London, Journal Entry No. 3

{ Market Day at Portobello Road }

Crowds at Portobello Road in Nottinghill.

It is Saturday here in London and I was dying to go to a large open market.  We had Camden Town and Portobello Road on our list, we chose the later, which is in Nottinghill.  I'm partial to this area because I had seen the Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant movie and fell in love with the area before even setting foot in England.

We conveniently walk to Waterloo Station of the underground, which there are people everywhere!  All I want to do is people watch.  Everyone looks so fascinating, so relaxed, so cool.  We fumble at the ticket machine, Steven finally acquires two underground passes for the day.  Next, ATM.  The line long, but it moves quickly.  And you can tell we are the Americans by how we stand in line, at a safe distance from everyone else.  Others stand close, I mean CLOSE, in line and even while getting money out of the cash machine.  But success, we have pounds for the day.

Riding the tube in London is an experience and I suspected everyone.  The books, the blogs, advice I was given my tons of people and sources told me so ... suspect everyone.  So, I was definitely over sensitive to the fact, which takes the fun out of it a little.  Looking back, I never felt unsafe on our whole trip.  Next time, it will be different.  Our first ride, we go down corridors, escalators, and more and finally arriving at our first train.  Hop on, goes fast, filled with people.  We hop off, repeat, then hop on another line.  We have arrived, cool.

Colorful buildings.

The streets lined with people, we hear music and seem to taste London by it's smell.  I am absolutely in love with the neighborhood, it is beautiful.  The colors they use on doors or stores, paired with the colonial feel of the place is nice.  The area is filled with people of all kinds, all look hip in their own way, inspiring.  We walk the streets, just being here is an experience in and of itself.  Stores opened, lined the streets along with all kinds of street vendors.  This is not like your American flea market of any sorts.  It's classy, sophisticated, posh but still very relaxed.

Well, hello.

They have GOOD stuff.  Walking through, you want to buy everything - that's how cool it was.  But, unfortunately, we did not.  But I did get one dress for 12 pounds and 3 vintage scarves, along with some little art prints.  Whatever you want, they had it.  There was fresh flowers of any color, fresh fish of most kind, fried foods, beer and more beer, antiques, art work, vintage posters, hardware, paraphernalia, new clothes, vintage clothes, jewelry, old leather satchels, food of every flavor, pubs, displays and things hanging everywhere ... and music.  With side street DJs mostly jamming to 80s rock - think I heard Michael Jackson a lot) and others playing jazz and bass, lovely.

Hello Steven.  Nice back pack.

This street musician was groovy.

The scarf vendor is in a tent, two long tables piled at least two feet high each of vintage scarves. You literally had to pull and tug and search to find your unique find, one of a kind items in the pile.  Who knew scarf hunting could be so much fun?  Scarves were worn by so many in London well, all over Europe.  A fashion icon I've gradually been appreciating over the years, now to be persuaded even more.

I want this frame for my art work please. 

All Saints

They had soooo many antique sewing machines lining the walls!

Snazzy vintage sewing machines.

You know, posing.

Cute boutique.

Vintage signs everywhere.

By the way, in case you didn't know, British pounds are almost double the American dollar.  Terrible for us, I know!

There were pubs we frequented, two black pugs chained together and where the one went, the other had to follow, but no owners in sight.  Another dog lay on a stoop of one pub at the doorway, laying and waiting patiently for his master and only letting out a slight whimper here and there.  There were Italian men and other men on stools lining the sidewalks surrounding the pub.  We joined them, so we sit, drink a pint and people watch.  The pigeons also joined us, not afraid and quite engaging.

Steven LOVES ice cream and will eat it at any opportunity. 

Tasty.

When in London ...

An elderly man, short and frail in stature, wore a red t-shirt, slightly tattered and color faded jeans, dark tennis shoes, stood out since he waddled or rather shuffled slightly against the cobbled streets and pavement.  He had white hair, a little reminiscent of 50s style swagger that was slightly slicked, maybe curled at the front point of his forehead.  He had electric blue eyes, a scruffy but shaven face and a half snarled pout ... as I think there was something missing from his mouth.

He would shuffle several steps to a new crowd on the bustling streets to see if he could get their attention, and then, we would hear a faint reminder of Frank Sinatra or something of that era.  Sometimes foamy beer lingerings would spat from his mouth or land around corners of his face.  I recall his slight hump of the back and wonder what his story was, who were his loved ones, and what is his life ... the way he sees it.  A partially crazed or half drunk man shuffling through Nottinghill reciting Sinatra sloppily, lost? 

"Don't be a p#@$% ", a bloke cantered , surrounded by men of certain ages and style.  Drinking, toasting, possibly - yes, tormenting a medium young lad in a golf hat.  His sour face eyes them with discontent as he tries to chug a drink in hand.  Another films the episode, others rant and rave.  Some lads, eyeing and sizing up ladies as they cross the sidewalk near the pub - scoring them as though they are the authorities of good shape and acceptance in womanly figures and ways.  Critiquing each hump, curve, height, projection, and silhouette of anything moving on her body.

They swap eyes with me as I notice their play, and they smile, innocently, coyly, and maybe embarrassed.  I'm sure by now I have been measured and graded.  My acceptance and placement?  Unclear.  But, I'd say its favorable :)  But back to the lads, the chugger and hat wearer.  He is to be married tomorrow.  Congrats! We left shortly after, but I saw more fellas gathering and he already looked displeased (read: scared).  I bet money, good money he had an exciting, possibly ugly night.  Boys will be boys.

Doing as the locals.  On stools with a beer, people watching, and chatting with neighbors.

Side note:  Its funny how London seems very relaxed but you feel proper at the same time, very British.

Walking through the neighborhoods.

On our way out of the market areas, we visited some local stores.  Some stood out that sold quirky t-shirts. How about this one t-shirt ... black, with the words "The Killers" printed on it and it shows the band photo above.  Four members playing instruments, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, Adolf Hitler, and .... George W. Bush.  That's right!  Our previous president, George W. Bush.  How's that for some international opinion??  I don't have a picture of that one though!

Why, yes I am!

Totally.

I want this car. 

AND ... we finish the market off, by again, stopping in a pub with a beer garden!  Big surprise there.

Lovely little pub.

So, back at the pub, Prince Alberts.  We order a beer to split, take a seat in the courtyard of the beer garden that has orange plastic molded benches, big planked wood tables, people everywhere.  Beer is finished quickly, decide on the other, and another.  This time, a strawberry beer which is much better and less fruity than it sounds.

We meet two guys, Amish or Aimes, and Jean Claude or JC.  Yes, they both gave us options to call them.  We strike up conversation for about an hour or so which is super exciting and fun.  Cool guys and we exchange stories, have some good chuckles, and talk lots of cultural questions for both sides.  Good fun chatting it up with the locals ... and our new friends are fabulous.

He likes beer.

She likes beer. 

Cuteness.

We are having fun!

Left on the table.  Cigarette boxes much more direct in London!

Local beer lovers.