“Yalla! Yalla! One euro the banana! One euro the crate!” I hear the shouts of the vendors and the buzz of the market even before I arrive. I pass between two graffitied trucks and join the action.

There’s nothing better than a market to take the pulse of a neighborhood. Six of Paris’s nearly 90 food markets are in the 20th (Belgrand, Davout, Mortier, Pyrénées, Réunion and Télégraphe). Five markets on the arrondissement’s edges are also frequented by residents of the 20th (Belleville, Charonne, Cours de Vincennes, Père-Lachaise and Place des Fêtes). They each have their own charm, like most markets in France. But they’re functional markets, catering to the daily needs of the neighborhood’s people. Some markets are more populaire than others, and several are reputed to be among the capital’s cheapest (Belleville, Place des Fêtes and Réunion).

During the week, you’ll see more strollers and canes than marketgoers pulling shopping carts. But on the weekend, people jostle to pass one another. Markets on boulevard medians (Belleville, Cours de Vincennes, Charonne and Père-Lachaise) or on places (Réunion and Fêtes), allow vendors to set up on both sides of the sidewalk and give marketgoers more space to eye produce or to find a spot at the end of a line.

Shopping list in hand, I pass rotisserie chickens on spits, glistening whole fish on beds of ice, strong-smelling cheese stands, piles of fresh mint, coriander and parsley, and stalls filled with kitchen supplies, home textiles or clothing. Retailers selling tomatoes and eggplants year-round largely outnumber local or seasonal stands at these markets. Walking a fine line between seduction and aggressiveness, vendors call out to passers-by “Mademoiselle, taste this” and address older men as “jeune homme”. Some offer nearly-expired stocks from Rungis Market and many sell items off at a heavy discount before the market closes. Sometimes I find a good deal, and sometimes I find myself with two kilos of withering mushrooms that I don’t know what to do with.

Like other market regulars, I have my usual stalls and preferred vendors. Over time, a relationship of trust develops, with the vendor knowing the customer’s needs, and the customer trusting the vendor’s prices, products or advice. We chat as they prepare my order, and I pack up my purchases. As we say our “see you next week”s, and he hands me my change, my favorite greengrocer always proposes that I “prends une petite herbe” (take a bundle of mint, coriander or parsley) as I leave.

On the market’s edges, political campaigners distribute flyers, and street hawkers sell flower bouquets from plastic buckets and set out garlic bulbs on wooden crates. Neighborhood retirees gather on nearby benches to chat. Sometimes an organ grinder or a brass band makes an appearance, adding a festive note.

The most convivial markets are close to one or more cafés where you can gather your strength before shopping, or rest your feet and bags after. Depending on my mood, I sit alone, perusing the café’s copy of Le Parisien or people-watching from the terrasse. Or I meet up with friends or neighbors, starting with coffee and then moving on to a little apératif, snacking on some market purchases before heading home to unpack my shopping bags.

address book // markets of the 20th