality and aesthetically pleasing vintage and antique items, mostly brown furniture and items from the 1900s.

Salon des Antiquaires: An organized event where antique dealers gather to display and sell their valuable antiques. Usually, a small fee is collected to enter.

 

The Best Known Brocante Markets in France:

• Les Puces de Saint-Ouen: A sprawling Paris antique/flea market famous for its extensive collection of antique and vintage treasures.

• Marché aux Puces de Clignancourt: A section of Les Puces de Saint-Ouen, Paris,  known for its diverse vintage clothing and accessories.

• L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue Sunday Market: A charming market with antique stalls along canals in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue.

• Marché aux Puces de Vanves: A more intimate Paris market featuring antiques and vintage items.

• Braderie de Lille: One of Europe's largest flea markets, held annually in Lille.

• Foires à la Brocante de Chatou: Twice-yearly fair near Paris offering a diverse range of antiques and art.

• Braderie de Saint-Quentin: An annual event with a large flea market in Saint-Quentin.

 

Orange Onion Salad

 

Years ago, my friend Annie talked about a salad she had as if it were her new best friend. She described it in detail: the crunch of its voice, its tangy personality, its unexpected freshness, how curious it was like one has when one is first in love: She wondered what other flavors it might have if mixed with an added ingredient.

One lazy late afternoon, I stopped by Annie's to say hi as I did every day; I barely came into her kitchen when Annie pulled me to her fridge and said, "Corey, I made the Orange Onion Salad; you gotta taste it!"

Now, that might not sound unusual, offering a taste of an Orange Onion Salad at five in the afternoon but let me tell you, in France, that is as rare as Martians coming over to visit. I knew at that moment that this salad had to have a real pull on Annie's French heartstrings.

Annie brought out the Orange Salad and handed me a spoon, not bothering to give me a plate. Love does that. It makes you do things you would never think to do. I hesitated, doubting briefly the goodness of oranges with onions. The thought made me pucker my lips, and though Annie's enthusiasm reassured me, I scooped a mouthful. The moment the Orange/Onion combo hit my tastebuds, I was smitten. "Who knew!" I exclaimed. 

Orange Onion Salad:

One large sweet white onion, thinly sliced. Marinate it with two or three tablespoons of olive oil,

one or two tablespoons of balsamic vinegar, and black pepper with a hint of nutmeg.

While this sets aside doing its thing,

Peel and skin three large oranges peeled, then cut in thirds,

Mix the two.

Serve as is, over rice or on an avocado.

(Endless possibilities: add pistachios or red onions with raspberry vinaigrette instead.)

Have you had Orange Onion Salad or a variation of it?

PS

I have added a new category to my blog: "Annie" for those who want to reread stories about my friend. I will add a few at a time as I have to dig through my archives to find them all.

Exploring Today

 

I know I shouldn't, but how can I not, given how life unfolds daily among us?

I wonder what this world will be like when Gabriel is my age.

Will it be as enchanting? Peaceful? Sacred? Full of life?

If he becomes a grandparent,

Will his grandchildren's hands be stained blue from blackberries they collected on the untamed bramble?

Will they follow dragonflies admiring their dance alongside the reeds?

Will they grab a fallen tree branch and use it to explore a creek until dinnertime?

Will they have nature as their playground?

Will the sunshine rosy their cheeks?

 

(Thank you for your lovely notes about Yann's photo of me. But please do not hold your breath for another one of his photos. It could be another ten years from now.)

Yann’s Photo of a Rare Subject

It is a rare moment when French Husband takes a photo of anything, let alone one of me, blurry, out of focused… yes, but at least it is a photo where my head isn’t cut off, my eyes aren’t closed and it isn’t awkward.

It Takes A Village

 

A baby's cry always gets my attention. Their cries alert the mother in me: Where is the baby? Why is the baby crying? Is there an adult caring for the baby? Is the baby being abused?

Such was the case the other day in the grocery store. A mother was pushing her crying baby in a stroller. The crying baby was looking at his mother while moving his hands upward. The mother tried to put the pacifier in his mouth to no avail; she bought her groceries while the baby cried steadily. 

I wanted to pick the baby up, and it seemed he wanted to be held by how he looked at her. Mind you, I could never let my babies cry. For me, a crying baby is trying to communicate something, and I believed it was my role as a mother to figure out the message and respond. At one point, the mother left her baby in the stroller with her daughter to watch over while she raced to get something around the corner of the busy grocery store. The daughter shook the stroller as her mother showed her, but the baby wailed even louder.

The second the mother left, several other women instantly gathered around. Some cooed, others touched the baby's feet, and others made playful faces, each offering a moment of motherly love, tenderness, and a way to settle the baby. I grabbed my camera because it struck me how I wasn't the only one wanting to help. I dared not go over as the other women did because the "Cautious Me" thought it wasn't my place, the baby wasn't my baby, that the mother wasn't doing anything wrong, and that the baby wanted to be held, but I could not pick up the baby. I was relieved when the other women gathered around, offering what they could; their caring made me smile at humanity. It showed me that my feelings were shared and that even if the "Cautious-Me" could not make a move, they did. Their tender giving was loving-kindness.  

When the mother returned, the other women smiled, stepped aside, and reassured her that they could understand how it felt to be a mother with a crying baby in a grocery store. The mother seemed to melt from their understanding; her tense shoulders lowered, and she took the baby out of the stroller and held him close; she rocked him while the other women smiled, talked, and continued cooing. 

A sweeter moment than the melon I was buying for lunch.

It made the expression, "It takes a village," come alive.