In the heart of the Notting Hill district, between Victorian architectures and Modernist buildings, there is the gaudy and roaring Portobello Road. Every Saturday the road entertains its visitors with the market of second-hand clothes and antiques, an unmissable gala of colours for tourists and Londoners that comes alive for one day.
Portobello Road is the world’s largest antiques market with over 1,000 vendors trading collectible objects from BC to the 1960’s.
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As the sun sets, the noises and the smells of the market awakening animate the deserted winter
pastel-coloured street.
It is 6 AM when the first sellers arrive. They make deals with one another in that part of the market that runs between the adjacent bridges of the A40 road and the tube.
In Portobello Road there are several markets in one from the antique section to the fruit and vegetables stalls. On Saturday they are all in full swing in a harmonic winding mile of bargain, bustle, energy and glow.
In the 19th century, Portobello Road market flourished thanks to the wealthy inhabitants of the chic crescents and terraces, while working class residents found jobs in the neighbourhood as servants and tradesmen.
Walking down Portobello Road to the sound of blues, jazz and reggae evokes the nostalgia of past times.
“These vibes, they make my heart soar!” A girl says to a boy while they explore this crossing point for women and men of different cultures and generations. “Life is so different here!” Londoners exclaim. Paradoxically, they feel like foreigners.
Originally, the road hosted the horses and spices market. Then, in 1880 evening stalls appeared every Saturday under the artificial light of the newly introduced lampposts.
Still today the aroma of Eastern spices hooks the crowd, surrendering it in bizarre regions of the world. But the light of progress does not guide visitors anymore. It has been replaced by the search for the forgotten past among tokens, treasures, cheap imitations and kitsch.
The antique market rose only after the closure of the Caledonian Market at King’s Cross in 1958 when more rag-and-bone men specialised in bric-a-brac and antiques.
“Only one pound!” Sellers shout. “Why everything here is useless?” People ask. No one has a proper answer, yet there are spectators gathering outside the stalls, waiting to discover and withhold historical deep tales.
By the late 1980s, Portobello Road went from being a crummy working class district to being wealthy and trendy after gentrification.
Disparate communities populate the district, while café and pubs create a metropolitan and dynamic scene.
Travelers reach the market through delicately curved roads opposed to the geometrical layout of Paddington. These picturesque roads add intimacy to the streetscape.
Children gather outside Alice’s Antiques, where Michael Bond’s Paddington Bear meets his friend Mr. Gruber.
Someone in the crowd stops to take a picture at number 22. In 1923 George Orwell lived here, in the background of this market of colours.
The atmosphere changes at midday when the first snowflake falls to the ground. Visitors’ eyes spark of wonder regardless of their age, sex or ethnicity.
Wandering around this planetarium of stalls, shops and arcades pedestrians can also encounter extraordinary street performers like the jazz saxophonist dressed in electric blue.
Big-brand chain stores threaten the market’s independent and artistic spirit. In 2006 the Friends of Portobello organised protest screenings of the documentary “Portobello: Attack of the Clones” at Electric Cinema, Britain oldest film theatre.
Between Subway and Starbucks people admire second-hand vintage clothes side by side with young new designers’ edgy couture.
As the dusk arrives, the enchantment fades. The market becomes spectral animated only by the sound of engines blast from cars in the peripheral roads.
This unexpected change inspired Muriel Spark’s short novel “The Portobello Road” about a murder who meets his victim’s ghost at the market.
Portobello Market is like a
kaleidoscope, you could swing and look into, but you will never capture the
same image twice.
