The Times Shopper: Worldwide : MARKET STRATEGIES : From London’s Portobello Road to Tibet’s Barkhor Bazaar, the Wares and Energy of the Outdoor Marketplace Are Irresistible

A sea of silver stretches down the hill and around the block. Silver coffee services. Silver bangles. Exquisite, twisted silver iced-tea spoons, wedged next to tables of old-fashioned cameras, antique toys, old war badges and bric-a-brac.

I’ve rarely bought anything at the weekly Portobello Road market. But if I’m in London on a Saturday, you can be sure I’ll stop in.

For me, the energy is irresistible. Vendors crow their bargains, their meaning unmistakable even when the language is beyond me. The unadulterated zest for wheeling and dealing stirs my little capitalist soul, and the bargaining that seems so bothersome in a stateside car showroom becomes a gleeful game. The smells waft past: corn on the grill, musty incense, strange pungent spices, the oh-so-airy fragrance of orchids, the less glamorous scents of livestock.

And then, of course, there are the items for sale.

The Christmas packages I recently wrapped were full of them: antique jade dragons and hand-painted perfume bottles from Hong Kong, handcrafted belts from Guatemala, miniature statues from Bolivia, wooden musical instruments from Thailand, wooden ornaments from Mexico, all marking traditions far different from my own. My apartment overflows--with weavings crafted by careful hands through countless days, amulets promising good health and fortune, masks signifying hundreds of years of traditions. My wardrobe is packed with shirts and sweaters purchased on the streets at a fraction of their U.S. cost. . . .

But it’s the people I really go to see. Markets are living museums, portals to local lifestyles outside the usual tourist experience. Conversation comes easily with eager sellers; when we don’t share a language, we simply smile and gesture, depending upon calculators to indicate price. In Tibet, for instance, a friend and I had long, laughing “chats” with colorfully dressed women who scoffed at the cheap cosmetics we offered to trade them and instead chose samples of expensive, designer perfumes.

I often can learn about a country from the way the vendors bargain, bicker and trade goods. Those with little will settle for almost nothing; those with more will refuse to go too low. In some places it is a laughable game; in others, business is downright cutthroat. And buying leather sandals as a free-roaming cow looks on, as I have in India, is about as cultural an experience as I can imagine. (In the Hindu religion, cows are sacred, left to wander through markets, railway stations and even homes.)

Many worthwhile markets are unmentioned here. Some--such as Otavalo in Ecuador and the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul--I have yet to see. Maybe it’s time for another run out to the market.

BANGKOK’S WEEKEND MARKET

That strange reed contraption covered with beads and one-inch, silver-colored balls is not somebody’s idea of a bizarre holiday decoration. No, that thing on my wall is actually a tribal headdress from northern Thailand.

When I first visited Thailand five years ago, I went trekking in this region, staying in the homes of tribeswomen who wore such extraordinary headgear above the odd combination of hand-woven skirts and Nike T-shirts. I was too shy--or too foolish--to buy a headdress from these people, but when I spotted them earlier this year at Bangkok’s Weekend Market for $22, I couldn’t resist.

Ditto the wooden musical flute ($16), the fanciful puppet with a beard made of real hair ($15), the hand-carved Burmese figures dressed in sequined jackets ($4).

Bangkok is home to so many markets that there’s a special map to find your way around them--Nancy Chandler’s Map of Bangkok: The Market Map and Much More (sold at tourist haunts in Bangkok). One section specializes in Buddha images, another in cheap clothes. I was disappointed to find that two of my favorites, the orchid market, with its blocks of fresh blooms, and the Thieves Market, filled with furniture and housewares, seemed to be shadows of their old selves. But the Weekend Market, near the northern bus terminal, was as jam-packed as ever.

The place sprawls, as unstoppable as science fiction’s “The Thing,” in makeshift stalls and more permanent booths. Anything you can think of is probably there somewhere: cocktail clothes and T-shirts, fish for the aquarium and fish for dinner, semiprecious beads and stones, antiques and handicrafts. Despite its name, the market is open daily.

PIKE PLACE MARKET, SEATTLE

As a child I was enthralled by the baskets of polished vegetables and the overall-covered folks who sold them at the local farmers’ market. I’m still fascinated . . . all the more so when a market includes sea creatures and fresh eats.

Apparently, I’m not alone. One of the last authentic farmers’ markets in America, Pike Place Market draws 9 million visitors a year, making it one of Seattle’s top tourist attractions.

Piles of tomatoes, apples, lettuce, cherries, beets, beans, radishes and eggplant line the unheated halls of this 1907 structure, brought by the farmers who have grown them. But the big draw is seafood. Massive king salmon, as big as 50 pounds, and giant geoduck clams sit upon mounds of ice. Dungeness crabs, the local specialty, are artfully arranged; hand-drawn signs advertise them at $3.49 per pound, cooked. The salesmen often put on a show, calling to each other and flinging their catch over the heads of watching visitors.

There are trendy restaurants there, but though the day was cold we opted for a little outdoor stand called Jack’s Fish and Chip Spot. The shrimp and crab were well worth the chill, which gave my sweetheart and me a chance to snuggle a little, anyway.

MACAU FISH MARKET

In theory, the fish market in Macau might sound a bit like Pike Place. It is not. For one thing, there are no tourist shops or restaurants, no chic coffees. What’s more, many of the offerings are still alive.

Macau, near Hong Kong, is a colonial outpost (Portugal will turn it over to the Chinese at century’s end) turned gambling town, and most tourists head straight for the casinos and European-style historic sites. My friend, Stetson, and I followed a resident and ended up in the market, an entirely Chinese place filled exclusively with locals.

And what fun! As the only tourists--and the only Westerners--in sight, we were a great curiosity. The fishmongers joked for our cameras, hoisting frogs the size of a head of lettuce, squirming eels and wiggling fish and pretending to toss them in our direction.

Grouper the size of a family dog leered at us from beds of ice. Creatures unlike anything found in American waters crawled through plastic bins gurgling with water. Some looked quite scary, and even if I’d been visiting for practical reasons instead of for ambience, I wouldn’t have bought any of these very strange things.

Of course, it’s better to eat than to be eaten.

PORTOBELLO ROAD, LONDON

England is a stolid place, where the rule of thumb has long been “older is better.” No place is this more evident than on London’s Portobello Road, where vendors set up each Saturday to display the revered remains of days gone by.

The area is best known for its silver, often tucked in indoor mazes of tiny stalls. There are few bargains, however; my mother and I found lower prices on old silver in the Cotswolds, last spring. In London, the market at Camden Passage on Saturdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays also specializes in collectibles and is preferred by some to Portobello Road.

Visitors will find few goods that are new, though a few vendors sell casual clothes made in India. That--along with turbaned vendors and Middle Eastern accents--remind one of England’s colonial past and the fact that even England changes, after all. Still, some things are immutable. And when the feet grow weary, a proper cuppa English tea is only a step away.

HONG KONG’S JADE MARKET

One splendid exception to Hong Kong’s high-price shopping is the daily Jade Market, tucked beneath a freeway under a canopy of tents in Kowloon. Here, beads, discs, rings and amulets are tossed into baskets or piled high upon the floor. They are priced about $1.50 each, though one must bargain and bargain hard, and not be persuaded by those silvery words, “Special price for you, lady.”

Earrings and necklaces in malachite, lapis lazuli and other semiprecious stones sell for about $10, and freshwater pearls are abundant. Some of the most fascinating pieces are the old bits of jade--aged, imperfect beads; carvings of monkeys, Buddhas and mythical creatures; smoking pipes--which may run to $50 or more.

CHICHICASTENANGO, GUATEMALA

Intriguing religious ceremonies that mix Mayan traditions with Catholicism are one reason to visit Chichicastenango in Guatemala. The other is the market that is said to have been meeting regularly for 1,000 years.

Thankfully, the two can coincide. Ceremonies take place on Saturday evening, about sundown, and early Sunday morning. The market is Sunday and Thursday.

We bought rough-hewn, hand-carved statues of saints, wooden masks, splendid weavings, hand-tooled belts, leather hair bands, whimsical jewelry, bright woven purses, pot holders, aprons and children’s outfits. Most items cost less than $10, though a very fine antique mask and an exquisite weaving were closer to $100.

As the day grows older, the twisting little rows become so packed with shoppers that forward motion is impossible. We are gone by noon--our car full, our pockets empty.

BOLIVIAN WITCHES’ MARKET

The idea of offering a dried llama fetus to the Pachamama may seem both bizarre and gruesome to microchip sensibilities, but in La Paz, Bolivia, it seems neither. Not bizarre, because making a present to the Mother Earth seems an oddly fitting thing to do in one of the Earth’s highest cities (11,000 to 13,000 feet above sea level). Not gruesome, because it turns out that llamas self-abort when they become pregnant with more babies than they can carry to term, and because once dried, these fetuses look like a mere twist and tangle of sticks.

If the idea appeals to you--or if you are simply curious, as my friend and I were--you can check out these and other offerings to the Pachamama, along with amulets and medicinal herbs, along Linares Street, also known as the Witches’ Market.

I expected some impressive gathering of herbalists and was disappointed; the stalls that hawk these mystical herbs are simple stands set up occasionally along several blocks between shops touting more “regular” souvenirs: leather jackets, alpaca sweaters, weavings, leather purses, traditional musical instruments called charangas. But a closer look at the herb stands--and some explanation about their use--reveals a little of the fascinating mysticism that thrives on Bolivia’s Altiplano. Certain amulets improve your chances for love; others are used to bring trials to your enemies. If your lungs are weak, try baked garlic; if your head aches, eat cooked corn. If you opt for the more traditional crafts shops in this area, remember that vicuna and several species of armadillo (used to make the fancier charangas) are endangered and may not be brought into the United States.

TIBET’S BARKHOR BAZAAR

The Barkhor Bazaar is more than just a shopping area; it’s a religious experience. Literally. The bazaar encircles the Jokhang, the holiest of all Lamaist temples in Tibet, located in central Lhasa. Pilgrims flock to the Jokhang from across Tibet to prostrate themselves, light candles and chant. And to circumambulate--which is a fancy way of saying that they walk around the temple chanting their prayers, counting their prayer beads and spinning their prayer wheels.

As tourists, my friend and I did far more shopping than praying. We spent countless hours joyously sifting through elaborate teapots carved from yak bone, curly-toed boots made from yak hide, old brass bits of bowls and locks, hand-painted religious paintings called thangkas (prices vary), prayer beads, tapestries, coral jewelry, brocade hats lined with fur. Though small items cost only a few dollars, the elaborately carved teapot and fine jewelry cost closer to $75.

We bought plenty--truthfully, too much. But what we hold most dear are memories of the people we met there: country women in colorful garb who danced each afternoon, young city women with turquoise woven into their hair who tried to sell us their jewelry, a poor but proud pilgrim who sold us his prayer beads to raise enough money to get back home. Where can you wear yak boots, anyway?