Portobello Market

The smells of garlic, fresh fruit and french perfume mingle in the air. Whimsical pastels and blaring primaries jump from the facades of houses and shops...

Hold on to your purses! Guard your pockets! 

There are so many people that I can hardly breath. Thank goodness I'm not claustrophobic - yet. The crowd moves slowly as the throngs of shoppers vie for a glimpse of the treasures adorning each stall. 

"Streets where the riches of ages are sold"? I'd say maybe just the junk of a few decades! Well, maybe I'm just a little sick and crabby and tired and not giving Portobello Market its dues. The secret to shopping here must be to be a Portobello Market vet, or to come REALLY REALLY early! You can tell the seasoned buyers because they're all rolling suitcases down the middle of the street making a v-line to their favorite stands while the newbies stare, deer eyed and paralyzed, at the copious amounts of junk spewing and oozing from every orifice along the road. 

I follow the crowd into The Good Fairy antiques market where the constant, uncontrollable current of movement pushes me towards a number of stalls stacked high with old leather bound used books. With great difficulty, I managed to dislodge myself from the stream of voyeurs so that I could pursue these treasures more closely. I sorted through old copies of Alice Through the Looking Glass, Robinson Crusoe and The Complete Works of Charles Dickens and briefly wondered how one might come about acquiring the collection of Jane Austen works that lay at the bottom of a particularly teetering tower before thrusting myself, empty handed, back into the flowing body of arms, legs and torsos.

Rather by force of crowd than by personal choice, I wander through the rest of the horse-shoe shaped Good Fairy market catching brief glimpses of bakelite jewelry, china tea sets, porcelain figurines, silver flat ware and other doodads. I pray that there will not be a fire.

Finally, I am spit out back onto the main market street and breathe a sigh of relief. I float in the slow moving, crowded, gently pushing mass of human bodies catching peeks of stalls filled with glimmering Indian saris, row after row of leather goods, silver wares of all types: dangling necklaces, glinting flat ware, sparkling tea sets, vintage prints, funky London fashions, pungent spices, cheeses, and meats simmering in vats of oozing brown mush, crepe shops, waffle stands... This goes on for almost a mile and a half until my week, sick legs begin to grow weary of the walk, and my empty stomach begins to rumble. At this point I turn around to retrace my steps keeping an eye out for a bite to eat and a place to sit. 

I eventually find myself on a side street at a bustling cafe - Charlie's Portobello Road Cafe - where the food was slightly mediocre and tasteless, but I met my new best friend from Zurich! A story for another time.

Cheerio!

With love from London. 

Other Sights from my Portobello Road Adventure:

Brightly Painted Terraced Houses

The Crowd

The Travel Bookshop from the Movie Notting Hill. 

George Orwell's House