As soon as my eldest son was
housebroken and had small change in his pocket, I took him to garage
sales. His eyes sparkled when he spied
old plastic Super Heroes and Pokemon cards.
An early lesson in economics and decision-making. He wanted everything, but could afford
little. Heartbreaking choices followed,
but his heart didn’t break.
He comes by his early passion
honestly. I think it’s in the human
genome to shop and bargain. Name a great
flea market of the world and I’ve probably been there. Souks in Turkey and Morocco. The happy street markets of Paris. The famous El Rastro of Madrid. The almost overpowering expanse of the Metz,
France indoor flea market. They all
contain the same elements of hopeful buyers and equally hopeful sellers of
random goods.
In southwest Germany, buyers
and sellers will find one of the best flea markets around: the Homburg flea
market, or as the Germans call it, Flohmarkt.
It’s a wondrous playground for ideas, inspiration, and bargains.
See, that’s a ma-velous thing
about flea markets, both the wares and the prices float from day to day, month
to month. Trash and treasures intermingle. Hopes and dreams soar. And if the treasure of your life has just
been purchased by someone with a quicker, sharper eye, in Germany you can
battle grief with Beer and Wurst, as you stroll to the next array and find
something even better. Keep in mind I’m
still talking about a flea markets and not Friday night’s happy hour.
Homburg’s rendition is close
to the city government offices, the tall, expansive conglomerate office
building Germans call the Rathaus, city hall, with Rat translated as advice.
When you think of government offices, you may find you use a different
translation. But having visited several
Rathauses here, I’ve found the public servants to be spontaneously polite and
almost embarrassingly helpful. Different
culture. Different expectations. Lucky Germans.
Homburg Rathaus |
Ok, so you’ve found the
general area. Noise, people lugging away
brass lamps, tables, chairs, and even musical instruments point the way to the
treasure trove. In this case, tents mark
the spot. A wide range of tents spread across the land like a Bedouin
encampment, lacking only camels, ferocious heat and blowing sand.
How often? My now entranced
readers ask. The first Saturday of every
month, but there are exceptions, so be sure to ask around, or confer with Mr.
Google, the sage of the age.
Ok, time for some flea market
counseling. You do not truly love the
objects you see and desire. (There may be other situations where that advice is
valuable.) These flea market objects are
simply metal, wooden, glass, plastic and paper ornaments. You didn’t know about them until you saw them
and may not yet know WTF they are. You
didn’t need them until they popped into your line of view. You’ve kept other things a secret from your
wife/husband/insignificant other and your severe disappointment in losing the
object of desire can be a secret, too. See
addend above.
Bad form to shed tears in
front of a vendor, who only just now mistook you for someone he wished to speak
with, but who now wishes with all his heart to avoid.
When a vendor takes the object
of your desire and smashes it against the hood of his car, you know your
casual, low-ball bid disturbed him.
But the best advice is to
remember, there is always next month, with another first Saturday. The Beer will be cold and the Wurst hot from
the grill.
Note some small red circles on the daggers? They cover Nazi symbols, which are illegal to show openly. |
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