It’s that feeling.
Waking up on Sunday morning feeling like staying longer in bed – what the heck, its bloody Sunday. Two and a half minutes later, same horizontal position, the guilt kicks in.
The sun is shining (and it doesn’t happen often in Brussels!), do not waste it – move your lazy arse! An image of un verre de chardonnay in my hand listening to a live jazz at a corner bar at Place du Jeu de Balle kicks in next.
That’s how it started.
No more Sunday morning guilt. It didn’t matter sunny, rainy or snowy day, Place du Jeu de Balle in the centre of Brussels it was. At the market I could find everything from junk and antiques to bargain buys and rip-offs. Then there are the side roads from Rue Blaes into Rue Haute where you can find a great selection of antique, brocante and craft shops – chic, but still good value.
Then something else happened. I started picking up things, a vintage Danish lamp shade from 70s, a pair of twenty years old steel pétanque balls (boules), a hundred year old round-gilded-witch-mirror, a Bush’s first transistor radio from 1959 etc. It wasn’t for a glass of vin blanc anymore and Place du Jeu de Balle was no longer enough. I also made it to a flea market along Dijver in Bruges, the famous Plaine de Plainpalais – the largest outdoor flea market in Geneva, the Camden markets – London’s most popular open-air market area with stalls, shops, pubs and restaurants, the Piazza dei Ciompi market – a small daily flea market in the Piazza dei Ciompi in Florence and the famous flea market in Paris, the one at Porte de Clignancourt, officially called Les Puces de Saint-Ouen, but known to everyone as Les Puces (the Fleas).
I fell in love with the flea market and its atmosphere. And who knows, if I keep looking, may be – I will find something that used to be another’s trash that will become my treasure.