Le Bricabrack

Cindy and I joined Hannah’s parents for a trip through the countryside, with the purpose of browsing through a couple of the French flea markets. We followed their car as they meandered through the towns, it felt as though we were following someone to their hidden bat cave or moonshine still. There was probably little chance we could have found it ourselves the next week, also the thing is in a different town every week.
Once in the initial French bazaar, we walked the circuit of stalls. The difference between a flea market in the States and in France, is the one in France had a lot more older stuff. The adage that one mans/woman’s trash is another mans/woman’s treasure was illustrated today. If we had a house over here, we would have needed to buy a trailer, because I felt as though there were tons of things that struck my fancy. I have no idea where someone’s fancy is located, but I know mine was struck quite a few times. The need to sift through the needless stuff, to pan out the occasional gold nuggets, would require a jewelers eye. Luckily we were being shown the ropes by our good experienced friends, I would point something out that struck my you know what, and our guides would glance at it and advise. Usually they would give a history of that type of a piece, and tell me the market value, most often it would be the price quoted, and they would walk to the next stall, kindly implying save your money for something that’s a more desirable deal. We finished the first flea market and drove together to the next flea market, we were in the right town, but not having any luck finding this weeks location, and I spotted this mid-80’s Peugeot 505 turbo that had been at the first flea market, and suggested we follow it to the next flea market. So we followed it down a half dozen streets, and started feeling a bit stalker-ish, and started wondering if this guy knew we were following him. Well after ten minutes of winding our way down various streets the guy pulls into his driveway, and we continue on past him as though we had business in this residential community, and hoped he wasn’t a drug courier with a bad temper, a hangover, and a full Glock 9mm.
That seemed to reset our internal compass, and after a couple moments asked at a local Tabac , eh Voila! When Hannah’s dad returned we made our way, armed with Le directione’s.
We enjoyed the second market more than the first, and my fancy was getting quite the work out. So hoping kids aren’t reading this. There were some beautiful old plates, bowls, and silverware sets; all antiques. Even got a history on the mending of old broken ornamental bowl, serving plates, that were mended a hundred years ago. Seems this traveling metal smith would go from town to town and the residents would bring out their nice plates that may have broken, and this gentleman would piece them back together with these malleable staple devices, which was usually the sign of an important plate, or ye olde pissed parents who wanted to teach their ye spoiled clumsy kids a lesson.