fleeing the market
per yesterday’s entry, young beatrix and i decided to check out the flea market in flamborough. trix collects fiestaware, and frequently browses thrift stores for way-underpriced pieces, so she thought perhaps a stop there might yield her a plate or a bowl or some other random fiestastic item.
me? i just went along for the adventure and to see what kind of treasures might await at what was touted as an “old” and “authentic” flea market.
YB wanted to get an early start, with the goal of arriving in flamborough just after the gates opened (9am). it was a somewhat clammy and cool day, with that foggy november haze in the air, when we climbed into the car at 8am. the highway was still fairly empty, so we made good time. so good, in fact, that we decided to stop for breakfast.
where?
at the slowest mcdonald’s in the universe.
and it’s not even like we didn’t know better. this was the same mcdonald’s where, last year, this happened. you would THINK we’d know not to bother pulling in a second time, especially to order actual food, but no. we did.
and, not surprisingly, once again had the slowest service on the planet.
it was simultaneously hilarious and maddening – this time, there were four (FOUR!) employees behind the counter... ALL of whom were moving at a glacial pace. there were only a handful of customers, and yet we all stood there... waiting... and waiting... and waiting. the staff had all obviously been trained by HBG herself, based on their velocity and mildly sedated demeanor. at one point, one of two frustrated, elderly ladies who’d come in to get their free coffees – and who were simply waiting for those two cups of coffee – shouted to her respective, apathetic cashier, “why don’t you just give me the empty cup and i’ll go get my own coffee from the refill canister!”
i’d ordered hotcakes. just hotcakes. not gluten-free hotcakes. not two hotcakes and a cold one. not a layer cake made of hotcakes. just hotcakes. but it still took almost 15 minutes for me to get them. during my wait time, i actually started laughing because i couldn’t believe the epic slowness was happening again. and, after trix and i finished eating and were eventually headed out, she pointed at an irate customer confronting the manager about his sloth-like staff. i suspect it was not the first, nor the last, complaint ever to be lobbed at this chap.
needless to say, YB and i were a tad behind schedule by the time we got back on the road.
when we pulled into the long, gravel driveway leading to the market (which sits on umpteen acres of farmland in the middle of nowhere), we were excited. everything was rural and rustic and smacked of quirk, with a tiny wooden shack beside the road where incoming cars pay admission ($2 per carload). there were lots of handmade signs for homemade pies and antiques and what have you, and i couldn't wait to get started.
i had visions of hours spent browsing and perusing and wandering amid all kinds of cool and freaky and interesting and unique things. of conversations with colourful characters about their bizarre lamp or ornate hat or ancient-looking mirror that might be haunted. of folks selling homemade brownies and candy apples and, omg, fudge. oh, it was going to be a great time!
then we got out of the car.
for starters, we were both surprised by how small the entire thing seemed. there was a grassy/muddy/gravelly parking area in the centre, and a smattering of buildings around its perimeter. but let me be clear: not large, expansive, warehouse-like buildings. they were relatively small, rickety, one-step-above-a-garage buildings. old, quaint buildings, yes, but certainly not buildings big enough that they’d even come close to the 40,000 square feet of space that had been advertised. (i’m assuming that the 40K figure is somewhat more accurate in summer months, when outdoor vendors set up tables in and around the buildings and are thus count towards the total.)
oh, and one converted barn.
we began our odyssey at about 9:40am. there were a handful of people milling about, and we stepped into our first building – a white, wooden structure with a cement floor that i would later nickname “the slaughterhouse.” it was FREEZING cold inside (“from the ghosts,” i theorized), and the entire space was jammed to the cobweb-covered, low-ceilinged rafters, with junk. no rhyme or reason to what was on “display” because there was no display. it was like we walked into the home of a hoarder – who, admittedly, did have the piles somewhat organized by content: shelves overflowing with books in one cluster, boxes and boxes of trinkets lined up in another, stacks upon stacks of record albums in the back... and so on. but with only the smallest amount of walking space around the clutter. lots and lots of clutter. mountains of random items that looked like they’d been collected from decades’ worth of garage sales or picked up at every value village and salvation army in the province.
there was a very sweet, older man, probably in his 70s, sweeping up and wearing perfectly round, wire-rimmed glasses that made him look like a farmer-come-librarian. he was friendly, and chatted with us as we headed back out the door after a mere five minutes. the space was so damp and cold that we were both chilled (we’d expected heated buildings) and we needed to keep moving. it also turned out that this older man would be the friendliest person we’d meet.
we trekked through the dirt and gravel from building to building. i think there were seven, and most had some kind of moderately effective heating system. we’d go into each one, roam around and gradually understand that each vendor was essentially selling variations on the same theme. we saw many similar items in each place we browsed – from shot glasses to jewelry to VHS tapes to CUH-REEPY dolls (the stuff of nightmares! NIGHTMARES!) to commemorative chocolate tins and so on and so on – but nothing of interest. some had higher-end merchandise, like the guy with a huge collection of antique furniture, but, for the most part, it was row upon cramped row of dusty sameness. and i got the distinct sense that that sameness has been there forever.
in one building, we noticed signs saying “more stuff downstairs!” and arrows pointing towards a frightening-looking staircase leading to the basement (*shudder*). as we descended, holding onto the railing and hoping the wooden steps wouldn’t give way, i whispered, “and this is where they keep the bodies.” trix laughed... but we both kind of felt like it might be a little bit true. we only stayed in the basement for about a minute because, once down there, we saw that it was neat and tidy but eerie. one of the lights was flickering, and that was enough for me. next building!
we saved the barn for last because it was the largest venue and the one that looked most like it might actually have a washroom inside. (it did – but just one toilet each for the ladies and the gents. my bladder was happy.) we walked through the aisles of vendors – each one had his or her own booth or stall – and marveled at the equally jam-packed spaces. floor to ceiling. stuff upon stuff upon stuff and things stacked six deep. there were only a few other people wandering, and a handful sitting at the “restaurant”... which was basically a few tables and chairs set up around a makeshift kitchen serving microwave bacon and toast. we were in and out in record time and, as we headed back to the car, trix said, “i can’t believe we’re already done.”
but we were.
it was a little disappointing, sure. but going there, and roaming, was also like stepping into a different world. a very specific, distinct culture of collectors and, more than likely in some cases, hoarders. and it was really interesting to behold. it was a place with its own customs and traditions, its own pace and cadence, its own energy and ambiance, its own language and, stuffed into its countless nooks and crannies, probably more than a few of its own secrets. it was a microcosm. a family. a community. and most definitely a lifestyle.
we wound up finishing the entire place in about 45 minutes. we saw what there was to be seen and, since neither of us had the energy or inclination to wade through any of the mountains of merchandise, we got back in the car, cranked the heat to thaw ourselves, drove back out the long gravel driveway... and headed home.
(i should also point out that we didn't actually flee the market. it might have been slightly odd and creepy in spots, but not scary. it's just that, sometimes, a play on words (however desperate) is just too tempting to pass up.)
