The Art of Wandering: Parisian flea markets, Saint-Ouen.

In my search for adventure on the streets of Paris, few things have felt quite as enchanting as the idea of uncovering little treasures tucked among the weekend antique markets. There's something irresistibly romantic about strolling past stalls overflowing with forgotten trinkets, timeworn furniture, and souvenirs waiting to find a new home.

During my second week here, I set off to explore the famous Saint-Ouen Flea Markets, a 40-minute metro ride from where I’m staying. As it turned out, I accidentally wandered into a more upscale antique market across the road from my intended destination. While not the spot I was aiming for, it was a beautiful detour. Elegant antique furniture, ornate frames, rustic pottery, and charming knick-knacks filled the stall spaces, all of it sadly out of my price range, but still a delight to admire.

Antiques have always held a special place in my heart. Even when they don’t directly connect to your own story, they carry with them the weight of other lives. You can almost feel the presence of the hands that crafted them, the homes they’ve lived in, the everyday moments they were part of. There’s something deeply moving about that.

Eventually, I crossed the road and found what had drawn me here in the first place: Les Puces de Saint-Ouen. These sprawling markets are often described as the largest flea market in the world. They’re a maze of narrow lanes and hidden corners, made up of over a dozen smaller markets, each with its own personality. From mid-century furniture, faded photos and postcards to glittering chandeliers, worn leather jackets, and rare vinyl, it’s a place where history, artistry, and curiosity collide. Walking through feels like diving into a living museum where every object tells a story.

Despite spending several hours there, I only scratched the surface. In the part I did explore, the ground floor was filled with antique furniture, strange anthropology specimens, and odd curiosities. Upstairs, I found racks upon racks of vintage clothing, jackets, shirts, trousers, each one whispering a different decade. And then, my favourite corner of all: shop after shop of vintage vinyl. Any genre you could imagine, tucked into boxes waiting to be thumbed through. It felt endless.

Watching others in their own treasure hunts was a joy in itself. It really feels like we’re in a kind of renaissance right now, where everything old is new again. There's something beautiful in the hunt: that quiet thrill of searching without quite knowing what you're looking for, but trusting that when you find it, you’ll know.

That's all for this one! Stay tuned for my next post, Ferrandi Diary: week 3, entremets and petits gâteaux. More Parisian adventures to come!

Until next time, from Willoh.