These places are markets.
Markets have always held appeal for me. During my decidedly "green" phase in high school, I remember dragging my poor parents off to the Rocklea markets in Brisbane early on Saturday mornings to grab all of our fresh produce for the week. Since then, markets have been one of my first points of call whenever visiting a new city.
Nothing has changed now that I'm living in London. The plus side to living in a large city is having multiple markets to choose from. On my very first weekend here I visited the Marylebone markets where, upon remarking about how fresh the pasta looked, the man at the stall replied that it was certainly fresher than what he was feeling. I wandered the Covent Garden markets as if in a dream and was called out to whilst exploring the Borough Markets the following weekend as looking like a girl who would be interested in tasting one of the Greatest Brownies in the Universe. Perhaps he also works as a psychic or perhaps we are secretly destined for one another.
I have decided, now that I am a self-declared market expert, that there is perhaps little more distressing than wandering a market with no money in your wallet and no ATM in sight. Though I confess, the only things that I have bought from the markets in London is food (and lots of it), the thought of not being able to buy anything that I may be interested in had me scurrying around like a headless chicken whilst visiting the Portobello Markets in Notting Hill on Saturday. Surely, with so many tourists around, there would be an obvious place to be able to take out money. Alas, it was only until I made my way through the entire length of the market to the other side and crossed over a couple of streets did my eyes fall upon an ATM. As life threatening as it seemed at the time, in hindsight I am grateful that my need for one of those DELICIOUS NUTELLA CREPES THAT EVERYONE WHO WALKED PAST WAS EATING was not as urgent as the need to relieve a bursting bladder. For this I am grateful. And for the record, the nutella crepe was pretty darn good.
The diversity of London is truly reflected in its range of markets. The following day, I visited the Brick Lane markets on the upper east side of London. Now, the east side has had a bit of a resurrection of late with the recognition and appreciation of "indie." People are leaving the more polished west side suburbs in search of something a little more rough around the edges on the east, where no doubt you can find some remarkable gems. So far I have gathered that in order to qualify for being an east-sider you must have either:
a) tattoos
b) piercings
c) shaved indie-style hair
d) caps and tortoise shell sunglasses
e) all of the above
Sewww indayy
It also helps if you smoke like a chimney and delight in taking graffiti to the next level in a wonderful display of street art.
I perhaps should have researched this more when I rocked up to the Brick Lane markets with in my ballet flats and with my hair even tidier than usual. I instinctively held my arm close over my bag as strange men began to follow me as I made my way to the markets through what must have been the dodgy entrance and I cursed the fact I had decided to be resourceful and already hang my not-inexpensive camera around my neck in preparation for the photos I was going to take. Once inside the markets, I couldn't help but think of the ever-popular Thrift Shop song as stalls and stalls of shops offered delights such as denim clothing, old potato sacks and odd bike parts for minimal money.
Next weekend, my love of markets will have to be put on hold for my obsession for food as the Clapham Common is hosting a Food Festival all weekend. I will happily lunch on tuna and broccoli for the remainder of the week in preparation for the damage that is bound to happen. Cannot wait to report on the excitement - next week's blog will be written by yours truly with food baby in tow.
Love, Em xxx
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