It is a cold but sunny Saturday, just perfect for a walk to Portobello Market at Notting Hill. It’s 9 in the morning, and some stalls had a fascinating mix of vintage cameras, delicate thimbles, silver jewellery, clothes, bags and posters, while others were being set up. The partly-covered Portobello Market took my breath away.
It reminded me of New Market in Kolkata — lace handkerchiefs, delicate chinaware with beautiful patterns, and so many antiques. I can’t even begin to calculate the worth of all the items there. An old man had a stall with a collection of teapots, candlesticks, portraits and more in wonderful disarray. Then, there was Henry Simpole, who has been making pens for many years now. He showed me one with Marilyn Monroe carved on a silver sheet and wrapped around the body of the pen. It was quite grand.
The outdoors was like a fair. It was difficult to decide where to look. There were leather-bound books, uniforms and equipments used during World War II. One stall had some entertaining wall hangings. I loved the one that read, ‘I’m well on my way to getting absolutely nothing done today’. An elderly man sat playing the guitar and gave me a warm smile when I asked him if I could take a picture.
On our way out, I was happy to see a crowd gathered to hear him play. Soon, the unmistakable smell of brownies led me to a shop selling doughnuts and other goodies. For the next half of our ramble, I had a delicious éclair in hand. There were more shops with pop-up cards, sweaters, some more books and watches, among others. One man had flattened alcohol bottles and creatively recycled them into clocks, ash trays and serving bowls. Then came some fruit and vegetable stalls, and those selling freshly baked bread, exotic mushrooms, falafels, sausages, sandwiches, crepes of all flavours and artisanal cheese.
I spent many happy moments at a stall that had old records of The Beatles, The Doors, Kurt Cobain, The Jackson 5, and other musical legends. The market was such a happy place. One of the visitors, Dylane (a student like me, but from Malaysia), said, “I love how the market is like a community in itself. Everyone is friendly with one another. The place has a wonderful, rustic charm to it. No two antique stalls sell the same thing.”
By the time I had walked up and down the market place, the crowd had grown. I headed back. I was definitely going back there to buy a keepsake. But, for now, the crumbs of my éclair and the all-embracing, warm chaos of Portobello Market were enough to keep me happy.
