Flea markets really don’t exist in Utah. We have a plethora of enormous thrift stores {my favorites are Deseret Industries and Savers}, and we have crappy yard sales aplenty, but no flea markets. So when we got to Warsaw and I read about this enormous flea market every Saturday and Sunday on the outskirts of the city, I was determined to go.
Viktor really hates stuff like this, so it took some, uh, convincing. We even delayed our trip to Krakow by a day so I could go check out the goods.
On a sleepy Sunday we took the tram to a really sketchy area of Warsaw {the East side, which looked like the projects in N.Y.C.} and all of a sudden, there it was. Striped tents, Gypsies, and accordion playing Russians.
Viktor was astonished.
And 2.2 seconds in, we realized we should all stop speaking English immediately. In all honesty, the only time Viktor spoke English was inside our apartment, and even then very grudgingly. But between the Gypsies, the Russians, and the accordion playing Polskies, we figured it would be best for all English-speaking members of our family to close their mouths. *Ahem*.
If there was something I was really interested in I would give Viktor a significant look and keep walking. We did this all the way around the square and then Viktor would go back and inquire about prices in Russian or Polish, depending what the circumstance required.
There an really *ugly American* woman trying to dicker over prices using Euros, speaking English. Poland is on the Zwoty z?oty not the Euro, and the Euro is worth a lot more than the American dollar right now. P.S. not one of the shopkeepers spoke a word of English. You should have seen the shop sellers; they were flocking like vultures to this dingdong, fighting over who got to swindle her. We tried to be a little more discreet.
In all honesty everything was really expensive, and I wasn’t super comfortable dickering over prices. This is not usually a problem for me, I mean, I feel ripped off at D.I. if I spend more than $8 on a glass pitcher, but I was totally out of my element.
I didn’t know what should cost what. I mean, a full Russian spacesuit? How much do those go for these days? The individual rolls of toilet paper the Gypsies were selling? I don’t know. Charmin’s about a dollar a roll, right? What about a Nazi license plate? A German gun circa 1939? A WWII Soviet helmet?
I really wanted to buy up all the WWII stuff, but we were a little, uh, worried about bringing that stuff back through customs.
What really floored me was all the furs the Russians brought in. I was totally 100% overwhelmed by all the fur. Who sees fur around anymore? Aside from my grandmother’s closet from the 1930′s, I haven’t seen fur in YEARS.
When we got home and I told my friend Carina about stall after stall of fur hats, coats, gloves, vests, and mink stoles, she almost strangled me {no really, physically strangled me} for not buying anything. But really, when am I going to wear fur Carina? To the grocery store on Saturday? Truly, I was pretty convinced I couldn’t get it through customs on the way back into L.A. so I didn’t even look at any of it.
In the end all we bought was some Russian dominoes for Charming and a TAG Heuer stopwatch for Viktor {he’s obsessed with all things TAG}.
But the smells, the memories, the accordion playing Russians? Those were free, and the memories will last a lifetime.
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