why are you photographing my eggs?

Does anyone else agree that the best kind of energy is when you're walking amongst a gathering of people, a social affair, and there's not one, not five, but more like fifteen different languages and ethnicities, bumping of one and other? Than Marrickville Markets are for you. When it comes to crowds you can usually count me out, but today I was bumping around with the best of them.

My dear friends, living in a nature wonderland near the Marrickville River, whom I rarely see, invited us to explore their little world on a heavenly Sunday morning. We'd spent the night with them, falling asleep at the dinner table than sleep walking to the Buzz Bar Cafe, so were now bushy enough to eat our way through the markets.

Is anyone a collector of crap? Or how about 500 magnets with 'I Love Australia'? The little squirty pump part of squirty bottles? Well M'ville Markets is also for you. Recycled Garbage is a creative mecca plopped off to the side of the community centre. It changes all the time, inviting all walks of life to come sift through massive, wooden squares of STUUUUUFF. Parents bring their children on rainy Sydney days, to go off with their imaginatioins and collect scraps of felt and naked bald barbie dolls. Way up the back there is planks of timber, sheet metal and endless tins of used house paint.

  All of this could be out the door and never seen again by next week.

All I can say, is that there should be a place like this in every community.

 Than there is the food. Like most markets where you can find tie-dye, there is usually pretty delicious food.

 

Today my friend leads us to a vendor under a shady tree, next to a lady selling fudge who assures us hers is the best. I believe her. She is living proof.

Our lady, who resembles a bee with mad hair, is giving us a bit of vego heaven. At first I wanted it all, than I got it all, than I ate it all, than I wanted more. Little balls and squares of imagination that fits in the palm of your hand and fits in the hole of your mouth.

First of all there is the Lebanese bread. Spread with what you choose. Homous and yogurty goodness for us. The bread is all rounded and hilly, like you have to go searching for your next organic morsal.

I should explain a little more clearly what this is all about. There's a whole bunch of plates filled with small bites of vegetarian and vegan bites. Rice and legumes, potato and carrot fillings with spices and fresh herbs. Oh joy.

I thought the coolest part was when her glass jar filled with shreaded red cabbage had a whole cabbage leaf used as the lid. Dandy I would say.

I think chickens and eggs are quiet nifty. I also like to eat both and one day in the near future I would like to have chickens pecking away in my back yard at worms being happy chickens. If they feel like it, they can offer me some beautiful eggs every morning. My story begins and ends like this: I was walking into the market when I see some photos of happy chickens and a big pile of eggs next to them. I thought I would take a photo of that photo and those eggs. The lady who owns that photo and those eggs thought that was a bad idea. She chased me down three stalls away, excused me and demanded she need to know why I was taking photos of her fowls. I told her we didn't have chickens where I come from. That is why you see this photo before you.

After a short encounter with my scrumptious market day, I will leave you with this. Anywhere you can perch on a thick patch of grass in the sun, in an inner city suburb, never knowing except for the planes that you are even in fact in a city, with a hand painted yoga sign, a recycled garbage centre, bogans, hippies, farmers, yuppies, families from every hidden corner of the world, food, gardens, pooing dogs and of course a procession of Somoans heading to their church, all in plain view, is somewhere to be on a Sunday morning.

Now in there for close up. It was just simply good.

Street food that doesn't need to roll you over and shake you up the wrong way.