Behind the scenes: setup day

If you only come on Saturday, you'll see the market as one cheerful choreography of coffee, stalls and chattering visitors. What you won't see: that it all begins the evening before at half past five in the morning.

05:30, the first cars

It's still dark when the first participants drive onto the square. Vincent from the dairy stall is always first; he has the longest van. "I'd rather arrive too early than not find a parking spot later," he says. Next to him, a minibus rolls up with the map maker from Utrecht, a woman who single-handedly sets up four pavilions full of engravings.

06:00, the croissants

The coffee is ready in a large pot next to our setup table. Six plates of croissants and pain au chocolat from bakery Léon, not for the visitors, but for the participants who are cold and still have two hours of work ahead. It's their breakfast, their moment of rest before the rush.

07:30, the floor plan comes to life

Our floor plan, carefully drawn up digitally, takes its final form on the street. There's always some shuffling to do: here a pavilion that threatens to topple in the wind, there a stall that can't reach its electricity. We work with chalk on the pavement tiles and with a radio in our pocket.

"The market only becomes a market once the first visitor walks around without needing to ask questions."

09:00, the calm before the storm

Half an hour before opening, there's a curious moment. Everything is in place. The stalls are set up, the garlands are hanging, the music starts softly. The participants sit for a moment, drink their second coffee. The square looks like a film set where the first shot is about to roll.

09:30, the first visitor

It's always a woman with a dog. Every edition. We've made an inside joke about it: without the Woman With The Dog, Le Marie Marché doesn't exist. She walks around, buys a croissant, nods to the first participants and sets the market in motion, without knowing it.

What a setup day really is

A setup day is not a logistical exercise. It's a ritual that transforms an empty square into a French village in a few hours. Each of us plays a role in it, and if it goes well, it feels as though someone else was directing.

Next time you're walking around the market at eleven o'clock: know that the butter cake you're tasting is already the third one of the day for some of us.