The Fuseta markets...

Bloody hell, missed it again…

‘And what is that?’ You may well ask.

It’s the monthly market here in Fuseta – well, both of them, actually. I’m always saying to myself that I must make an effort to have a wander around one of the two markets, that I should write about them. But I never do, mainly because I simply forget that they’re on.

I only realise that there is a market taking place when I head out for a walk, when I wonder why there are so many people around, when I wonder why car parking is at a premium, when I wonder why restaurants are full at this time of year. Then I pass by the campsite here in Fuseta and I see the crowds and the stalls and the general hub-bub, and I say to myself:

‘Ah, the markets…’

There are two monthly markets here. There is the ‘Feira de Velharias’, the antiques fair, which in Portugal can mean selling anything, and I really mean anything. It’s more of a flea market really. Then there is the ‘Mercado Mensal’, the monthly market, which some people call the ‘Gipsy Market’, where you can buy new goods.

The ‘Feira de Velharias’ is held on the second Sunday of each month, except August, when Fuseta is simply too busy to cater for this sort of thing. I think the ‘Mercado Mensal’ avoids August, too. And why? Because where would all the tourists park their cars?

Anyway, when the Sunday market is on, people come from far and wide to see the wondrous offerings available: toilet seats, carburettors, golf balls, thirty-year old videos, flower pots, car wheels, broken toys, second-hand rumpled clothes… you get the gist, any old bit of tat that you can think of. Obviously, there are some gems amongst the rubbish, and I’m sure my brother (who loves his antiques) would have a field day, but to be honest, I find it hard to see past the crap, which is probably why the second Sunday of the month doesn’t really resonate with me. And yet, it attracts so many people. Do they actually buy anything? I presume so, but I wouldn’t know since I’ve rarely been.

The ‘Mercado Mensal’ is held on the first Thursday of each month, and is a much more local affair. There are clothes stalls, bedding stalls, flower stalls, fruit stalls, tool stalls, jewellery stalls… and all of these stalls offer new items, although obviously, these items aren’t always of the best quality. But the locals seem happy enough. I now know where all the old blokes get their clothes, anyway. They’re not what I would call fashionable, more functional. Not my style, but I suppose they do a job.

Amazingly, I actually got to wander around the ‘Mercado Mensal’ last week.

I’d gone for a walk, and was Facetiming with my Australian friend as I did so (yes, sad, I know). As I was walking back past the campsite, I mentioned that the market was on. That was a mistake:

‘Ooh, can I see?’

And so, I spent the next ten minutes waltzing amongst the stalls, showing her what was on offer, what the Thursday market was all about. She gave a commentary as we went:

‘Hey, a flower stall! Maybe you can buy some plants to replace the ones you’ve killed.’ This is rather a sore point, to be honest.

‘Are those belts real leather? Are those bags? Look at the umbrella hats!’ Yes, someone was selling hats that took the form of an umbrella on your head – bloody hell, life is too short…

‘More hats! You should buy one with a big brim!’ What is it with my Australian friend and wide-brimmed hats?

‘The bedding looks OK…’

‘Knives? We really don’t need those…’

‘Ooh, panties. Four for five euros?! Wow!’

I can feel a visit to the market coming on next time she visits Fuseta. I think I may have created a monster…

The one thing that the two markets seem to have in common is food and drink. I have no idea what it’s like on the Sunday, but here on the Thursday, every table was full: food was being eaten and beers were being drunk. Any excuse, eh? It’s only 10:30am after all.

But thinking about it, maybe that’s what these markets are all about. Maybe it’s not so much the buying and selling, maybe it’s more about the social event. Maybe it’s more about wandering around, looking, enjoying, relaxing. Maybe it’s about the human thing, the collective, the herd. Maybe it’s simply about being with other people.

There again, maybe the sellers are so desperate, particularly on a Sunday, that they will try and sell anything to make a euro, a euro that will allow them to put food on the table. Some of the sellers certainly look as though they could do with a good meal.

To be honest, I’m really not sure what I think.

Maybe I need to do some more wandering around both markets to truly understand their purpose.

I’ve been here over five years now, and I know that I am still only scratching the surface of Fuseta.

It’s a special place.