28 May 2011
I have one day off a week to do anything I like, and I cannot really remember a time where my heart did not jump for joy looking out the window knowing that it is a clear blue sky permitting my favourite market in Sydney to be on.
Most people on their day off may take it easy, strolling out of bed at any given hour– but for me–the thought of missing the morning buzz of the markets is enough to jerk me out of bed and head for Darling Street just as the sun decides to join me too.
Rozelle markets, how to describe it? It is like none other. Rozelle markets are a second-hand haven that I am only eager to retreat to. I was thirteen when I first stumbled across this wonderful place. It was like a treasure box to me, dripping with interesting objects and people that you knew were full of stories by taking one glance at them. That day, I bought my first real piece of silver jewellery and I still own it today. Over thirteen years later, the woman who sold it to me is still there selling her treasures.
That is the part of what I love about Rozelle, the regulars. They are as much part of the place as the things that are waiting to be bought and sold. They are eccentric characters and mad collectors who are passionate for antiques and vintage goods and enjoy telling you all the stories behind each item.
Upon arrival I scan the market quickly to make sure my favourite stalls are set up, grab my regular egg and bacon roll (always helpful for the odd nasty hangover) and head to visit my regular stores. I pan jewellery, wrestle with discarded clothes and vintage bags while soft acoustic music fills the aisles. I smile as I walk away with each item, taking away pieces that remind me of an era I long to live in. The thought of this makes me salivate…or perhaps that was the thought of an egg and bacon roll dripping with BBQ sauce.
Not many markets today stay true to the flea-like atmosphere that Rozelle possesses. It has the best balance of vintage, antique and junk. It is a place where I find my best ideas and inspiration to bring new life to unwanted goods that at the end of the day would end up in a bin somewhere. It is also a place that my family regularly meet and catch up and compare finds. It is a market that steals my heart every weekend. I hope it stays true to its foundation upon junky treasures and objects of antiquity. I hope it never changes like other markets have (like Glebe Markets) to the likes of commercial vintage and mass-produced goods that are bought by the hands of cloned teens with floral skirts and new shiny doc martins.
For one day a week I enter a world with a few hundred others who also appreciate the beauty of the ‘pre-loved’. I hope it stays that way.