When I walked through Les Halles on this trip to Paris, I knew this part of the city had once been famous for its market. What I hadn’t fully appreciated was the enormous scale of what used to stand here.
Then: Before Paris Woke
Before dawn, Les Halles was already roaring to life. Porters shouldered crates of vegetables, vendors arranged mountains of produce, and horse-drawn carts once crowded streets slick from the night's work. Restaurant cooks arrived while late-night diners were still heading home. For centuries, this was Paris's great food market—the “Belly of Paris”—feeding a city that seemed endlessly hungry. By sunrise, bargaining voices, rattling carts, footsteps, and the smells of fruit, fish, flowers, cheese, and coffee filled the neighborhood. Long before today's gardens and shopping complex, Les Halles woke while the rest of Paris slept.
I wasn’t simply walking near the old market.
I was walking through it.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: A present-day photograph of my walk through Les Halles with an archival image showing the same general area filled with market pavilions.]
The streets around Saint-Eustache, the present-day Forum des Halles and the Fountain of the Innocents once belonged to an extraordinary world of iron-and-glass pavilions, food merchants, horse-drawn carts, delivery trucks and men carrying enormous baskets and crates through the streets.
Then: The Daily Rhythm of Les Halles
Long before sunrise, deliveries rolled into Les Halles from farms and villages beyond Paris. Merchants unpacked crates beneath the market pavilions while porters hurried through the surrounding streets carrying produce, meat, fish, cheese, and flowers. By morning, the neighborhood was a chorus of bargaining voices, clattering carts, and shouted orders. The air carried competing aromas—fresh bread and coffee mingling with ripe fruit, vegetables, fish, and damp pavement. As shoppers arrived, yesterday's deliveries became today's meals. Les Halles wasn't simply a market; it was the daily heartbeat of Paris.
For centuries, this was where Paris came to eat.
A Market Nearly 900 Years Old
The history of Les Halles stretches back to 1137, when King Louis VI established a market in this area. At the time, this wasn’t the center of Paris we recognize today. The city was much smaller, and the market stood near its outskirts.
Then: When Les Halles Stood at the Edge of Paris
Imagine Les Halles in the Middle Ages, when the market stood near the edge of a much smaller Paris. Merchants arrived with carts carrying grain, vegetables, meat, cloth, and other necessities, gathering beneath simple covered stalls. The streets were narrow, muddy, noisy, and crowded with shoppers, animals, and vendors calling out their goods. As Paris expanded, houses, workshops, churches, and streets gradually surrounded the marketplace. What began near the city's outskirts became its commercial heart—Paris quite literally grew up around Les Halles.
Over the centuries Paris grew around it.
So did the market.
By the nineteenth century, Les Halles had become the great food-distribution center of Paris. Meat, fish, poultry, vegetables, fruit, cheese and other provisions arrived here before being distributed to shops, restaurants and households throughout the city.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: A historical map beside a present-day map showing how completely the city has grown around the former market site.]
But the old market buildings could no longer handle the volume.
Paris needed something new.
And what Paris built was magnificent.
The Pavilions of Victor Baltard
Beginning in the 1850s, architect Victor Baltard created a series of enormous iron-and-glass market pavilions at Les Halles.
Then: When Iron and Glass Came to Les Halles
In the 1850s, architect Victor Baltard began transforming Les Halles with something startlingly modern: great pavilions of iron and glass. Instead of heavy stone walls, slender metal columns supported soaring roofs and vast windows flooded the market with light. To Parisians accustomed to traditional masonry, the structures must have seemed almost industrial. Yet the airy pavilions proved perfectly suited to the enormous market beneath them. Soon, Baltard's design became inseparable from Les Halles itself—a bold symbol of a Paris being rebuilt for the modern age.
They were strikingly modern for their time.
Instead of massive stone buildings with dark interiors, Baltard designed soaring structures supported by slender iron columns. Glass admitted daylight. Ventilation helped move air through buildings filled with food, people and animals.
Eventually, the complex consisted of a series of interconnected pavilions and covered passageways.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: An archival photograph of the Baltard pavilions beside a present-day photograph taken in the same area, showing what occupies the site now.]
Looking at old photographs, the architecture almost resembles a collection of Victorian railway stations.
But instead of trains, the buildings were filled with food.
Mountains of vegetables.
Crates of fruit.
Fish spread across market counters.
Poultry hanging from stalls.
Cuts of meat.
Cheeses.
Flowers.
Baskets and barrels stacked everywhere.
And thousands of people moving among them.
Then: Inside the Belly of Paris
Step inside the old Les Halles pavilions and imagine the assault on the senses: porters shouting, carts rattling, merchants bargaining, and shoppers squeezing between overflowing stalls. Great heaps of vegetables glistened beside fruit, cheeses, flowers, fish, and freshly butchered meat. The air mixed the sweetness of produce with coffee, damp pavement, seafood, and humanity. Émile Zola famously captured this abundance in The Belly of Paris, portraying Les Halles almost as a living creature—noisy, colorful, crowded, and constantly hungry, feeding Paris from the middle of the night until morning.
Paris While Paris Slept
One of the most fascinating things about Les Halles is that much of this world came alive while the rest of Paris was sleeping.
Then: Before Dawn at Les Halles
Imagine arriving at Les Halles at three in the morning. Paris is dark, but the market is wide awake. I follow the porters through streets crowded with carts and crates, their voices echoing beneath the iron pavilions. Fish glistens on beds of ice; vegetables rise in colorful heaps; the smells of onions, coffee, damp stone, and fresh bread mingle in the cold air. Workers pause at nearby cafés for something hot before returning to the rush. Here, morning does not begin with sunrise. Les Halles has already been working for hours.
During the night and very early morning, food arrived from across France.
Wholesalers negotiated purchases. Merchants selected goods for their shops. Restaurant owners came looking for ingredients. Carts and, later, trucks crowded the surrounding streets.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: Archival images of carts and delivery trucks around Les Halles compared with 2026 streets and pedestrians.]
And everywhere were the market workers.
Among the most famous were the forts des Halles, the remarkably strong porters who transported huge loads through the market.
Historic photographs show men carrying enormous baskets and stacks of goods that seem almost impossibly heavy.
Then: The Strongmen of Les Halles
Among the most recognizable workers at Les Halles were the forts des Halles, men renowned for extraordinary strength. Wearing their distinctive work clothes and broad leather shoulder protectors, they carried enormous loads of meat, produce, and other goods through the crowded market. Their work began while most of Paris slept and demanded stamina as much as muscle. The forts became neighborhood celebrities, admired for their toughness, camaraderie, and pride in their profession. In the chaos of carts, merchants, and overflowing stalls, they were the human machinery that kept the Belly of Paris moving.
This was not the picturesque farmers’ market we might imagine today.
Les Halles was an enormous working machine.
It fed Paris.
The Belly of Paris
Writer Émile Zola understood this better than almost anyone.
In 1873 he published a novel set in Les Halles called Le Ventre de Paris. The English translation can be found here: The Belly of Paris.
The Belly of Paris.
Then: Zola’s “Belly of Paris”
Émile Zola transformed Les Halles into a character of its own in his 1873 novel The Belly of Paris. He portrayed the market as overflowing with abundance—great displays of cheeses, vegetables, fish, meats, and flowers—while beneath that plenty simmered rivalry, poverty, gossip, and political tension. His Les Halles was beautiful and excessive, nourishing Paris while exposing its social divisions. Through Zola’s eyes, the market became more than a place to buy food. It was the enormous, restless stomach of Paris, consuming, feeding, and revealing the city around it.
It may be the perfect name for the place.
Food flowed into Les Halles from farms, fisheries and producers throughout France. It was sorted, bought and sold here, and then flowed outward again into the restaurants, shops and kitchens of Paris.
The market wasn’t simply located in Paris.
It functioned almost like one of the city’s organs.
And surrounding that organ was an entire culture.
Workers finishing long overnight shifts needed something substantial to eat. Restaurants and cafés stayed open to serve them.
Then: Onion Soup at Dawn
As the market night ended, the cafés around Les Halles filled with an unusual mixture of customers: porters finishing work, merchants taking a break, night owls heading home, and early risers beginning their day. One of the neighborhood’s celebrated traditions was a steaming bowl of French onion soup, rich with broth, onions, bread, and melted cheese. At dawn, it was less an appetizer than restoration—a hot, filling meal after hours spent in the cold market. While most of Paris was waking for breakfast, Les Halles was sitting down to soup.
That history also gives another Paris tradition a wonderful context: French onion soup became closely associated with the Les Halles district and its late-night clientele.
I had French onion soup during my own visit to this neighborhood.
I didn’t realize at the time how appropriate that was.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: My soup meal at Au Pied de Cochon with an archival image of a Les Halles soup seller.]
Imagine Standing at Saint-Eustache
This is the part that changed the way I think about my photographs from this trip.
Saint-Eustache is one of my favorite churches in Paris. I walked around it, photographed it and explored the surrounding streets.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: This is one of the strongest places for a direct then/now image pair. Use your photograph of Saint-Eustache beside an archival photograph showing the church surrounded by the market pavilions.]
But imagine standing there 100 years ago.
Instead of today’s open spaces and modern buildings, the enormous Baltard market pavilions would have been immediately beside the church.
There would have been vendors shouting.
Porters pushing and carrying loads.
Horse carts rattling across the streets.
Crates being opened.
Restaurants serving market workers.
Fish, vegetables, flowers and meat arriving continuously.
The air itself must have been a mixture of food, horses, smoke, wet pavement and humanity.
Then: In the Shadow of Saint-Eustache
Before dawn, the bells of Saint-Eustache sounded above a neighborhood already awake. Beneath the church’s great Gothic walls, carts crowded the streets and porters hurried toward Les Halles with baskets and crates. Merchants shouted prices while café doors opened to workers seeking coffee, wine, or a hot meal. The air carried the smells of vegetables, fish, bread, damp stone, and horses. Imagine standing beside Saint-Eustache as daylight slowly revealed the market: a magnificent church overlooking the noisy, untidy, endlessly energetic heart of Paris.
Saint-Eustache wasn’t simply a church near Les Halles.
It stood beside the beating heart of the market.
Then Paris Changed
By the twentieth century, Les Halles had a serious problem.
Paris had grown enormously.
The food-distribution system had grown with it.
Horse carts had given way to trucks, and those trucks had to navigate streets that had never been designed for modern commercial traffic. Congestion became increasingly difficult. The historic market simply didn’t have enough room to operate efficiently.
Then: When the Market Outgrew Paris
By the mid-20th century, Les Halles had become a victim of its own success. Each night, trucks packed the narrow surrounding streets, competing with delivery carts, porters, merchants, and pedestrians for space. Engines rumbled, horns sounded, crates piled along sidewalks, and traffic sometimes slowed to a crawl. The historic market built to feed Paris was now struggling inside a city transformed by automobiles and modern distribution. Les Halles still worked through the night, but moving mountains of food through the crowded center of Paris had become an enormous logistical puzzle.
Eventually, the decision was made to move the wholesale food market out of central Paris.
In 1969, the great migration to the enormous new wholesale market at Rungis, near Orly, began.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: Compare an archival photograph of the final days at Les Halles with a present-day photograph of Rungis or the modern Les Halles transportation and commercial complex.]
After more than eight centuries, the great food market of central Paris was leaving Les Halles.
But what happened next remains the most painful part of the story for many people who loved old Paris.
They Tore It Down
Beginning in 1971, most of Baltard’s beautiful iron-and-glass pavilions were demolished.
Then: The Loss of Baltard’s Pavilions
When demolition of Baltard’s iron-and-glass pavilions began in 1971, many Parisians were horrified. Preservationists, architects, and journalists protested the destruction of buildings that had become symbols of 19th-century Paris. Campaigns tried to save them, but most were dismantled as the wholesale market moved to Rungis. One pavilion escaped: it was relocated and reconstructed in Nogent-sur-Marne. For many, the demolition was more than the loss of a market—it was the disappearance of a beloved piece of Parisian memory.
Looking at photographs of their destruction today is astonishing.
Buildings that had defined this part of Paris for generations were dismantled and torn apart.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: A sequence of three images: the intact pavilions, the demolition, and the present-day site. This creates a powerful visual progression from then to disappearance to now.]
One pavilion was saved and eventually reconstructed at Nogent-sur-Marne.
Most were not.
Then: The Pavilion That Survived
As Baltard’s Les Halles pavilions disappeared in the 1970s, one escaped destruction. Pavilion No. 8 was dismantled piece by piece, its iron framework preserved like an enormous architectural puzzle. It was transported to Nogent-sur-Marne, east of Paris, and reconstructed there, reopening in 1977 as the Pavillon Baltard. Instead of market stalls, the soaring iron-and-glass structure now hosts concerts, exhibitions, and events. Its survival offers a remarkable glimpse of what once dominated central Paris—a fragment of the old “Belly of Paris” given an unexpected second life.
In their place appeared an enormous excavation in the middle of Paris.
Parisians gave it a wonderfully direct nickname:
Le Trou des Halles.
The Hole of Les Halles.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: Pair an archival photograph of Le Trou des Halles with a present-day photograph of the Forum des Halles or La Canopée from a similar viewpoint.]
Eventually the site became an important underground transportation hub and the Forum des Halles. More recently, another dramatic transformation produced the enormous modern canopy known as La Canopée.
And once again, thousands of people pass through Les Halles every day.
They shop.
They eat.
They catch trains.
They meet friends.
[THEN/NOW COMPARISON: Here is a wide present-day photograph of La Canopée and the Forum des Halles. Below are views of the Chatelet-Les Halles RER and Metro Connection, the Escalators to The Forum, and the underground stores at Forum des Halles.]
Most probably give little thought to the mountains of vegetables, sides of meat, baskets of fish and exhausted market workers that once occupied the same ground.
Walking Through the Ghost Market
Now I look differently at the photographs I made during my walk.
I walked past Saint-Eustache.
I wandered through Les Halles.
I stopped at the Fountain of the Innocents.
I ate nearby.
I explored streets that felt completely contemporary.
But underneath modern Paris was another Paris.
If I could somehow turn the clock backward while standing there, modern buildings would disappear and Baltard’s great iron pavilions would rise around me.
The quiet streets of morning would fill with carts.
The market stalls would appear.
The porters would return.
The cafés would fill with workers finishing their night.
The Last Morning at Les Halles
Imagine a porter finishing his final shift at the old market. For years, his working day had begun while Paris slept—lifting crates, calling greetings across crowded aisles, and stopping for coffee as dawn reached Saint-Eustache. Then the market moved away, and the familiar rhythm ended. The merchants, café workers, drivers, and strongmen scattered to new routines. Buildings can be demolished and markets relocated, but for the people who worked there night after night, Les Halles was not simply a place. It was a community, a livelihood, and a way of life.
And suddenly I would be standing inside the Belly of Paris.
That is one of the things I love most about walking through this city.
Paris rarely has just one story.
Sometimes the most interesting city is the one that is no longer there.
Note to self: Plan to see this next time...
Pavillon Baltard Today — Nogent-sur-MarneOne of Victor Baltard’s original Les Halles pavilions survived demolition. Pavilion No. 8 was dismantled, moved to Nogent-sur-Marne, and reconstructed, where it remains today as an exhibition, concert, and event venue.Official Pavillon Baltard photo gallery
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