bric-a-brac

Oh happy sunday market tradition, happy stacks o'stuff to wade through, happy pre-loved goods, both the goodly and the cheap.  

And ah, ye festive sellers of family cast-offs and estate sale finds, dumpster diving harvesters, vendors of worldly world treasures and crappy piles of plastic novelty.  You servers of we curious magpies among men, haggling and hassling in five different dialects.  

Is there any shopping that compares to a good flea market?  The mind struggles to invent a better buying scenario.  You dig for the glory.  You name the price.  You bask in the discovery, weigh the worth and delight in the win once it's yours.  No, the world's got sadly little left for us to feel like true explorers, the first to encounter new places, resources or tools.  

Lucky for us then, flea markets bring out that Ferdinand M. in us all.  

And lucky for me in imperturbable Berlin, that there's sunny Sundays, riverside walks, fighting giants, sunken barges, repurposed warehouses, Wonderland props, festive folk, classic rock, and toasty coffee to be had, all at Hallentrödelmarkt Treptow.  

 'Jumble Hall Market.'  How charmingly appropriate.

[Forgive the photo quality - somehow the camera accompanied sans memory stick, thus all photos are by me, on a phone that's a bit too weary to be smart anymore...]

coat - vintage scottish shearling;  tunic - free people slip;  chambray shirt - vintage
jeans - cheap monday second skin;  boots - vintage ariat
earrings - a peace treaty;  necklace - repurposed drawer knob

- xx