Today is the opening day of the outdoor flea market in my town. It's dawning bright and beautiful.
So, why am I muttering under my breath and disgustedly watching the rain clouds being chased away by a fresh breeze over the horizon?
Because I am a flea market merchant who believed the weatherman who made all sorts of ominous predictions about the amount of rain that was going to fall on my head today should I have set up my tables.
So I stayed up late, did NOT load my junk (er, merchandise) in my car the night before, and generally luxuriated in my soft bed until nearly eight o'clock: FAR too late to get down to the market and set up properly.
Drat. I really wish I was there. That's how I make my travel money.
Sigh. My dance teacher will be happy as I told her I'd make it to practice this morning if I cancelled my flea market booking due to weather.
But I'd rather be getting rid of all that stuff that's been piling up in my garage all winter, waiting for spring and the flea-market season to begin.
The pictures in this post were taken year before last when I was in Bordeaux, France. It was a day perfect for taking in a flea-market: my spidey-senses led me to one just off a main street: a hot dusty warren of stalls and dirt avenues. The sun baked down on antique furniture, claw-footed bathtubs, hideous French knick-knacks, and sparkling silver and brass bric-a-brac.
Bric-a-brac: that's French for junk.
It was a fabulous market, but the fierce sun soon drove me to a shady park to eat ice-cream and dabble in the fountains.
I didn't buy anything aft
er all at the flea market; the prices made me gasp. It was costly French uppercrust junk (far more pricey than my modest Canadian junk) that wouldn't have fit in my luggage in any case.
But I loved looking anyway. I felt totally at ease there. I imagined myself behind a table here, speaking French and fleecing the tourists who'd go home happy with their exotic French treasures. Win-win. Everybody's happy.
I feel this common tie with flea market/bazaar merchants wherever I go: in Bordeaux and Avignon, in Rome, in Morocco, London, or Kenya.
Yes, all of us flea market merchants, we kindred bric-a-brac sellers...we're all hoping for a sunny day and crowds of people to take home our junk.
9 comments:
Really?
You believed a weather forecast?!?
How long have you been living in this province, anyway!?
French flea markets...I belive that means French toasters of the past...Do French toasters make French toast?
I love flea markets. But the ones down here don't seem to have the flair that those further north have.
Weather forecasts...
Right..... Can't believe some people get to actually try to predict something they don't understand :)
French is good. I could teach you. But not in that weird tongue-thing-kind-of-teaching.
Vive la flea-market!
Ahhh the smell of spring in the air!
The sounds of far off battle drawing near!
And once more I charge into the breach! (at the table with the low priced collectables)...
Hey, I love that picture with the dog sleeping on the red velvety chair.
And flea markets do have their mystique.
i love flea markets. the problem is all the things there look great but when i take them home they look out of place. maybe i should buy more flea market things. Hey how about an online flea market with your junk, er, merchandise?
We'd love to browse. :)
flea markets are soooooo much fun!!! i love that picture of the wee dog napping in the chair!! heehhee
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