Camden Markets & A Movie

My sister and I are in love with markets and both of us dream of going to markets that simply never end. All the cheap wares from across the globe on display for us, men shouting and yelling about how cheap this is, and how exotic that is. Nigel on the other hand, despises them, but on my last day in Australia he wanted to do all the things I loved with me, he took me not only to Subiaco market, but Fremantle as well. He wanted to make sure that I was happy and my last few days in Perth were perfect. He wanted to get me some jewellery but knows how particular I am… I don’t wear much and there is no explaining why I wear the things I do. Generally it is hand me down beads that I was given of my Grandmothers, a very special focil pendant that my sister bought me, an orate watch from my Mum… little things that mean something. He should have known what ever he got me would be the world, but instead he made the present even more special by spending two hours running around with me from stall to stall to find the ring that I would fall in love with. The stall we bought it from I had looked at about 5 times, we wandered around the market about three times… there were people everywhere and even the shop assistant was feeling sorry for poor Nigel. He just continued to smile and joke and was patient and eventually… the square shell silver ring was chosen… I’ve not taken it off since, even poking myself in the eye with it every night wont force me to remove it from my left index finger… So when I went to Camden Markets – the most well known markets in London - it was bitter sweet with memories of my sister and of Nigel.

After spending two days in the house, wandering around the common, trying to catch up on sleep and more importantly, resting my legs (that had since re-grown the muscle they had had when I was in school swimming for hours at a time… which I was secretly pleased about and am currently dreading going back to an office drinking sugary tea and sitting down all day) I wanted to have a happy day. When I was ever grumpy in Perth or wanted to cheer myself up I would always run off to Fremantle markets. I loved the electricity of smiling faces, dred-lock marketers selling hand made beads and bobs, the smell of fried onion and scoops of icecream when I needed a break. I never really bought anything, but delighted being around so much that I thought, ‘when I get a house I’ll have that, and that… oh! And that as well’. Simple pleasures are always the best. My mother and I both have a fondness for imagining what we’d like – its nice to live in your imagination once in a while. So Camden was it.

I jumped on one train and then another, crossed over and after my third short ride on the underground came out at Camden with potentially every other person in the whole of England – it was swamped… even early in the morning. The sun was shining down and I was in awe of the magnitude of the area. My first image was colourful buildings… the area is what you might describe as ‘alternative’ and I thought Brett (assuming all the people on the streets would disappear) would love it, Tiffany certainly would. Stupid I know, but I just love painted buildings, wonderful pascal and fluorescent colours staving off the impeding grey sky. I love the idea behind it, to be out there, different, unrestricted. I imagine going to Greece and seeing the white washed walls of houses and their window panes bight blue and red… a burst of anticipation crept up in my throat, I pushed it down, ‘I’ll get there soon, one thing at a time’.

I moved through the see of bobbing heads, listening to people chatting and pointing. People of every nationality… and interestingly, every fashion trend… I wished with all my heart that there as someone that I could talk to, laugh with, when I watched all of this, my eyes almost popping from my head. Mohican wearing half naked men with cow boy boots strode along as if everything were completely normal, biker looking boys with thick silver diamond encrusted crosses hanging from their necks, girls wearing black mini tutus, bright pink hair and ripped layers of different coloured shirts… I was trying so hard not to stare, but it was as if I was walking through a million different films at one time. I tried to take a photo of one woman who was wearing a colourful beanie with what looked like sausages popping out of it…

Not only were the walls marvellously colourful, but many of them had great sculptures adorning them. A huge cat clawing up the walls, an Aeroplane descending, a pair of unattached legging-clad legs, a rocking chair and red boot. How fabulous, all buildings should have these, I thought to myself, looking like a tourist and happily snapping away. The stalls were just as fantastic with everything you ever wanted out for show. T-Shirts with every comment or character you could imagine… I wanted to buy them all. My favourite that springs to mind wrote “Guns don’t kill people, People with moustaches do!”.

If you ever wanted a pair of wellingtons… this was certainly the place to go, would you like a pink-purple poker dotted pair? Or green swirls on a yellow background? Would you like the image of the queen on your toes, or prefer flying elephants. The high heels trod a similar path, with shoe laces every colour of the rainbow, heels that looked like banana’s, and some sprouting all sorted of bizarre lace. I so wanted to have more money, I could be the quirkiest Aussie that ever did tred the London streets. It was fun simply looking at them, knowing that these things existed… and if I really wanted to, I could wear them! And wear them without sticking out like a sore thumb.

I picked up a pair of blue sun glasses that had blue plastic lined across the lense… not really knowing why one would feel the need to put plastic across the lense – had to put them on a take a photo. I passed a serpent winding its way on one building before entering another market along the Camden Road. There were pots and pans, and strange sticky toys that when you threw them down it would appear that they were moving as they wrinkled back to their original size. There were food stalls and jewellery stalls, stalls dedicated to all things London, and stalls dedicated to all things old. It was fabulous and my mind could not keep up with my eyes, my camera couldn’t keep up with anything!

I finally made it to Camden Lock which is a stream that runs through the area. I always have a strange feeling seeing a stream, river or any type of water trailing through the more vibrant areas. Almost forgotten about, the water is so silent and flowing the way it would regardless of people, traffic, society… human existence. I like that, something beyond ourselves. It is intriguing the juxtaposition of something so natural and placid being here, amongst the hubbub of a commercial world.

Next to Camden Lock is Camden Lock Markets – ofcourse, and I quite liked these markets, more so than the earlier ones – it was cleaner and more structured. I considered my constant realisation that I am not the spontaneous individual I thought I was, I do like clean, I like familiarity and above all… I love plans. So sweet Camden Lock Markets agreed with me. There initially seemed to be less people and my stomach was roaring at me. I stepping into the restaurant that overlooked the lock and took it upon myself to have an open Chicken Club Sandwich and a glass of wine and pretend I was rich for an hour.

The Sandwich was horrendous, the chicken was cold and I had been given the butt of the tomato… disappointing, but atleast I was drinking wine from France. I took out my book and with gloved hands attempted to read, trying to look windswept and interesting and really involve myself in the moment. Listening to the music from the vendors downstairs, watching women giggle with one another while they shopped mercilessly, attempting to spend every penny they had earned during the week. Men darted from place to place in search of what they’d come to find and then making a quick exit (apart from those who held a pint of Guinness and laughed with the DJ selling his music, stepping out for a quick dance now and again). There was so much going on, too much to try and read. I watched a father and son eating pizza across from me, the son sipping happily on a glass of coke, as the father leaned back into the glimpse of sun and enjoyed a well deserved beer. There were bags strewn across the seats beside them and I wondered if they were shopping for ‘Mums’ Christmas present. A couple kissed and nuzzled one another, trying on their new beanies and speaking Spanish. They smiled at me, having caught my eye, I smiled back and felt the hot sense of desire grasp at my chest, I pushed it away and instead took out my camera. If those I loved weren’t here, they weren’t going to walk around a corner no matter how much I wanted them to do, I could atleast take them with me through my photos.

After finishing half of my sandwich and half of my wine I decided to carry on my adventure. Get some excitement from the hubbub below, and get rid of the bitter part of my bitter sweet day.

A fish adorning yet another wall oogled me as I set off down stairs to the main portion of the market. Upon entering I met an artist who was displaying his recent work for sale. The pictures were almost cartoon like, making use of a realistic background and placing a caricature frog or cat doing all sorts of wonderful things. He was drawing them there and then and I couldn’t believe how fast his hand danced over a page. One minute there was nothing but a blank sheet of paper, and the next, an amazing image that you thought only a computer could create. He apparently had been doing this for 15 years and had seen the changes in the market. It used to be unknown and the home of artists, actors, writers… a bohemian world. That’s how he got this prime position and he loved his work. He said that he felt the image rather than saw it, his hand would create something and even he was surprised when the page was filled with charcoal and colour. I wished him well and said I would come back one day when I was rich to purchase a few originals. He bent his head back over his work.

I wandered about the old building listening to the music of the market, touching the hand crafted wooden boxes, the pearl and mineral jewellery, trying hard not to spend my money purchasing things for the ones at home. There was so much I thought, this person would love that… and oh! That would go so well in their house… Trying to keep in mind the need to work… and when I started work I might be able to come back and go on my spoiling spree. There was just so much… so many unique bits and pieces, handcrafted by the vendors that held the stalls. Original photography and drawings, old newspapers from the 30s and 40s, signs about Soap and Cider, magnets galore, jewellery for every interest and music… so much music, “you don’t have a CD player, Fiona”, I heard Nigel say in my mind, “and you can download it anyway… don’t be silly”. So I was not silly and I just chatted to the vendors about their wares… “did you draw that?”, “how did you capture that image?”, “oh? You must LOVE your job!”… and everyone was so welcoming and so interested in chatting, in laughing with you, even though they had probably heard the same questions a million times before on the same day. The wind blew up at one time when I was looking at Audrey Hepburn bags made from old 78 Records, I held down the bags and bits, helping the lady selling the good to stop everything from ending up on the street. We laughed and she thanked me with a slight Germanic accent. I was getting a buzz of simply feeling confident and speaking to people, taking an interest in them. Picking up something that had fallen over, or stopping items from blowing away.

I discussed the weather in Siberia with a man from Russia, he confided that there was no heating in his cousins home for the whole of winter! That I should always wear gloves because, and held up his hand, frostbite can happen to anyone… I starred at the nub that must once have been a middle finger. He was a very jolly sort. Another women told me about her lovely handcrafted jewellery, that she made more at this stall over three days than she used to as a Shop Manager on the high street. Everyone had such stories to tell and I relished hearing them.

There was a leather-bound journal store, a pipes and all store, everything Indian in one area, and then… and then…. Food

Why had I eaten that horrible sandwich?! Why….

Before me opened up a delight that can only be smelt. Food stall upon food stall, staring back at me, teasing me with their oily and exotic goodness. From true Italian Pizza to every Asian country you could imagine, spices swung through the air, hot dogs and curry, sushi and boiled this and boiled that. Everything could be battered or beaten, fried and sautéed… ohh what a magnificent dream. Sad to say that the moment I walked up the food section of the markets I had my first true wave of happiness – something to be said of ‘fat and happy’.

I steered away… I had eaten and therefore would starve myself for two days before coming here again, there was too much to try and I so wanted to try it with someone as well. I would entice Kelly or Mark to join me on my next adventure.

I carried on my journey and came across some 1960’s music. A small shop, darkened but for the glowing blue guitars that littered the roof. I couldn’t help myself, I had to dance. I took my camera out and boogied for a few moments, enjoying the moment, the music… where I was. As kids Dad would put on old music and teach us how to keep a beat, sitting down and slapping our knees in time. That childish desire to make your father proud, and he beamed when he saw that we could slap our knees in time. We loved that old music, on Saturday nights when Uncle Alan and Aunty Sue, Rodney and Jenny and all sorts of family friends would come to the house, Dad would put six o’clock rock on the radio and the men would sit around guessing who sung what. My sister and I would dance around, pretending we came from those days. Enjoying the happy voices that bounced off the old stone walls of our home. To this day when my sister and I are in a shop, in the house… in the car, and a slice of that music comes on, we dance and bounce and swing around, not caring who is looking… music is a delight of existence. So dancing here, now, in London, I missed my sister but relished in the memories that glowed before my subconscious.

I considered buying an across the shoulder bag and decided that I could deal with my back pack just a little longer, and continued on my way out of the noise and joy as the rain set in and evening descended. I was still in awe of the wonderful bits and pieces that littered street after street, stall after stall… wares of welcome, everything ready for the purchase… everything I wanted, but sadly logic advised that I didn’t ‘need’ anything… A pity at my lack of frivolity, but atleast I still had pounds in my pocket.

On making my way back to the tube after hours of wandering around and appreciating all that Camden had to offer, trying my hardest to ignore the hoards of crowds that made it impossible to move more than a mouse hop at a time, I came across a man who was playing the bike… The bike! He had constructed a drum set from his upsidedown bike and was pumping out joyous tunes to the delight of the 3 person deep crowd. I listened for a while and noted the “Worlds End Pub” that I had heard about before and still cant pin point the reason… I passed antique book stores and wanted so much to buy a First Edition or Two… I couldn’t help but step in and smell… ahh the smell of good books, books that have been loved. I liked to imagine the person writing those novels, how they lived, what they felt when they were writing, and also imagine those who had read the books, and what they were experiencing at the time… what had that book meant to them? I knew that so many novels indicate a sense of mentality or emotion in my life, I was reading Obernewtyn throughout highschool and felt that I was the misfit Elspeth myself, they were dark days when reading the “Bell Jar”, Jane Austin told me about the subtleties of love and adoration, while “Purple Hibiscus” explained the importance of accepting different cultures. The world… all in books.

After waltzing about Camden I decided it was time for some to find Covent Garden. I had been in the vicinity previously but for the life of me could not find Covent Square… it was playing on my mind and I wanted to feel a sense of accomplishment. I jumped back on the tube along with 100s of others that were making their way home with bags of expensive market goodies, and headed in the direction of the West End. Upon existing I wandered about, the rain was setting in and the sun was on its decent. It was only 4pm but I didn’t have much daylight left.

I took out a map and stood under doorway trying to stop the freezing rain drops from pitter pattering on my head. I looked left and right, and back and forward and tried to trace where I was to where I wanted to go. Unfortunately I had lost my favourite map on the tube some days before and the one I was using didn’t provide many street names. It was no good, there was no hope and I was getting colder but the minute. I decided to simply wander… quite often during my wandering I had come to the place I wanted to go in the first place… unfortunately, generally I had been in a far better mood at the time and as the clouds created deep shadows across the cobbled pavement, my mood darkened as well. I walked up this street and then the one over there, I found China Town and Trafalga Square… I turned again and was back where I started without any intention. Frustration was building up inside me and I was about to burst. Did the gods not want me to find Covent Garden? Was is secret? Did it not want to meet me?

The rain was coming into my shoes, my hair was flying about and curling crazily from the damp, I couldn’t feel my fingers and the air was beginning to freeze my throat.
“Argh!” I said allowed, to the shock of a passer by. I took out my trusty green camera and discussed with it what I should do… showing all my annoyance and frustration. While discussing my predicament with my trusty green camera I advised,
“This is not travelling! I feel like this is just a job… all I want to do it watch a movie”… a moment of realisation, “Do you know what?” I said to my camera, myself and whom ever I thought might watch this little film of ranting a raving, “I SHALL go to the movies, I’m on holidays”, and with that I signed off, crossed Leicester Square where I had ended up which wandering about aimlessly and bobbed into a Cinema.

I purchased a ticket to “Easy Virtue”, perfect, a period comedy with my one true love, Colin Firth – just what the doctor ordered. I think to a certain degree I had decided that I needed to do things because I was in London… I felt guilty not doing things and it became “forced fun”. Finally starting to understand that this can be relaxing as well, that I don’t need to do everything in a day or a week. Going to the cinema was a special little thing I could do for me. I used to love escaping to the movies on my own.

People were still grinding away in their offices so there was hardly anyone in the cinema. Before going in I decided to purchase a little tub of Chunky Monkey ice cream (enjoying the name as much as the flavour) and a small lemonaide… The lady handed over the most gargantuan cup of lemonade…
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
I looked at the cup.
She looked at me…
I looked at her…
“Ummm just a small is fine?” I said apologetically,
“That’s the smallest we have…” she said, a bit concerned that I’d know this was a small…
“Good Lawwwd!” I gasped, “Hate to see a big one!”.
The two men behind me laughed, as did my server. I handed over my pounds, smiled and nodded at all surrounding me, seeing my shock and amazement and with a new sense of happiness moved into the cinema.

The Cinema was huge and empty and warm and quiet and… heavenly. I felt very impressed with myself as I took off my hat and jacket and eased myself into the chair – front and centre. Breathing out with a long sigh I decided not to contemplate what I was doing tomorrow or the week after… not to think about what I’d done today. To simply have a few hours respite, me and the huge screen – Colin Firth oozing his chivalry before before my eyes… ahh how wonderful, simple moments like these.