I imagine a flea market to be like the British version a traditional Sunday boot fair or an American garage sale. This flea market I walked into seemed more like years and years of collecting abandoned and unwanted junk, toys and past times. The sign outside the shop building say’s ‘shopping room’, which explains this particular flea market very well. I was standing in a small box room, filled head to toe with stuff.
It was a large cuddly toy of Mickey Mouse dressed in dolls clothes and a voo doo looking witch hanging off a tree that caught my eye from across the street. I was curious and wanted to know what this odd display outside a little shop was about.
Stepping into the shop was a little more difficult then assumed. The door opened no more than thirty centimetres, so with a squeeze and a fight with whatever was on the other side of the door trapping me out, I managed to eventually stand in the entrance of the shop. As I was part-taking in this minor obstacle course the bell hanging on the door shook and rang. I decided to patiently wait for a greeting with the shop keeper as looking beyond, into the shop, I was a little worried as to what I had let myself in for. Piles and piles of old trinkets, dusty toys, books, rusting or broken ornaments, ragged clothes and old fashioned electronics stacked from the floor to the ceiling. The whole box room to the inch was filled with worthless objects. I couldn’t actually walk any further into the shop from my firm footing at the shop entrance. I felt claustrophobic and like an intruder in this space so I was ready to leave after a few minutes until I heard thumping from the wall. Suddenly, a little square hatch slide door the size of an oven, swept up in the wall next me revealing a hunched up old man crouching and climbing out of the hatch. He climbed from the hatch down onto the table below him then onto the floor to greet me with a beaming smile. He was skinny and frail with mid-length curly and wild grey hair.
I was speechless, I’m sure my facial expression must have revealed that I was confused as to what I had just witnessed. The old man didn’t seem to notice, he said hello and greeted me in Japanese with a bow as if his strange entrance was very normal. He started walking through slim gangways into the middle of shop. The shop layout started to make a bit more sense as I followed his arm gesture instruction. He had organised his stock to form a path around all the objects and beautiful trinkets. I edged my way through the path, chocking on the dust as we unsettle it with our steps. The old man passes me objects he thinks I will like. I am then trying to balance my way through the shop cradling scary looking dolls, a nostalgic brick Nokia mobile phone, Grand ma looking gypsy dresses and china ornaments.
I absolutely loved visiting this strange flea market and experiencing an odd bit of personal shopping. I saw some wonderful trinkets and heart warming objects that reminded me of my childhood. It’s sad that these things have been abandoned to a scatty, dust piling room. The old man was very sweet with his hoarding habit and energy to keep his shop alive. I only wish there wasn’t such a language barrier and I could have asked him why he came through a hatch in the wall.
Trinket Edits 