Booksellers on the Seine (Post card version)

I love my collection of vintage Paris postcards.  I add to it every time I am in Paris, usually at lingering but somehow way-too-short trips to the Marché aux Timbres or the Marché aux Puces at Vanves.

This one, of a bouquiniste (book seller) on the banks of the Seine, appealed for a very specific reason:  I have a painting from almost the same vantage point.

Here is the post card:

And here is my painting, which I wrote about here.

Cool, oui?  I love how the shadow angles are the same.

Some collectors prize unblemished cartes postales, i.e.,  those which have no writing on them. Shame on me, maybe, but I love the post cards and greeting cards of yore with messages to friends, family, lovers, and -- in this case -- colleagues.  I get a glimpse of French life -- someone else's life --  in a brief message. (Or sometimes not so brief, but that's another story.)  Am I just a voyeur into others' past lives?  Oh well.

Here is the flip side:

Translated, it reads
"Best wishes to all the team.  Work,  work work. Fun, Fun fun!  Hi to everyone."

And the other cool thing that I discovered was that this company, Rhovyl, still exists in Tronville.  I wonder if anyone there remembers this co-worker.

I was trying to figure out the date of the post card, and so I hunted down the stamp.

Ah, it turns out it's not just any stamp.  This is none other than the Marianne Stamp designed by Jean Cocteau for La Poste in 1961.

 How cool is that? (Marianne, of course, is the symbol  of la République.  In the U.S. we have Uncle Sam, who is unfortunately kind of fixed in a goatee and hat.  Marianne is always evolving. One beauty after another.)

Le Crocodile in Paris

Paris vitrines (store windows) never fail to delight and inspire.
More often than not, they make me stop in my tracks. And snap photos if my camera is handy.

A few weeks ago I spotted this one, featuring crocodile or alligator leather goods, complete with deceased mascot.

Wow. Would such a window display ever exist in the US?, I wondered.

I was so awestruck I was at a loss for a caption for this photo.

But it clearly needs one, so I welcome your suggestions.

Bonjour Black

Seen on the streets of New York.  Is black the new black?

Post Cards from Paris: a Thought and a Kiss

Vintage post cards of Paris (or anywhere, for that matter) are delightful, and are easy and unique souvenirs to bring home.

This is a sweet one -- Une pensée de Paris, a play on words since pensée means both pansy and thought.  Say it with flowers:   Thinking of you from Paris.  With the requisite monuments, of course.

The correspondence on the reverse side of this post card was tame, a perfunctory "Tous mes remerciements, Joanne."  The card was addressed to Monsieur et Madame Giraud, 40 rue de la Station, Ermont, which is just north of Paris.  I did a little research:  here is rue de la Station at about that time.  Probably late 1800s.

It's innocent enough, tiptoeing into someone else's thank-you note.

It is another matter entirely to stumble upon an ancient post card containing a woman's bold and feverish declaration of love, which, I fear, may be unrequited. Reading a love letter meant for private eyes feels intrusive ... and yet it causes insatiable curiosity.

Un Baiser -- A Kiss.  The photo may be the woman herself. (To me it looks like a studio portrait turned into a carte postale.) What do you think?

The reverse:  no address.  I'm not sure how the post card was delivered, because it was stamped and metered on the photo side.  It was written probably about 1903.

The message?  I got so sad reading this.  (Translation at the bottom.)   The age old story.

Bien cher et tendre,
L’accueil que vous ferez à ma lettre me cause une inquiétude pénible. J’ai longtemps combattu avant de vous faire l’aveu de ma tendresse. J’ai vingt fois déchiré des lettres commencées enfin mon chéri mon cœur la emporte sur toutes mes craintes. C’est sans doute avoir de l’audace de vous faire un semblable aveu mais il est sincère et je n’exagère pas ma situation, si je vous dis que lorsque je vous ai vue[sic] la première fois j’ai senti un transport qui m’était inconnu. Je ne vous propose pas mon chéri de partager une affection passagère qui n’a rien de sincère ni de durable. Je désire m’unir a vous par les liens du mariage et tous mes vœux sont que.. liens nous unissent a jamais. J’espère que vous daignez répondre à mes sentiments. J’attends votre décision, je l’attends avec impatience et […] quelle ne soit pas désespérant. Je vous en supplie soyez sincère et franc n’ayez aucun détour, car voilà déjà de longs jours que je vous connais, vous avez du remarquer tout le bonheur que j’éprouve lorsque je suis près de vous. Je vous aime de toutes les forces de mon âme. O vous si charmant et si doux, auriez- vous la cruauté de repousser l’amour le plus vrai et le plus sincère. Si vous ne pouvez pas me donner des sentiments aussi affectueux que ceux que je me sens pour vous, laissez-moi au moins l’espérance un mot de grâce sinon, chéri dites-moi que je puis vous chérir et vous aimer. Veuillez agréer cher bien aime avec mon profond respect l’assurance de mon amitié et de mon dévouement. Votre amie qui vous aime. 28.16

Quickly translated:

"My tender darling,
Thinking about your potential reaction to this letter causes me painful worry.  I have been so anguished about expressing my feelings to you.  I have begun and then torn up letters to you twenty times, because, dear heart, therein lie my fears.  It is certainly bold to make such a pronouncement to you, but it is sincere and I am not exaggerating my current situation if I tell you that when I saw you the first time I felt transported in a way I'd never felt before.  I am not asking you to share with me a fleeting affection, which is neither sincere nor long-lasting.  I want to be united with you by the bonds of marriage and my only wishes are that we be united forever.  I hope that you will return the feelings.  I await your decision, I wait for it with impatience and [hope] that it will not be disappointing.  I beg of you, be sincere and honest, don't beat around the bush, because I have already known you for so many long days, and surely you must have noticed the joy that I experience when I am near you.  I love you with all the force of my soul.  O you so charming and so kind, would you be so cruel as to reject a love so sincere and so real?  If you cannot love me in the same way that I love you, please give me at least a kind word, dear one please tell me that at least I can love you and cherish you.

Please accept dear one with my profound respect the assurance of my friendship and my devotion.  Your friend who loves you."


Parting thoughts:

1.  What do you think the response was, if any?

2.  I am amazed that even love letters are closed with "Veuillez agreer....l'assurance de etc etc."  That formula is really, really ingrained in the culture!

3.  Was 28.16 a code name?

A lorgnette from Paris

My most chic acquisition during my Paris visit was a lorgnette.

Wandering the stalls of the Marche aux Puces at Vanves, I was enthralled at all the offerings but tiring of needing to take my reading glasses out of my purse every time I wanted to inspect an item. (I still refuse to put them on a chain around my neck.  I just can't.)

And then lo and behold, just what I didn't know I was looking for:  this vintage lorgnette! 10 euros is my kind of price.

I hadn't really ever seen anyone use a lorgnette in real life.  Perhaps in the comedy archives of my youth:  Marx Brothers' movies, or Saturday morning cartoons?

Surely I could create a new fashion statement for Boomers like me who have had it with peering through the glasses perched on the mid-bridge of the nose.

Besides, the totally cool part:  this lorgnette is compact.  It folds. I spent the rest of the morning inspecting objets through my new specs.

I suppose putting this on a pretty chain or lanyard wouldn't kill me.

Related post:  Men Seldom Make Passes.  I guess I do have a thing for folding eyeglasses.

French cafe furniture for all!

When the raindrops stop and there is time for meandering around Paris, life just doesn't get any better.  On boulevard Beaumarchais, I was heading over to a jewellery vente privee (trunk show) when I saw a store filled with French café chairs. Floor to ceiling, literally.

The art, as always in Paris, is to stop in your tracks, head in the door, and check it out.

So, of course I went in.  Of course I had to find out all about it.

I know many people who have longed to have French café-style chairs and tables on a patio, and I agree.  Not that I would want to re-create an entire Café de Flore chez moi (though that is possible), but just would enjoy adding a bit of panache, a little je ne sais quoi to a typical outdoor gathering space.

Well, Grock France is the place that supplies the furniture and furnishings to the cafés and restaurants of France.  The real deal!  There were chairs in every imaginable café style, color and chair weave.  Plus tables, menu holders, the whole shebang.  The genuine article.

I hope they deliver worldwide.

Do You Love Paris Street Signs?

Tell me.

Do you really love Paris street signs and French metal signs in general?

If you are like me and adore all of them -- not just the classic plaques émaillées with the street names, but also the house numbers, the Pietons signs, the Sens Interdit signs, well.  Have I got a treat for you.

On rue des Tournelles today I came across the Gallery Art Jingle and an exhibit of a fabulous artist, Fernando Costa, now know just as Costa.  If you haven't heard of him already (he is quite famous, at least in France), his medium is reclaimed metal, mostly signage.

All inspirational and on top of that, just perfect for any francophile.

To top it off, it turns out that he is also designing this year's Art Car for the 90th anniversary of the renowned Le Mans race, and the car will be unveiled tonight!

If all this creative art is too hi-falutin' for you, and if  you just want some street-sign memorabilia to take back home... well, let me see.  You can always, ummm, buy this men's shirt, seen shortly thereafter on rue de Turenne.

Old French post cards

A favorite Paris pastime is browsing through the Marché aux timbres on avenue Gabriel.  In my mind, it is one of the best shopping places for authentic bits of France that are almost impossible to find outside of the Hexagon -- at least in terms of selection.  And which you can take home without weighing down the luggage.

For about an hour I took shelter (kind of) from the dripping rain under a number of tents of stamp and postcard merchants.  If my nice leather flat shoes hadn't been soaked, I would have stayed longer.  Yes, some of us must suffer: caught in the Paris downpour!

This postcard, from around 1910, caught my eye:  a manif!  "Place de la Concorde (Manifestation)."  With the Eiffel Tower in the background.

There are so many comments and complaints from expats and tourists about "oh those @#%*& demonstrations in Paris."  And I share the frustrations.  Kind of.  Because, as this points out, really, they are just a part of Paris tradition.  Well before 1910.

As regular as rain.

But I have no idea what the manifestation was about.  Any ideas to help solve the mystery?

Brilliant French Eye Drops: les Gouttes Bleues

There can be many signs that it's time for a return trip to Paris.

(One of the most cruel is that some prankster recently signed me up for email alerts to Météo-France, so every morning my email inbox lets me know the Paris daily weather forecast.  It actually says "Vos prévisions météo aujourd'hui" which to me officially translates as "Time to pack for France!")

Image via Innoxa

Another sure-fire indication is when my stock of only-in-France beauty supplies is depleted.  Now, my last drop of Gouttes Bleues -- French blue eye drops by Innoxa -- is gone.  Time to make the plane reservations.  Pronto.

You've never heard of les gouttes bleues?  Do you think it sounds weird to put blue drops in your eyes?  Won't it tint your vision?

I learned of les gouttes bleues the way I learned about most treasured classic French beauty regimens -- by seeing them on a friend's bathroom shelf, and asking nosy questions.  Voila!   Another secret of French beauty unveiled.  And so subtle.

Unlike Visine or other products that get the red out, les gouttes bleues are designed to make the whites whiter, much in the same way that laundresses of yore used bluing to make white cottons brilliant and white. (Actually it turns out that you still can find old-fashioned laundry bluing.)

It isn't weird or unusual -- you just drop a few soothing drops in the corner of your eye as you would with any eye-drop, only make sure you have some Kleenex for dabbing at the spillover, which is decidedly blue-tint.  It doesn't affect vision.  But it does improve others' vision of you.  Le look.  Le regard.

And it's an all-natural classic, having been around since 1950.

Eyes look brilliant, brighter and whiter -- which is what we want for the firing up when they see the whites of your eyes.  N'est-ce pas?

Do you know about this magical French oil?

Second Avenue in New York City may not have the same panache as Madison Avenue, or even Lexington or Third, but it now forever holds a spot in my francophile heart.

Striding down the sidewalk the other day, I caught a glimpse of something so totally French in a storefront window that I stopped in my tracks and entered.  It was a hair salon, and they were selling Nuxe Huile Prodigeuse Or, a product I had never seen outside of France. 

It had been a staple in my batterie de maquillage in France. Tested chez des copines, forever enamoured of the little bottle of gold. A little on the cheekbones.  A little on the hair. A little mixed in with the body lotion for that overall glow.  My French friends all knew the subtle beauty secret.

I had assumed that I'd have to wait until my next trip to France to re-stock. (Because, in a moment of  extreme maternal generosity,  I had offered the rest of my precious bottle to Miss Bee, who loved the stuff SO much.)

But.... how could I have presumed that Nuxe Huile Prodigieuse Or was not available in the U.S.?  Silly me!  This is New York.  New York has everything.  

But the best part?  I entered the salon, Marianne Vera, a beehive of activity, and headed straight for the Huile Prodigeuse in the window display.  The owner approached me and didn't even attempt English.  "Bonjour, je suis Marianne, je peux vous aider?"

We started jabbering away in French, and I was happy to have a new acquaintance in the neighborhood who understood French beauty products (and maybe, eventually, my hair?).

"But... but...  how did you know to address me in French?" I asked, bewildered.  "This never happened to me in France! Despite my efforts, I am always pegged as an American."

"Simple," she replied.  "Only Parisiennes see it in the store window and stop to buy the product.  Les Americaines don't know what it is."

But now you do.

Let an unnamed Luxury Brand pay YOU!

Image via wikipedia

Attention all Paris denizens! An unnamed Luxury Vbrand wants your opinions and is willing to pay for them.

If you are in Paris between January 2nd and 11th and would like to express your opinions on an unnamed luxury brand Louis Vuitton, the marketing group Miratech is conducting a series of focus groups in which you can participate and get rewarded.

Contact the representative if you are interested.  Apparently for a one-hour interview/survey, located in the 10th arrondissement,  you will receive 80 euros' worth of gift cards redeemable at stores such a Decathlon, FNAC, Printemps, etc.

Of course from my point of view, the 80 euros is just frosting on the cake.  The bonus would be that I was actually in Paris at the time.  

Drat.  Next time.

Miratech's phone number is 01.53.34.65.59.

Post updated per Miratech's request.

TV5 Monde to the rescue...

Here on the island of Manhattan we are gearing up and battening down in anticipation of the arrival of Hurricane Sandy.  Who knows what the storm will bring -- will it be Frankenstorm, the epic storm for the history books?  Will it be just a lot of water from all angles? Will we lose power?

Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, I am delighting in a little gift-bag goodie I received two weeks ago at the annual meeting of the Federation of Alliances Francaises in the U.S.  A number of corporate sponsors had interesting (or frivolous) logo-stamped tchochkes.


But none were more timely or more potentially helpful right now than TV5 Monde's gift of a solar-powered phone charger.  It's warming up by the window.

I adore watching French TV in the US via TV5, and this is another reason to love the company.

Merci, TV5!

Garage sale find: Moulin des loups plate

Driving down a back road in Rhode Island last weekend, I spotted a neon-green poster, hand printed, which announced:  HUGE barn sale! 

What could I do but swerve and follow?

After finding the place, I wound my way to the back of the house to the ersatz barn/shed.  Blessedly, the sale had no contemporary knick-knacks: no legos or Candyland games, no outgrown plastic tricycles.   Just an authentic assortment of dusty treasures hauled out of the barn and spread out on planks and sagging wooden tables.  A vintage bicycle, with flat tires and rusted gears; several Flexible Flyer sleds, perfectly aged; old tools with a respectable patina of rust;  a collection of odometers from 1950's vehicles.  That sort of barn sale.  Heaven.

On the middle table, under a pile of tin items, I found this plate, caked in dirt.

"How much?" I asked the owner.

"What is that, Italian?" he asked.

"Nah, actually, I think it's French," I replied, with a forced (but hopefully convincing) note of disappointment in my bargaining voice.

"Okay, well how about a buck?"

I shrugged.  "Okay."

I poked around among the sundry ancient items some more before shelling over my dollah for this lovely bit of French faience.

I knew it wasn't a priceless gem, but somehow the design, as an old-fashioned French bit of tableware, appealed to me.  And the colors were so autumnal.

As with all random purchases like this, I get to wondering how it found its way from the Hamage Moulins des Loups Nord factory in France, where is was created, to this little hamlet near Newport, Rhode Island.  And where was the rest of the set?

Couldn't you write a novel just about the journey? 

I could.

Some day.

Classic French Corkscrew

The season of the vendange, the autumn grape harvest, is winding down in France.
Which reminds me.  Have you ever seen one of these?

Whenever visiting friends asked, "What totally-unique souvenir shall I take home from France?" I marched them right down to BHV.  To the beloved basement, warehouse of All Things French.  To stock up on these French corkscrews for their friends and family.

One reason?  This is literally a piece of France:  wood from old French vines transformed into a corkscrew, called a tire-bouchon cep de vigne:  literally vine-wood pull-cork.

Another reason:  each corkscrew is unique, for obvious reasons.  Created by artisans. 

One aspect of the appeal of the tire-bouchon cep de vigne is difficult to explain until you have one in your hands:  the heft of the thing feels right, and the curve of the vine in your hand makes you feel like opening a bottle of wine is a bit of a ceremony.

Which, of course is as it should be.

The Charm of Paris

Today I did something I've never done before.  I bought a charm for a charm bracelet.  Not just any charm, but a silver miniature Eiffel Tower.

I found it in a bowlful of charms for sale at an Upper East Side rummage sale, and it was perfect inspiration for a project that has long been on the back burner: to transform my childhood charm bracelet, and update it into a necklace.

When I was 12 or 13, my father gave me this sweet silver charm bracelet.

A horseshoe, for good luck, with my birthstone, a garnet, which has long been missing.  The great state of Tennessee, where I spent my early childhood.  A cruise ship, for the transatlantic trip our family took when I was five, ultimately arriving in Beirut to spend a year in Lebanon, where I learned my first French.  An airplane (don't you love the propellers?!) for all the shuttling back and forth between parents that made me an ace traveler at an early age.

This bracelet has been relegated to my keep-forever jewelry box, but never worn in many, many decades.  I don't really wear much silver jewelry, and noisy tinkling bracelets on my arm are so distracting.

BUT.  I've seen a few charm-bracelet necklaces with mixed gold and sterling charms and found them to be  ... charming!

So next all I need to do is to find a gold (fill?) chain like this at an appropriate length, and then add  meaningful charms as I find them.  I've already decided not to use any charms with enameled color, but to stick with gold and silver.

And now I have my Paris charm -- the Eiffel Tower.  Yes, a cliche, but so much more delicate than the Arc de Triomphe. Right?

What do you think?  Any advice?  I don't even know how to remove and add the charms.  I am a total novice in the jewelry-making hobby.

I need help for charm school!

Markets of Paris

There are SOO many guide books to Paris.  We've seen 'em all.  N'est-ce pas?

So when I picked up Markets of Paris, in my jaded I-already-know-Paris frame of mind, I didn't have great expectations.

Boy, was I wrong!  Capital-W wrong.

This is a gem of a guide to Paris.

First of all, it is organized in the way that any guide to Paris should be, which is by arrondissement.  Second, it is more than just a guide to the open air food markets in Paris, but rather includes all shopping centers that you could want to visit, from la Grande Epicerie to the Marché aux Timbres and exquisite covered marketplaces such as Galerie Vivienne, and all my other favorite passages couverts.


Oh, did I mention that it is a gem?

It's a gem!

For example, rather than try to have the book serve as a map, the authors recommend the best map book, Paris Pratique, to use in conjunction with the book.  So true!  I never have been able to properly navigate  Paris without a couple of handy guides:  one is never enough.  And, at about 6 by 6 inches, Markets of Paris is petite enough to carry in your bag, but chock-full of information to keep you busy reading while you wait for the RATP bus to take you to your next destination.  It's a big book in a little book's hide.  This and Paris Pratique are all you need.

The book has so much practical information, including even a list of "Helpful Books, Blogs, and Websites" to visit to enrich your Paris market experience -- all of which I heartily endorse.


From small organic food markets to popular flea markets, bargains to luxe, the markets  and material covered in this book make it a definite keeper.

I can't wait to return to Paris this summer and use it as my guide.

Bensimon Shoes!

Bensimon shoes, to me, have always been the quintessential French laid-back summertime shoe.

Pronounced benn-see-mohn, the canvas shoes with rubber soles have long been an understated favorite of the sporty summer crowds in all the right French vacation spots.

They have always been cool. A French friend once clad all the young children in her daughter's seaside wedding (NDLR: no frou-frou grown-up bridezilla bridesmaids at French weddings, just adorable little kids!) in sailor suits and shod them in Bensimons. Of course it was totally perfect and chic in the most Côté Ouest kind of way. Can you imagine an American wedding filled with kids wearing, essentially, sneakers? Not on your life! This was totally charming and comme il faut.

I got my first pair of Bensimons on a summer vacation in France, on Île de Ré. So practical for toodling around the village, going to the marché, and oh, if you get invited to go boating, you're all set for maneuvering nimbly on deck. Then I brought them back to the U.S., and they seemed.... too casual. Frumpy, almost. There was zero recognition of their coolness. To some they looked like old-lady slip-on sneakers. But like my love affair with espadrilles, I ignored the social sartorial stigma and wore them with pride, knowing that I was in the know (shoe-wise) an ocean away.

Back in Paris, I became smitten with the Bensimon boutique in the Marais. Everything about it shouted "Ahoy, monsieur! Take me sailing in Brittany!" Rugged canvas jackets, khaki rubber-soled shoes, all with such clean, spare lines, You could practically smell the briny Atlantic air.

Fast forward to 2011. If you haven't heard, Bensimons are HOT-HOT-HOT fashion items these days. Darlin' Miss Bee brought a pair of pink lace-up Bensimons home from her year in France, and has been proudly wearing them around town. She is such a fashion trend-setter that I knew she was on to something.

Then while perusing the stacks of celebrity magazines at my dentist's office waiting room today, I came across two separate articles touting the glories of Bensimons. Yes, they are the rage with Hollywood stars.

Zut. I always liked being in a small group of fashion insiders. No more.

The good news is that Bensimons are available on line in the US via Bensimonusa.com And shipping is free. The price is a little more than you'd pay in France; but, factoring in the cost of a plane ticket that you don't have to buy, well worth the price.

And don't go for cheap imitations. The Bensimon cognoscenti will know the difference.

image via bensimonusa.com

Murder in Paris: How About You?

Have you always longed for a sliver of immortality? Do you especially dream of that immortality intersecting with Paris? Well, here is your chance.

Acclaimed author Cara Black, of the Murder in Paris series, has generously offered to name a minor character in her next novel -- for a good cause! The French American International School in San Francisco will offer to the winning bidder at the school's annual fund-raising auction on May 7 the chance to be a minor character in Cara's next Paris-based novel. The kind of immortality that normally one just can't buy. Interested parties who can't attend the event can bid by proxy.

The juicy details: the character might be murdered or maimed, or might be the snitch or the all-seeing neighborhood boulanger or concierge. The only disclaimer is that the name needs to be French or willing to get Gallicized. "John" would become "Jean," for example. "Polly" would be.. hmm. Pauline? Poulette? I'm working on it.

The fame, fun, and glory?

Priceless.

To Laugh

I loved this witty display of antique advertising lettering at an antiquaire in l'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue. Fabulous antiques mecca in the south of France.

It successfully produced one of two desired effects: made me laugh.

Alas, didn't make me buy. Suitcase constraints.

Pauline's Breast at Odiot

For ultimate luxury shopping in Paris, nothing beats Odiot. Luxury in its finest sense, because there is nothing in Odiot that one needs. But perhaps -- oh yes indeed -- there are many, many items that one wants. Covets. All that glitters is gold, vermeil, and silver. [Image via Odiot.com]

Odiot. [oh-dee-oh]

Odiot.

For the uninitiated, let me just say that it is the highest of high-end orfèvrerie (goldsmith/silversmith) with an unparalleled Parisian pedigree.

For the cognoscenti, it is, of course, the home of “le sein de Pauline,” a.k.a. Pauline’s breast. Yes, chez Odiot you can purchase for your little coffee table a charming bibelot – a gold cup molded from the breast of Napoleon’s sister Pauline Borghese.

Her racy life story is more than I have space to indulge in here, so best to read a few links or buy the biography. (Now there’s a biopic waiting to be made!)

Sometimes the “sein de Pauline” is featured in Odiot’s glam-but-chicly-restrained store window. Other times you’ll simply have to stop in and ask to see it.

Spoiled moi, my first apartment in Paris was six storeys up on place de la Madeleine, whence I could gaze down on the Odiot shop window. And press my nose against the Odiot vitrine in a trance as I gawked at the shiny splendor inside. I had no choice but to pass by Odiot every time I left the apartment; and, trust me, I was never disappointed. Somehow there is something comforting in viewing sheer lavishness, just knowing that it exists because it is a fine art. And, curiously, the coveting diminishes as the appreciation increases. It was like walking past a museum display.

Ah, the days of my daily Odiot fix!

Do yourself a favor and stop by the storefront of Odiot for a great view of gilded Parisian splendor. Enter and look at the incredible offerings. But consider yourself forewarned! Odiot is powerfully appealing. You start nosing around for the least expensive item, just to be able to take something home. Like a breast of Pauline with a cute little butterfly.

Odiot

7, place de la Madeleine

75008 Paris