Ron and I went to the Flea Market for the very first time today. In reality, we went once before, but it was closed. Typically, the sign shows the days and dates it is open, but that particular Saturday that we went, the date was covered up. Today, we hit the jackpot. Good grief is that an overstatement for flea market?
I have never had to pay an entrance fee for a flea market in my life, until now. Check that off of my Bucket List. Done, did it. Entrance is 150 Huf and all I received in return was a ticket, not a single flea. Rather than try to describe it, I took three pictures with my phone. There is more under this slideshow, so keep reading.
Why anyone would need or want to go to a flea market to buy their Gillette razor refills is still I question I have not answered to my mind’s satisfaction. There was no discount over the store prices. One table had children’s toys along with hunting knives and assorted weapons. Was this to cater to the anarchist families? Something for everyone? We did find one little treasure; who would have thought it could happen! The seller dropped the price by 1,000 Huf, most likely figuring he would be stuck with it forever if he hadn’t. He probably got it by accident considering his other wares. How could we resist, I ask you?
The rest of our outdoor shopping adventure was thwarted by the rain sprinkles which were becoming increasingly aggressive and resembling thunderstorm wetness.
We ventured on to Kika, the housewares store. One of the fans in the guest room died today. Funeral arrangements will be announced later, but our quest was to replace it immediately. Nature abhors a vacuum, guests abhor the heat.
I had a secondary agenda. I have been wanting new dishes for ten years. We have been using those left by the previous owner, which were serviceable for the time. As they break, we are getting continually confined in our social meal options. I had spotted some dishes I liked, but wanted Ron to like them also.
After asking if they deliver, we picked out service for 8: dinner plates, salad dishes, coffee mugs (no need for saucers), and soup bowls. Knowing this was way too heavy to cart home on public transport, I asked again at the register before proceeding through using my phone to translate “Do you have a delivery service?” Both times I was directed to the same desk where I spotted the same word that Google translated for me, so I was confident.
We checked out our 8 dinner dishes, 8 salad dishes, 8 soup bowls, 8 coffee mugs, 6 forks and 2 butter knives to replace those that have gone MIA, and a floor fan. I was so excited wondering how soon they could deliver, so I could get it all washed and looking pretty in the cupboard. While I finished up paying, Ron started the delivery process. No, he didn’t. They don’t deliver dishes.
Crap! We are not proud owners of 32 pieces of dinnerware from Denmark and we have to take a taxi home? For what we spent, they did not even provide a bag. Ron had to buy a box. They do have a table with wrapping paper to protect the dishes. Once it was all boxed, we weighed our options. One bus stops right outside the store. I could carry the box to the bus stop and this would get us almost home. There is no way I could carry the box the rest of the way. The question was who would give out first, the box or me? Once we reached Oktogon, we called a taxi. It was less than $5 to get to our door. Well worth it and it would have been more had the store delivered. Dishes are washed and put away. If you want to see them, come on over for dinner.