Today, in the continuing series, "Liz Goes to Every Market in London", I did not let the freshers' flu (the term given to the cold freshers [and I guess students abroad] get as their immune systems are inundated by a brand new germ pool) stop me from visiting the market in Petticoat Lane and re-visiting the Brick Lane Market.
What I am discovering that I really like about London's markets is that they are good for different things. I didn't spend much time at Petticoat Lane because it had almost nothing but clothes (but I totally plan to go back when I get tired of looking like a bum in my cute American clothes next to Londoners' sophisticated, trendy clothes), but that was all right, because Brick Lane - which I visited for the first time last Sunday - was on practically the next street over.
Brick Lane's market seems to have two quite distinct parts. The part that I suspect has been around for much longer consists of vendors selling some of the most random stuff by far I've seen at London markets: old knickknacks that look like they were the height of style in the '70s, hardware store stuff that I don't know who in the world would buy (Dad, that's who), used bicycle tires, and then there are the girls about my age selling what I presume to be their old clothes. The edge that these latter vendors have over their competitors - grimy looking guys selling really cheap but new clothes - is that you can rest assured just by looking at them that if the pretty girl dressed in the height of London fashion is discarding something, the article of clothing in question is still ten times more stylish than anything you could buy in the States.
The other half of Brick Lane Market is made up by artists and designers selling their own creations. Very, very cool stuff: clothing designers, two hot guys who do cross stitch, photographers, handbag designers, etc. There's also a big international food section in one of the warehouses that house all these vendors and I was absolutely delighted when I found Ethiopian food. Delighted that is until I tried to buy a piece of injara (bread) to eat with my food. For starters, I don't think the women ever fully understood that I wanted just a piece of bread, and then they kept saying that injara only came with a certain purchase, and my very American attempt to resolve the situation by offering them more money for a single piece of bread was met with emphatic repetitions of the information that "Bread only comes with the wrap meal". So my joy at finding Ethiopian food was rather dampened at the reality of eating it with a plastic spoon as opposed to scooping it up with injara.
Some friends went to Portobello Market yesterday, which is over by Notting Hill and known for its antiques, but unfortunately the freshers flu did keep me back from that, so I look forward to going there some other Saturday soon.