We got up early, which was a miracle if you know of our Tribe’s affection for sleeping late on Saturdays, but we had heard a rumor that a flea market brimming with 50’s and 60’s furniture opened at 10am… and I, at least, did not want to be there a minute past opening!

We wound through the city, over a bridge, and out past Christiania.  It was then that my ever-trusting husband began to give me sideways looks and glanced down at the map.  I urged him to keep going even as we passed through a small gate and wound around near the canal on a gravel road that looked like it led to absolutely nowhere.

The naked lady jumping into the water lined with beat up campers and hippies made us laugh a little and we decided to keep going, though trying to not look too closely at the people anymore!

Just as we were about to turn around and give up we came upon the old dilapidated warehouse.  The little cluster of furniture outside the door was the only sign that life was indeed inside.  I felt like Clark Griswald in one of his Vacation movies when he shouts triumphantly, “First ones here.  First ones here!”  Of course inside I was a little unsure.  Was this place really open??

But, yes, oh, yes!  It was open… every centimeter of all 4,000 sq. meters of pure shopping bliss awaited us and we hardly knew where to start!

Everything from peeled paint to original watercolors called out for us to pay them some long awaited attention.  I, not wanting to disappoint, made an extra effort to give every little item all the attention they needed!

We wondered out loud about so many different things… had it once been someone’s treasure?  Was it displayed in a place of honor?

“Why, yes indeed” she said in a polite Danish accent.  “I have been here quite some time actually, and have seen many things come and go.  They slapped a $500 price tag on me and I dare say that it is unlikely that I will be going anywhere for a while.  I just stand here most days without much to do but daydream about the good ‘ol days.”  I didn’t say much back.  After all, she was a mannequin with perfect English and it all seemed a bit too odd for me…

One gentleman, who was quite living I should add, gave me an extensive tour of his shop.  He was very proud of the items he had collected and happily shared their history and origins.  He lamented the fact that so few Danes appreciated the things of the past, which I thought was rather funny because I had been told the very opposite by several of my Danish friends.  He turned his nose up at the very notion of IKEA and it’s sterile one size fits all philosophy.

I didn’t say much and I definitely did not tell him just how many pillows, kitchen utensils and dishes I owned from IKEA.  The pulling on my sleeve was a welcomed signal that my Tribesmen were moving on with or without me… I opted for with.

After almost three hours, we had seen most of the warehouse and found ourselves almost a little tired, hungry… and I had gained the sniffles.  So, with a little bundle of vintage goodies we left with the intentions of returning very soon.

Since then, I have found myself daydreaming about the pieces I would like to go back and purchase.  Perhaps a retro dresser for the boys’ room and another piece of Catherine Holm enamelware?  I also realized that I did not buy enough apothecary jars for all my buttons… so really, I would say that a repeat trip is a necessity!  Wouldn’t you agree?  I wish so very much that I could bring you all here and we could go on a little shopping excursion.  Wouldn’t that be so much fun?  Would this flea market be somewhere you would like to go?

Refshalevej 166, Kobenhavn; open every other weekend

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