The Sunday market saga

Hi! Sorry I've been gone for awhile. I didn't feel like I had that many interesting things to report, and last week was not all rosy; more like one of those scam roses from the vendors lurking outside bars, hoping someone will be drunk enough to pay 6 euros for one.

Here's a small list of things I did this week, if you're short on time:

1. first exam in French. (went fine)
2. ordered first döner kebab in Paris
3. went out to a jazz club! (Unfortunately a French dude twirled me so hard that all of my belongings fell out of my bag and I lost my housekey)
4. First thrift store! Found one cool jacket.
5. class trip to ritzy shopping district. not my cup of tea, but fun history facts were included
6. first real market trip (today). easily the highlight of my week

Jazz club: an absolute blast. We packed into a small basement and met lots of French people. The musicians were Dutch and did a tribute to Louis Prima. The energy was immaculate and I even got Kevin (a self-professed disliker of jazz) to dance. Only downside was we had to wait 40 minutes in line and buy a shot at a nearby bar to use their bathroom. After a delicious trip to the gyros joint, we were accosted by a group of French guys, one of whom offered to buy me a taxi home in exchange for my number and address. I hastily declined and hailed us a taxi myself, like my mother taught me.

Onto the highlight: le Marche!

At ten, Kevin woke us up bright and early for a hangover breakfast/market trip. Our first spot was a pho joint, and the walk there took us all through the 13th arrondissement, also called the Chinese quarter or "Quartier Chinoise". The regular beef pho was delicious but Kevin, ever the Vietnamese chef, ordered one of the strongest tasting seafood soups I've ever tried. Needless to say we took most of that to go.

The market was bustling and full of activity. The majority of the produce vendors were middle eastern and called out to customers at megaphone volumes, sometimes adding a musical touch that resembled a mosque's call to prayer. One vendor offered us free oranges and was very interested in hearing us speak English. He said he was a lawyer from Egypt, saving up to get his qualifications to practice in France. He gave us his business card and proclaimed "we are friends now!" It was very sweet.

The market has everything that you could possibly want. Most of the pictures speak for themselves, but the market alone spanned two and a half blocks. Next to lush piles of meat, fish, and produce there were vendors hawking kitchen utensils, African fabric, bags of Doritos, fake watches/perfumes/bags, clothing, bedsheets, blankets, slippers, German candy, makeup, laundry detergent, and mechanical toys. The selection was overwhelming but always reasonably priced. Markets are a great place to experience the spectrum of the immigrant population in Paris. It's also an experience to communicate in French when both parties speak it as a second (or third or fourth) language. But where language fails, the pointing gesture always prevails.

After a long market adventure, we sat down in a tiny, cramped café hoping to order Vietnamese coffee. Kevin has the distinct advantage of speaking Vietnamese to compensate for both our inability to speak French. But as it turns out, we were not permitted to order coffee and dessert without ordering food first. This is an odd and distinctly French policy. We decided to leave, which an older Vietnamese employee took great offense to. Kevin explained the situation, to which she responded (in Vietnamese) "If you want coffee then go to a f*cking coffeeshop." Quality customer service at its finest.

We went home. I took a nap. It was a good Sunday, all in all.Read more