This morning I went to a place that must be absolutely unique. It is a street that parallels the Paris wall just outside the gates. Every Sunday it becomes a market place about a half mile long. The whole length of both sides of the narrow street in one series of carts, stands and tarpaulins. It’s the queerest collection of stuff in the world. Shoes; little bits of lace, cloth, carpet; old bric-a-brac; a cracked clock-face; burnt out electric bulbs; pieces of broken, rusty iron; a thousand things that seem useless, but that these thrifty Frogs buy and patch up. Every hundred yards or so is a stand where an old woman fries potatoes – right out in the street. For 10 cents you get a paper full – real hot French-fried, and you walk down this street, not overlooking a thing, going over there to see that magneto and coming back to this side again in order not to miss the old daguerreotype of a French family. Put this place down on your list of things to visit.
Next post November 25
Letters from Sidney Friend During The Great War 