Market Day

Yesterday was market day for us (and a cemetery, but I'll get to that later). Another amazing thing about this city is that farmer's markets happen every day in different neighbourhoods, and it's been going on for centuries. There's nothing better for a cook than to shop for fresh ingredients and buy directly from the person who grew them. At least that's what Joe tells me. I wouldn't know a blessed thing about it.

We went to the market on Boulevard Grenelle which is held under the train tracks every Sunday morning. Joe bought a roasted chicken from a cheeky vendor who barked, "C'est gros et c'est chaud!" (It's big and it's hot!); some fruit and vegetables (you tell the seller what you'd like and he picks it out for you); some sea salt; a baguette; and some cheese. Now that is what I call a meal!

The next two markets were Les Marche aux Puces. The Flea Markets. Now that is MY territory! Joe may know food, but I know junk! Each time we've been in Paris, I have bought an old street number plate at a Marche aux Puces. I guess 2 constitutes a collection because now I'm on the hunt for number three. Sadly I came up empty-handed. I'll have to go to the huge flea market next weekend to see if I can score another street sign.

Since we were already in the neighbourhood, we decided to pay a visit to the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. We were last there in 2006 when we paid our respects to Oscar Wilde. Wilde's tomb was COVERED in eleventy-million lipstick kisses from ardent admirers. Notes, candles and bouquets were left at its base. It seemed as if he died yesterday, not over 100 years ago.

Anyhoo. When I wrote about this experience in 2006, my friend Robin said at the time, "Oh please tell me you kissed his tomb." I stopped short. I didn't even THINK to do this! Sheesh! And I call myself a fan.

So armed with a tube of lipstick, Joe and I wound our way throughout the graves and tombs of Pere Lachaise until we came to Oscar. There were lots of people milling about so I felt kinda awkward about applying the lipstick and then kissing the tomb in front of strangers. Especially when there was a little sign on the bottom of the grave saying 'please do not desecrate'. Well, heck, it's been kissed on for decades now and Joe was not about to be deterred by some measly little sign. Besides, it was in French and we would plead ignorant if caught. And he wasn't going to allow a few onlookers get in the way of us doing what we came to the cemetery to do.

I kissed the tomb first and Joe took a picture. Then Joe puckered up and I smeared on some lipstick (I got a funny photo of that) and he gave the tomb a smooch. We laughed ourselves silly all the way home. So, thank you Robin, for the prompt. Photos to follow soon on facebook folks.

Later last night, we went for an after-supper stroll around the block. You know you're in a special place when a walk through the neighbourhood takes you past the Musee D'Orsay, across the Seine, along the Louvre, through the Tuileries Gardens, back over the river, and then home.