Market Moments

 

It was in a Berlin flea market we accidentally stumbled upon that we saw someone selling old antique doll heads. Making our way across the world, and with sometimes as little as a hand full of hours, we’ve found the most entertainment in markets. Not only good for the people watching aspect, but the variety of what the world has to sell.

 While in London we paid a visit to Camden Market. This the largest open-air market in London, open 364 days a year (closed December 25^th) and one of the best flea markets I’ve seen. It’s like your spice rack of flea markets. Vintage stores, strange Japanese flare, neon underground selections, DJ’s, antique stores, foods from around the world, henna tattooing, record shops, artwork, graffitied clothing, all-leather stalls and even eating areas with seats made out of the back half of old scooters and Vespas. 

We had four hours to make of Brussels so we decided to see its flea market. A local market that ran seven days a week from 4:30 am till 1 pm sounded promising and surely interesting. It has been our plan to pay a visit to a flea market in every city that we visit and the Brussels flea market has been the most memorable. People’s old photo albums still full of pictures of people, vintage bottles of wine from the 80’s, rusted antique cutlery, plastic toy drills for kids and shoe laces. Morgan was able to exchange a pair of Price Less shoes he’d picked up in Reading for a wedding for a pad lock. Starving, we stopped at a cafe and ordered a Crocque Madame (toasted ham and cheese sandwich with an egg on top) that too an hour to make and left us running across the city of Brussels to make the next train out of Belgium.

 

Sitting in the Milano train station waiting on our night train to Prague, I realized that we hadn’t been to a market in Milan. “In Italy the market comes to you and it’s crap!” Morgan says. It’s true. In Milan, the shopping metropolis of Italy, you’re more likely to end up scoping out the Nigerian selection of friendship bracelets than designer decal. They approach you with a tray of bright friendship bracelets saying that they have something nice and “free” for you or “it’s for Africa”. Sternly saying no and walking away won’t help you. Morgan had one of these guys grab his hand and tie a ‘free bracelet’, but to have it then ask for a euro. It’s funny what you find yourself doing to get across your message of “No, I’m not going to buy anything from you or give you money” across. To the gypsies in Berlin, we pretended we were deaf and practiced some sign language. The young gypsy girl looked at us confusingly, realizing that there are crazier people out there than her gypsy-kind, laughed and moseyed on.  In Milan, some guys pushed flowers on Morgan to which he replied “No thanks guys, I’m not hungry.”  Walking into our abuse of the language barrier, they walked on leaving us in stitches. 

Looking more closely, street toys are really some of the oddest. The Arab guys outside the Milan central train station sold the exact same five toys only a few feet away from each other. To be that close in proximaty  would only make sense if they were running bets on whose dancing cow jived best, or who had the longest running wind up jet airliner. I still can’t for the life of me understand the blob balls – those sticky balls that when thrown against a flat surface they flatten and slowly regain their shape. I think by far the best street toy so far has to be what we’ve coined, Stupid Barbie.  At first glance, it’s Barbie pedalling around in circles on a red bicycle, but looking closer you’ll notice her 10 speed has training wheels. It would make us laugh harder when we celebrated Barbie’s 50^th birthday at the Toy Museum in Prague.

Prague’s largest flea market was dead on a Saturday. It consisted entirely of Asian vendors selling the same cheaply made and miniature sized knock off items and had been creatively dubbed the Yellow Market. I was in the market for a nice set of thermal wear since Poland would be the next pit stop, but was unsuccessful in my search. Had I been in market for brass knuckles, health cigarettes (fake plastic cigarettes) or stuffed top genitals I would have hit the jackpot. Instead, we tried some local Prague Kelbasa (menu read:  bread, kelbasa and paper plate), potato latkis and hot wine. The hot wine was a hit. Tasting like a hot cider, it was made of cloved wine, hot water and cubes of sugar. Another recipe called for a slice of orange. It’s delicious and a great way for wine lovers to liven up a disappointing bottle or cheap wine.

We have many market moments to look forward to. We hear they’ve got a bucket of goat heads on display in Morocco.

The Limey

The Flanders Field Flop and a Midget Pony

The celebrated Flanders Field rests in Waregem, Belgium. You would think that Belgians would recognize the site as a tourist destination, but it’s actually one of the hardest sites to see. It would appear as though Belgium couldn’t care less about the historic American site (which is also home to many Belgian/Americans who fought in WWI and II). They don’t even have a bike rental option in the area. There is absolutely no transportation that will take you to the site other than pre paid couch tours that are only organized via hotels. From a website, we were advised to take a taxi – it would be the only way. When we arrived at the Waregem train station we asked the ticket booth administrator how we could get to Flanders Field and if there was a bus.  He scoffed out a “No bus!” as if it were funny and then said it was quite far away, maybe 5-6 kms.  We asked if there was a tourist information centre around where we could get some more help and he kindly wrote out “Stadhuis” on the back of a train ticket.

 

We spent nearly half an hour trying to find this Stadhuis only to find out it was conveniently closed. Asking a lady in what looked to be a derelict library slash cultural centre where Flanders Field was, she too looked stunned as though she’d never heard of it, but gave us a map of Waregem. Looking at our route, it appeared we’d just wasted the last hour trying to find a closed down tourist house and were almost half way to the fields. We decided to walk to rest of the way. Feeling down in our luck, we were sad we would miss out on a visit to Bruge now that we’d had this run around, but our spirits were oddly lifted at the sight of a midget pony in the middle of a Waregem neighbourhood. It must have been our inner children that found the pony just delight allowing us to forget our Flanders Field flop. 

 

Missing out on seeing Bruge was upsetting, but Morgan made us see it in a better light. “At least we could still visit the home of The Muscles from Brussels.” “Who’s that?” I asked. “Arnold Schwarzenegger” he replied. “Isn’t Arnold Schwarzenegger from Austria?” I said. “Oh yeah, I think your right, then who’s from...? Oh crap, it’s Jean-Claude Van Damme. That makes it way less cool.” We laughed, good and hard.

 

Although peaceful and very well kept, Flanders Field was disappointing. There wasn’t a poppy to be seen. On our way out, the American gentleman working the information booth and also owner of the lone van in the parking lot branding an American boxing glove dangling from the rear view mirror, said that there wasn’t a bus around, but a cosy little walk back to the station. We had made it barely five minutes down the street when the same lone boxing glove van from the field drove up with the information man behind the wheel. He offered us a ride the rest of the way. The man was an ex-vet who had spent the last 20 years in Italy and was now in Waregem awaiting his nearing retirement. He was a U.S. war memorial grounds keeper and was probably the nicest person we experienced in Belgium.

The Limey

Antwerp Spits

A local city map we picked up at our hotel - New International Youth Hotel - written by local Antwerpians, offered some useful hints and survival guidelines about local behaviour. And from how it read, it explained a lot about the people. It read: "Refer to Antwerp as "t stad" (THE city, as if there's no other in Belgium). Why? We are proud of where we live. Look around you - wouldn't you be? We even have a saying that "The rest of Belgium is parking space." Other Belgians consider us snobs for that. Jealousy, what can you do about it?" Hmm, I did some looking, and so far, the only thing that's worth the praise is your train station and some colourful artwork that made up the graffiti forest under a bridge.

To see the city of Antwerp, we rented bikes. It was a solid plan except that we had to return to the bike depot twice on account of Morgan’s breaking bike. First, because of a flat tire and second, because of the handle bars going loose and making it next to impossible and super unsafe to ride. We returned the bikes early and were refunded for the faulty bike. At one point during our ride I happened to glance down and notice a big glistening glob of saliva on my shoe and pant leg. Having had a recent doctor’s check up before leaving Canada, I knew that my motor functions were up to snuff so I was fully confident that my brain hadn’t given out and allowed me to drool on myself. I knew instantly, someone had spat on me.

Taking a pit stop at a local cafe after four hours of riding, Morgan and I sat down for some traditional Belgian cuisine - mussels and frites. A young couple sitting next to us spent their entire time eating each other’s faces. When they decided to come up for air they would laugh and stare at us. I'm not sure what it was. It could have been Morgan's bright orange Netherlands futbol jersey, if they were die hard Belgian futbol fans (if Belgium is even big on fubol?), it could have been his pretty, paisley green rain jacket or it could have just been because we looked out of place looking like total circus clowns after a month of travel. Whatever the reason, it was painfully annoying and lessened any warmth we were hoping to get from Antwerp yet.

At the top of that aforementioned hotel map, in big red lettering it read: `Act Like a Local’. The locals suggest that if tourists simply act like as they do, then everyone will get along. By this I am to suppose that in the case of the young laughing couple it would have been appropriate to laugh back in their faces; and the culprit who spat on my shoe, I could have returned the favour with a healthy sized loogie right back. Maybe my interpretation is a bit off?

Further down the authors list of other important hints on Antwerp it reads: "Treat men like nouns: do not only speak of 'the chair', 'the fries', 'the water', but also say 'the Paul' or 'the Michael'. Women are kindly treated as possessions: we call them 'our Nicole' and 'our Isabel'. I had a hard time trying to talk Morgan down from the idea that I would be calling him `the Morgan’.

The Lindsay?

Space Cakes, Heaven on Wheels and Lindsay Gets Locked in Toilet

I heard a funny story about Amsterdam once. Not being a huge pot smoker, my friend found him self in one of Amsterdam's famous coffee shops. He requested something mild and giggly. He was handed a pre-rolled doob and shared it with Friend Number 2. Friend Number 3 didn't smoke and wanted to make a move from the coffee shop. Already feeling the affects of the mild joint, Smoker Number 1 had become temporarily immobilized and spent the next several minutes conversing with Smoker Number 2 about having lost his legs - "I've lost me legs" said Smoker Number 1. "Where've they gone then?" asked Smoker Number 2. The same two sentences was as deep as the conversing would go. When disinterest began to set in, Smoker Number 1 attempted to make his way out of the shop and found Smoker Number 2 with his nose pinned up against a mouse-trap type chocolate dispensing machine. He was putting in euro after euro. It wasn't the chocolate he was after, it was the cycadellic journey each candy took to come out that he was lost in.


Finding ourselves in Amsterdam, we set out to find some coffee shop inspiration ourselves.

Double Reggae; it was our first official coffee shop in Amsterdam - not to be confused with a cafè shop where you buy coffee beverages. We split a Space Cake and a very skunky Amstel Light. We didn't stay to trip out on the raspberry goldfish, but headed outside to find the famous Red Light District. We didn't know where it was and felt a little embarassed asking since it seemed like something everyone would be required to know upon entering Amsterdam, kind of like knowing not to eat food with your left hand in India. It's a factoid that would save you a lot of future embarassment. We decided to follow some random men around thinking that that would be where they most likely would be heading only to end up asking for some help. Trekking through the district, we waited for the effect of the cakes to kick in and could't help but think we had just bought a really expensive chocolate muffin sans The Space.




Amsterdam is heaven for bikers. Bikes own the street. There's a tram line that runs through the middle of the streets, a single lane for car traffic and then red bike lanes running on both street sides. Biking is so serious here it's not even considered a hazard by any means. No one wears a helmet - not the little kids who double up on mum's bike (one on the front and one on the back) and not even the bike police. They even have custom designed bike seat covers for the rain. No one rides a bmx, just regular townie-type bikes and most of them are decrepid and rickety. It's very common to see bikes that look as though they've been left behind by tourists who have purchased a cheap ride and left them chained up together and are now all mangled together. There are seriously so many bikes that Amsterdamians just leave their bike locked standing upright in the middle of the sidewalk.

Our hostel in Amsterdam was the Hortus Hotel. We had booked a private room, but arrived late due to our delayed Easy Jet flight in London. We ended up getting a private room roughly the size of an extra large shoe box and kiddie-sized bunks. There was litterally two feet between the bunks and the wall, but it was home for the moment. We unloaded our bags and payed a visit to the promised ensuite washrooms we would be sharing. I've made it a habit to check out the toilet situation at each  new abode. A toilet says a lot about where you are and this toilet was great. It came equipped with extra toilet paper rolls, a towel for hand drying and a seated toilet complete with a westernized flusher. All good. Except the exit. I couldn't unlock the door and found myself trapped in the flusher for what felt like forever. Morgan, who had heard my feeble attempts to free myself, thankfully came to the rescue. On the verge of tears, but half laughing out of sheer panic, it was there and then that I fell in love with Amsterdam.

The Limey

"Idiot Abroad" and Impressions of England

Been awhile since I've written.  I don't have a lot of  huge observations so I will default to my favourite form of writing, bullet points.

-"Idiot Abroad" is an English program where Ricky Gervais (Office UK) and Stephen Merchant (?) send their former radio show producer Karl Pilkington on a tour of the Seven Wonders of the World.  Aethiest, Karl, generally dislikes people, travel, foreign food, and anything not as comfortable as home.  He's kinda like one of my best friends Blue, except Blue likes people and doesn't mind travelling; it four stars minimum for Bluesy.  These guys torment him by making him stay in dodgey hotels, homestays, go to all sort of religious festivals, sites, and travel in excrusiating circumstances. It's simply hilarious.

-Futbol coverage on the tele is tragic.  They show only selected games on the weekend.  If you can't go to a game and your team isn't one of the choosen, then you can't watch it until they replay ALL of the games all night long.  This is one angle I'm gonna have to fully side with the NFL and most North American sport leagues with.  If you team can draw the crowds let the "have nots" like myself see it.  I could get better coverage of my adopted team Tottenham in Canada if I so choose.

-We mentioned a show called "This is England" previously.  There was only 4 episodes.  Very disappointing!

-Lindsay is writing about our trip to the southwest coast.  I just wanna say it was awsome.  Beautiful beaches, greenery, stone walls, picturesque villages, harbors, ports, and I wouldn't have thought it, surfing!

-Our last day in England with the family we went to Camden Market.  A lot of it's held in a massive old stable.  We were there for near 3 hours and saw a drop in the bucket. There's a good variety of goods, not the same 10 vendors selling the same crap like in most markets.  Highlights include authentic vintage shops, back end of vespas as seats, Korean pedicures, a.k.a. little fish nibbling your feet!!  A great variety of food, my favorite being the fallafel sandwich. 

-Lindsay and I are starting our two month Eurail pass tomorrow.  We're gonna record the value we're getting out of the pass and any tips we pick up along the way.  I'm  not sure if we should publish our findings as we go along or book report like at the end.  Let me know what you think in the comments section or on face book.


-Wanted to thank Ralph and Jane Wiseman for their insight regarding cheap flights and luggage charges.  Saved us a couple times so far by either travelling lighter out of a homebase or "booking" our bags online in advance.

-Finally I wanted to thanks Lindsay's family:  Marlene and Frank for their hospitality, Kevin and  Krysia for taking us on their adventures, and Ian Perry for being the best host possible.  Thanks you so much for letting us stay with you for a month, see you in Milan cuz!!

the Yank