I didn’t really believe them when they said that Paris is a
ghost town in August. I couldn’t imagine that a whole town would shut down. (I guess I didn’t notice last year.) Well,
it’s true. These French take their August holiday seriously. Paris is
officially closed. Shops are shuttered, restaurants are “fermé” and literally no
one is working. It’s what my husband loves about France and it’s exactly what I
hate about it. I’m not used to this. I realized that starting in the seventh
grade when I moved from Missouri I have lived in “resort towns.” Newport Beach,
Laguna Beach, Malibu, Aspen and Santa Barbara. These towns never close and in
fact they are at their peak in summertime! These towns are open and ready for
business. There is a running joke in Santa Barbara that when people ask the
locals where they go for vacation, the answer is usually, “Here.” I’m pretty
sure this is where the word “staycation” originated. Not Paris though. During
the month of August, Parisians hightail it out of town. If you want anything in
Paris in August, you’re not going to get it. I went to five florist last week
to get flowers and every single one of them was closed. I have just resigned to
the fact that I will not have flowers in August not to mention roasted chicken,
cheese or chocolates… Everything that makes Paris (and my life) great. I will take out my
frustration on everyone who lives and works for me. Sorry, such is life and
such is August in Paris.
My husband sensed that I needed to get out of here (before I verbally abused everyone in my wake) so he generously offered to take me and my entourage (caregivers) on a little road trip. Luckily for me, his work in Paris has come to a complete stop the first three weeks of August. This has never happened so I decided that if we had a few days free, then I was definitely going to milk it. But what to do? I decided that I would take this opportunity to do something that was nearly impossible because it usually occurs on a weekday when my husband is working. Not this week!
My husband sensed that I needed to get out of here (before I verbally abused everyone in my wake) so he generously offered to take me and my entourage (caregivers) on a little road trip. Luckily for me, his work in Paris has come to a complete stop the first three weeks of August. This has never happened so I decided that if we had a few days free, then I was definitely going to milk it. But what to do? I decided that I would take this opportunity to do something that was nearly impossible because it usually occurs on a weekday when my husband is working. Not this week!
Through friends and a few secret sources, I discovered where all of the flea market vendors go to source their antiques. What this means is that I just learned how/where to cut out the middleman. Music to my ears and budget! Why didn’t anyone ever tell me about this before? I quickly learned why… It is not for the casual shopper, unprofessional or the faint of heart.
Every month around Europe, there is something called “deballage” where all of the professional antique dealers convene to shop for their stores, websites, customers, private clients, even themselves. You have to be a certified professional, have the proper paperwork, the moolah and means to transport. That’s just the beginning. You also have to know how to shop, make quick decisions, know the value of pieces, move fast and trust your instincts. So this, my friends, is how I chose to vacation in France this year.
Considering that the deballage was two hours outside of
Paris and started at exactly 8 AM, we decided that we would drive a day early,
check into a hotel and get to the show on time the next morning. Considering I
don’t do anything normal or ugly, there was no way I was going to spend my
evening in a highway roadside hotel. If you take the time, the energy and a
little teeny bit more money there is always someplace charming to stay in
France. I did a little research and discovered a little B&B that is an 18th-century
manor house just 15 minutes from the deballage and honestly, just a smidge more
expensive than a budget hotel but a crap load more charming. Domaine de Chatenay.
Long tree-lined driveway, centuries-old house, peaceful pooches asleep on the
porch, old terra-cotta floors, tall French windows, heirloom furniture,
old-school wallpaper, fresh flowers, beautiful antiques, endearing host… As
charming as charming can get. Take a look…
Hotel entry
Antique terracotta floors
Antique floral faience on the dining room walls
Antique heirloom tapestry
We asked the proprietor of the hotel if there was anywhere semi-nearby that would be fun to visit. He gave us a list and boy was he right. We drove through a few villages and our entire car was silent in awe of the scenery except for the loudmouth American (me) in the backseat looking out the window and yelling, “Oh my God, it’s so beautiful” at every turn. You wouldn’t blame me, take a look…
Cathedral detail
Town vegetable market
Village maison
This little cutie is what holds back exterior shutters!
Village chapel
Mayor's house
Coming back to the hotel at about 10 PM, we had a lovely chat and a refreshing summertime gin and tonic with the owner of the hotel in the salon. He told us all about the history of the house that had been in his family for over 100 years and previous to that he explained that there had been two other houses on the same property in the 16th and 17th century. I could have talked to him all night but I knew that I needed to get some rest to prepare for the next morning’s adventures.
Waking at 6 AM, getting dressed and having a typical French
breakfast of café au lait, buttery croissants, country ham and local cheese in
the beautiful breakfast room of the hotel, we were ready to attack the day. I
asked my husband if he would just pop into the kitchen to check it out because
I was sure it was that perfect country French kitchen. He refused and said that
would be rude. Don’t you hate when your husband doesn’t do as you say/command?
Getting to the event, I looked around the parking lot at
the antique dealers ready to ascend on the show and I smiled and thought, “These
are my people.” These are the people who rise at the crack of dawn, cash in
hand waiting to be spent, ready to buy furniture. It’s a particular group to be
sure. Not a moment sooner, the doors open at 8 AM and it’s party time. Move,
move, move, fast fast fast, make a decision, pay, move on. You have to know
your shit at these places. It’s no time to ponder, overthink or wonder if a
piece will work or not. You need to already know and that requires years of
experience. I didn’t realize it until this day that everything that I’ve ever
studied, researched, thought about, and appreciated led up to this point. There
is a certain type of gilt that I’m looking for that reflects the era that I
like… Mostly 18th and 17th century. I am borderline on 19th
century gilt. There is a difference of woods… I like French oak but only if it
has a certain look. Wormholes are your friends but not too much. There’s a
difference between good bronze and cheesy bronze. There is a difference between
Japanese and Chinese lacquer. I don’t do cherubs. I am very specific about paintings.
I like a piece to have a purpose in a home even if that purpose is to be purely
decorative. And it’s got to be the right price, easy to ship, and have a
certain “wow factor.” All of this goes through my mind within seconds at every
booth. 90%, I don’t like. That 10%? Golden. I purchased 12 items for the shop
for September’s sale and I could not have been more excited.
The whole experience was a rush and a thrill and I needed a
three hour nap and a hot tea (I lost my voice for about an hour) to recuperate.
No such luck. On our way home back to Paris after the deballage, my husband
suggested we take a slight detour through the Loire Valley. As tired as I was,
when someone offers to drive you through the Loire Valley of France to go to a
castle that was built for a king, you don’t say no, even if you have ALS. So off
we went to Château d'Amboise. I will be forever grateful that I was lucky enough
and had enough strength to see Henry II’s bedroom chamber and be inches away
from Leonardo da Vinci’s final resting place in the chapel of the Château
because this wasn’t your ordinary detour off the freeway, right?
Henry II bedroom window detail. Money bags!
So that was our two day summer adventure. Driving through
the French countryside is an absolute treat… Golden wheat fields, pastoral
scene of cows napping near still ponds under the shade of a tree, sunflowers as
far your eye can see, quaint restaurants serving country fare, van Gogh blue
skies, medieval castles perched on hills, stone cottages quietly resting near
babbling brooks, historical churches in every village and not a Taco Bell in sight
(unfortunately)… A wonderful escape from the hustle and bustle of Paris. Now I
see why the French take their holidays so seriously. A much-needed break to
unwind and respect the “downtime” is a good idea… Even if I can’t get flowers
in Paris in August.
Stay tuned for my next Summer Series. Hint: “You say
tomato, I say toe-mah-toe..."
