Sorry, folks, no pictures. I actually did have my camera that day, but this is the last place you want to stand out as a tourist.
I love junk. Anything that can call itself vintage, second-hand, or just plain old, has a place in my heart and, often, in my closet. But the whole first part of this walk takes you through, not a flea market, but a vendor-lined avenue with aggressive salespeople who love to hear English coming their way. My roommate ran into some problems and we kept our visit pretty short. But I'd love to go back, maybe next time with a thicker French accent, because these are just a few of the things that I saw: a shag-carpet-covered easy chair, garden statues that looked like they'd been stolen straight from the Louvre, a twice-life-sized painted wood cutout of Marilyn Monroe's famous white dress shot, a store filled entirely with old cartoon paraphernalia (think Mickey Mouse as Steamboat Willie). I love France's fascination with the old, and their unwillingness to part from the past. It's comforting, in a way, to think that the things that are valuable to me, that I treasure, may be loved again, generations from now, by some young girl with the same penchant for bargain-hunting.