Brocantes and Braderies

    

     The first banner went up across the brick wall above the letters of the Pharmacie St. Laurent about two weeks ago. It read Brocante ce Dimanche! It's an unusual sight in Grenoble to see a vinyl banner strung across a street or attached to a building because les panneaux are more often slathered directly onto a wall in the form of une affiche or are displayed "officially" in a protected case around the tram and bus stops. I’m well acquainted with flea markets, but when I first saw the sign, my interest was piqued. I wondered how different a French flea market would be from its American counterpart.

     My early experiences in the world of previously owned treasures began at the Englishtown, NJ, flea market when I was a teenager amazed at the "antiques" for sale and amused at the bargaining that ensued over what seemed like junk to me. As I "matured" over the years, the Raleigh (NC) Flea Market opened my eyes to the possibility of finding the perfect tchotchkes that would be ideal for chez nous. My more recent trips for a look-see at my local Goodwill shop in support for a good cause were the precursors to this present French adventure I was contemplating. So when I continued to see the brocante banners on a daily basis, I decided that they couldn’t be ignored and that I could not miss out on a French yard sale fix.

     The Isère River right bank is home to the Italian section of Grenoble*, and the brocantes are held the second Sundays of March, June, October, and December. (Mark your calendars.) Even though France is essentially a secular country, those four brocantes do not start until after everyone has had a chance to get home de l'église at one o'clock. On a walk past this section on our way to a hike up to the Bastille, we had seen that preparations were underway for the brocante the next day. All along the rue, there were signs alerting drivers that there would be no on-street parking on Sunday due to the brocante, and beaucoup de people were "thrilled" because parking is already at a premium in this town.

I wonder if she was looking for a horse or a motorcycle.

     On that Sunday after enjoying a fresh morning baguette (I do like to rub it in), we headed down to the brocante. The usual folding tables seen at flea markets were set up, and some brightly colored umbrellas dotted the scene to protect against rain rather than sun. We started at the beginning of the brocante at the far end of Quai Perrière and became immersed in the vintage feel of the market. Old china, books, jewelry, and antique oddities were artfully placed on tables and displayed on le trottoir. I fingered some old lace and turned a few pieces of the china upside down to see their marks and prices. Some ancient Grenoble postcards filled old shoe boxes and were selling for €1 apiece. Wandering aimlessly along the tables, I had to remind myself that I was becoming distracted from what we had established as our target purchase--a ceramic casserole dish with a cover that was microwaveable. Then it dawned on me. The fine poterie that I was seeing was probably made in the 19th or 20th centuries; I couldn't use it in the microwave. It was not only elaborately embellished with silver and gold edging, but it probably also carried the hazards of lead paint. I've never had to consider these issues before. The dishes were beautiful to look at, but I decided that I had better continue to search in some local stores that offer contemporary cookware and to leave these objets anciens to those who can appreciate, use, and afford them.

Antiques Quarter Brocante

      Beginning at the unusually early hour of nine o'clock this past Sunday, the streets in the antiques quarter where we live were filled with yet another brocante, and down some nearby streets, there was a braderie going on. We opened the balcony doors from our apartment and looked down upon the antique dealers setting up their wares below. In a matter of a half hour, the street was abuzz with folks strolling down the rue and bargaining for old phonograph records and books. We decided to once more set out on our quest for the French equivalent of a Corning Ware casserole dish, but alas, as before, we were out of luck.

      The braderie section that was tagged on to the brocante was set up closer to center ville away from our antiquities area. Some of the shops that are normally closed on Sundays were taking advantage of the foot traffic and had opened exceptionally and were selling some of their store inventory at reduced prices on tables in front of their stores. I did pick up a French cookbook in front of the Decitre bookshop. It should provide hours of culinary entertainment as I painfully translate and decipher the recipes in the hope of making something edible for dinner. Didn't Julia Child start out this way when she lived in France and attended Le Cordon Bleu?

     As we were returning to our apartment, I spotted some of the same stuff that I had eyed the week before at the St. Laurent brocante. That's when I realized that these sellers were no ordinary local residents cleaning out their greniers (attics) and caves (cellars); instead, these are true entrepreneurs caravanning around France (and maybe Italy) hawking their wares to the highest unsuspecting bidder. Now, if only they would stock some microwaveable covered bowls with lead-free paint, they’d definitely make a sale.

Brocantes are hard work!

Et voilà :  
brocantes: upscale flea markets

braderies: clearance sales
les panneaux: the signs
une affiche: a poster
tchotckes: knickknacks
de l'église: from church
chez nous: at our house
le trottoir: the sidewalk
poterie: pottery
objets anciens: old objects

*    On a walk down rue St. Laurent, I counted over 40 Italian restaurants and pizzerias in the space of three city blocks. I call this section of Grenoble, "Petite Italie." Wonder if there are any financial connections between these restaurants and Sicily.

Feel free to visit my first blog called walshesingrenoble.wordpress.com

La Rentrée

La Rentrée: Back-to-school, the return

7 octobre 2012
Grenoble, France

Chères amies et chers amis,

I have to confess that as a child I always secretly welcomed September and the beginning of school. By August, I was tired of  the steamy, lazy days with the occasional trips to the library and the hot summer nights in my attic bedroom (sans air-conditioning). Outwardly, I went along with my friends who despaired of the passing of the summer and the approach of the school year. But in fact, by the time it finally rolled around, I think we were all  ready to go back. For me the coming of Labor Day and the start of a new school year meant reentry into the social and academic world that I loved along with the return of reasonably comfortable temperatures.  I longed for la rentrée, even if I didn't know the French word for it back then.

But rentrées are not only for school children; Steve and I have had several rentrées in recent years. In August 2011, we returned to our home in North Carolina from a sabbatical year in Grenoble, France, that had begun in July 2010. This September, we decided to again return to Grenoble when he was offered a job here. Et voilà, nous sommes ici!

If you were kind enough to read my blog, A Year in Grenoble, where I chronicled our previous experiences in Europe, you might remember that we had a severe learning curve while acclimating to our new French life. This time around things are a bit different--not that we aren't still learning. With the help of our dear Grenoble friends, we are settling into a life très familier. Touching back down is different; we're not the same people we were when we left France. And, with no definite date at this time for returning to America, we have a different perspective on the experiences we want to have while we are here, as we don't feel the urgency of packing in a lifetime of experiences into one year.

Nous nous sommes installés on a street that was created in the 1790s in les Quartier des Antiquaires, a district full of antique shops, art framing galleries, and book shops. (My pocketbook doesn't allow any real shopping here. Instead, je léche les vitrines je fais du lèche-vitrines* (I lick the windows = I go window-shopping). Nearby is the Laiterie Bayard, a fromagerie with its original 1920s decor and wonderful cheese choices. Our apartment has high ceilings and a beautiful wood hache floor named after the master wood marquetry craftsman Jean-François Hache (1730-1796), who is remembered with an adjacent street that bears his name. I can't confirm that Monsieur Hache actually installed our floor himself, but some friends have romantically suggested it. The building in which we live is sans ascenseur, which is understandable since it was built around the end of the 18th century. I remind myself that climbing the wide stone stairs is the best thing for my thighs, although I have a hard time convincing myself of that when I am carrying bags of groceries up the 80+ steps to our apartment. 

Hache wood floor

I will close now as l'école près d'ici (the school close to here) has let out, and I hear the children laughing and calling to each other (in near-perfect French--imagine that!) as they pass under my open porte-fenêtre on their way home from a long day at school. I think they are happier about the end of this school day than about la rentrée.
  
"I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself." (Maya Angelou)

Bisous,
Maureen


Chères amies et chers amis: Dear friends (f.) and dear friends (m.) 
nouvelle rentrée: a new return
nous sommes ici: we are here
Nous nous sommes installés:  We are settled
fromagerie: cheese shop (that's an understatement!)
sans ascenseur: no elevator 
porte-fenêtre: French door

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*je fais du lèche-vitrines--Merci beaucoup à Bernard pour la correction.

The Belledone Mountains after the first snow--September 2012