Paris bulletin 9 2008

Le marché de l'olive is our local market, behind the cross-roads of the rue Marx Dormoy and rue Ordener. It's one of the old Paris markets and has its home inside an iron-framed building which must date from early in the last century if not before. At present that is closed however and renovations are underway which will take all of this year. The stall-holders have been accommodated under canvas on the nearby place, where the manège (roundabout) was but isn't any more.

Like everyone else I have 'my' stalls. I buy my fruit and veg from an elderly Thai couple, my ham and saussiçons secs from a Portuguese couple, my épicerie fine from a Belgian woman with purple and pink streaks in her hair, my cheese and fresh pasta from a French family who hail from Normandy, and my fish from a man and his son who go over to Brittany to collect their catch. I was buying my meat from a butcher in the second row of stalls. However since I've heard he's a le Pen supporter I've given up on red meat altogether.

Today I thought I didn't have a lot to buy but there were the gariguette strawberries and the asparagus, white and green, and a mountain of muscat grapes which must be the most exquisitely grapey of all grapes... Then I went round to the Portuguese stall, supposedly to buy just two slices of their excellent jambon. But saw their pastèques, those luscious little flans and I thought I should buy a couple of those keep them in the fridge to take to two of the people I know who love them. And one for me too, because I love them as well. And la jeune Portugaise, I wish I knew her name, said 'Try a piece of this sausage. I've not been able to get it for a year and it's quite delicious.' Which it was, so I bought one of those as well. 'Elle est très persuasive, votre femme.' I said to the man.

'Oui et en plus elle triche,' dit-il, 'elle offre des bouts comme ça aux gens. Ils n’arrivent pas à dire non après ça!' (Yes, she cheats too - she gives her customers a bit to try and they can't say no after that.')

'C'est pas de la tricherie,' lui-dis-je,' C'est comme ça qu'on se fait des clients fidèles.' (that's not cheating', I say, 'that's how you build up a loyal clientele')

Then across to the fishmonger. I buy a big lump of cabillaud (cod), from him and as he's putting it in the bag he seizes a clump of parsley, without my asking him, and stuffs it in too.

'Voilà des fleurs pour madame,' he says. (some flowers for madame')

'Merci - c'est parce qu'il fait beau n'est-ce pas?' I reply. (thank you. It's because the sun's shining isn't it?')

'Oui, he says with a grin, ‘Mais aussi parce que vous avez un très joli sourire.' (Yes but also because you have a very nice smile.')

I can't remember the last time I got chatted up by my fishmonger.

I walk back in the sun. Turks, Algerians, Maghrebins, Malis, Senegalese, Chinese, Portuguese.... What an extraordinary melting pot the eighteenth arrondissement is. Décidement, j'aime mon quartier.