The Camden Market

I live in an area of London called "Camden". It is reputed as being the rather punk/ghetto area of London proper, although London is so safe in general, even in Camden it's perfectly safe to walk around on your own late at night, as long as you're smart and stick to the larger streets.

North of my flat on Camden High Street is a market that I've been hearing about, and even passed through when I was not shopping or they were closed, but I had absolutely no idea what was in store for me there. (pun not intended)

The market doesn't really have a geographical plot, but as you walk down the street the shops steadily increase and are packed tighter and tighter in with sales clerks becoming more forward and vicious as you head into the heart of it. I found a large outdoor area filled with temporary stalls of clothing and decided that this would be a good start to my hunt for a warm winter coat. Camden shopping is also known as the cheapest in London. Everything in this particular square was primarily synthetic, made in China, and had the designer labels ripped out. But they are enticingly awesome designs, so I had to check it out.

I wandered into the stalls, and if I stopped to look at something, in an instant a middle-eastern man would approach. "Do you like that? Try it on. I will give you a very good deal on that. You are very beautiful. I have the best deals in my shop. You don't like that one? Then try this one." He took a jacket and put it on me. When I tried to button it he'd brush my hands away and button it and tie the belt and grab a mirror. If I didn't like it, he'd grab another and another until we had thoroughly exhausted his tiny stock. I said that I wanted to look around a bit more in the other stalls. "You don't like anything in my shop? Why not? This one is very nice on you. It has wool in it; it will keep you very warm. It is £40 but I will sell it to you for £37. Tomorrow is Saturday and it will sell for £50 then. You want to look around? Buy it now and I'll sell it for £35. If you leave and come back it will be £40." Then he got angry and nearly chased me as I left. " Why you not buy anything in my shop?"

As I made my way through the rest of the stalls, it was the same at each. "You like that? Try it on. I have the best deals in my shop. I will give you a very good deal, because you are so beautiful." I stopped to look at a jacket that was very good imitation leather, and when a man approached I asked if it was. "Yes, that is leather." "Oh, but the tag says 100% Polyurithane." "What? No. That is the lining." "But the tag says 'Shell: 100% Polyurithane' " "That is rediculous! They can't do that with polyester! It is leather." Thank god for content label laws.

I grew more and more afraid to even pause to look at something, completely exhausted by the aggressive sales interactions, and booked my way out onto the street as quickly as possible.

I hadn't even reached the market.

I can't really say much about it, it is something too big to explain. It's a labyrinth of shops weaving in and out and around and up and down. I didn't even know when I was underground or outdoors. I can't fathom how so many businesses could possibly survive in one area. Maybe if you told me that the Camden market supplied all of London, citizens and tourists, I might believe you, but this is only one of more than a dozen markets, not to mention the slew of established businesses. I spent four hours trying to find a jacket, and finally about to cry in frustration, I slipped into the crisp mountain air-like refreshingly sterile and open atmosphere of H&M and bought one there. Once home, I felt as though I had just swam my way out of a tidal wave, and milked a delicious beer to settle my nerves.

It was so much worse than shopping in Tijuana. At once I hate it and love it. I never want to go back, and I have to go back.