The day of the Mercatone Antiquariato—big, antiquarian market—here in Milano, stretching out along both sides and the length of the Naviglio Grande—the Grand Canal. Always the last Sunday of the month, and always attended by hordes, both Italian and foreign. It’s fascinating just to LOOK, whether you find anything to cart home with you or not.
I also go to the other, smaller markets with painter Loredano on Sunday mornings, bright and early. Vendors are out there setting up by flashlight, and buyers/browsers also come with flashlights, hoping to catch sight of some treasure before someone else snatches it.
Antiques are older here in Italy. I overhear “the regulars” discussing items: “Oh, it’s not very old. It’s only from the 1800s.” It’s very funny to me. In the U.S., if it’s 50 years old, it’s an “antique”, or thereabouts.
Another curious thing is how they note the centuries. They say “Ottocento“—800—rather than 1800. The same with 700, 600, etc. They drop the 1000.
At the flea markets, I find things that are centuries old, that have traded hands who knows how many times, have ended up bouncing around in an old cardboard box in the back of some vendor’s van, and then displayed on the pavement. A select few of those things have ended up back in Burien with me. One notable treasure is the Big Old Book I brought home a couple of years ago that is a collection of documents with the earliest date of 1576. What a history these things have! If only I knew all the places they’ve been.
