Michael and I were in Paris two weeks ago. The timing coincided with the publication of the new second edition of Markets of Paris. The morning we arrived, we had no sooner settled into the apartment where we were staying in the 7th arrondissement than we took a stroll to the nearby rue Cler market. Rounding the corner and seeing the Eiffel Tower seemingly levitating over the apartment buildings was a wake-up to our bleary eyes and jet-lagged sensibilities, reminding us very clearly where we were.
So too the clippity-clop of women’s heels along rue Saint-Dominique. That’s one of two sounds that I associate with Paris. The other is the groaning of garbage trucks as they hoist the trash and clear the narrow streets each day.
If you’re interested in learning about some of my favorite shops along the rue Cler market street take a look here.
Our first stop was Le Petit Cler, a cozy café where we paused for lunch, met some terrific people visiting from San Francisco, and downed the first of several café crèmes.
We needed to fortify ourselves for the Orange store where we would be headed shortly to update our cell phones. We strolled the length of the rue Cler market, inhaling the perfume of fresh Gariguette strawberries, their colors offset by the mini-groves of bunched asparagus.
We bought peonies and other essential provisions. This market street is only a couple blocks, but we like to take it a leisurely pace and admire the foods, the chocolate shop at La Mère de Famille, even the Droguerie’s basic household goods which seem more enticing when displayed along rue Cler.
At the tip of the street, where rue Cler intersects avenue La Motte-Picquet, we decided to give ourselves one more jolt of caffeine before entering the inevitable line at the Orange store. (The first time we went to an Orange store for phone service was a horror requiring passports, contracts and, patience that exceeded our limits. Arrgh, I can’t recount it without getting chills.) So we stopped at Pain & Chocolat, a welcoming tea salon run by a friendly couple who serve their own freshly baked pastries.
By the time we got to Orange, the line had disappeared and the transaction was a cinch relative to our other experiences there. Feeling victorious (you might think I’m making way too much of this but, believe me, it’s just cause for celebration) we ambled back to the apartment to rest and were lulled to sleep by the soothing staccato of clippity-clopping heels strutting through the courtyard.
Read more about rue Cler market here.