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Travel Piece  by Ida Nasatir

Letter from Paris,  by Ida Nasatir, January 5, 1951

January 5, 1951—Ida Nasatir, "A Letter from Paris," Southwestern Jewish Press, page 3:  Dear Julia and Mac: There is a wedding scheduled this Sunday afternoon to be held at the elaborate Rotschild Temple. It is a swanky affair of the French. French Jews meaning both families have been here for some long time. All the Jewish "400" will turn out, and since friends of the bride's friends asked us to see the spectacle, we will make the 402.  By way of contrast (the wedding is in the afternoon) I was off to the Flea Market this morning. I discovered some beautiful "antiques" there. Among pure useless junk, there are whole blocks were you can find exquisite things.  I was there some ten days ago, and bought what I thought was a beautiful, small "Sevres" dish. The man who sold it to me for 3000 francs, swore by the sacred bones of Joan of Arc that it was once used by Louis 14th himself. I being the most gullible creature imaginable, bought it. He wrapped it in newspaper older and mustier than the object and happily I made my way home. When I took it out to show Abe my "great bargain" was my face red when I saw that the darn thing was broken right in half. It may have been jarred in the crowded bus, or it may have been that Louis 15th used it too well and not wisely.  Anyway, even if I never bring any of these things "back alive," its great fun to go, and greater fun to watch the different types of people who gather there. What is really of interest in a city or nation is not that which it has in common with other cities, but that which is unique in it, the equivalent of which you will search in vain elsewhere. And unique indeed is this Flea market. Where else would you find a Turkish Pasha looking for 18th century objects of art? Where else would find well dressed American women gingerly picking up "umbrellas" which are only skeletons, having long ago lost their protective covering, but are attractive because of their clausinee handles I asked one woman what on earth she would ever do with one, and she said there was a place on the Left bank which fixed them up "like brand new." I wonder.  The poor French people gleefully buy second hand underwear and "reclaimed" raincoats. They must not mind the jolly fat fleas which have comfortably lived in these "bargains" for a long time. Bronze pots and pans, coffee filters, fleece-lined gloves, baby garments and "French sandwiches" (in case the purchaser gets hungry) are all to be had. The housewife finds whole stalls of raw, red meat and black radishes as well as long thin breads which look like misplaced walking canes. The constant bargaining and talking is at times deafening, but nobody seems to mind. Everyone is too busy "looking for things." There is the open air stall which features hand spun glass vases from Venice, another, Dresden objects from Germany, and from a third stall you see a French girl haggling over the price of "Breton lace" for her wedding veil. There isn't time to tell of the long-haired artists who display their original oils and "rare prints." Elmer Rice would have done well to have written: "Street Scenes at the Flea Market!"  Fondly, Ida.

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