While we were in South of France we had the opportunity to join in the local Vide Grenier. Sounds so much more exotic than "Garage Sale" or "Car Boot Sale" non? Grenier would have referred to the granary in old European houses where grain was once stored. In modern times has become the attic or loft where most people end up storing their old stuff rather than wheat.
The local village car park was cleared for numerous stalls where people could sell their old unwanted goods all afternoon. To help things along the locals set up a large barbecue and there were plenty of refreshments on sale - beer, wine and some very tasty pork sandwiches. Several locals turned up hoping to exchange trash for cash, however there were also some professional vintage goods sellers with an eclectic selection of vintage goodies.
For such a small number of stalls there was an amazing variety of weird and wonderful bric a brac and quaint knicks and knacks that would no doubt have sent some of my vintage and car boot sale loving blogging friends into a feeding frenzy. Happily for my wallet I was held back from a major shopping spree by Ryanair's measly fifteen kilo weight limit on our suitcase.
I was sorely tempted by these vintage steel shoe inserts nestled amongst the knives, clocks and teapots. The stall owner had also managed to collect an impressive array of antique lemonade bottles, old hand written love letters, antiquated mathematical instruments like slide rules and set squares, exquisite blue glass Hermes perfume bottles, old chemistry sets and those freaky doll heads which we used to style the hair and makeup on when we were kids. Does anyone remember those? I had a Barbie one!
Other things on offer included collectibles such as this adorable vintage toy car, an old metal coffee grinder, old bar stools and an original spinning wheel.
But it was in this rack of starched white vintage clothing that I found a couple of real beauties that did end up coming home with me. Details in next post!
I am an avid reader and consumer of fashion print magazines but every so often I get a slap in the face to remind me of the reality that, d...
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