Sunday markets @ Kirribilli

Visiting the markets was a delightful detour.

Kat and I only planned to meet for brunch.  She broke her collarbone in a biking accident about five weeks ago (to call it a biking accident was understating that this injury happened after she flipped over her bike while while cornering at 50kms an hour), but even carrying her broken arm in a sling, she suggested that we should go for a trail walk on Sunday morning.  We compromised with brunch at Cool Mac instead.

The waiter at Cool Mac told us that the most popular dish was the bacon and egg roll with siracha mayo.

My eyes exclaimed, “At a Japanese cafe?”  My mouth stayed shut.

The menu read like the lunch selection at a UN Security Council meeting, with surprising choices like a salmon tartare bruschetta.  The waiter kindly explained the texture of the sashimi salmon and the tomatoes on toast, but I had already set my eyes on the “cool ramen”.  That was another surprise, because I had expected a cooling noodle soup.

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Kat pointed out that the Kirribilli Markets were only at the end of the street.

“Oh yes, I know, it was one of the first events we put onto Viva.”  It felt like most of my conversations revolved around Viva.  It felt like I have become a broken record.

Today was the Kirribilli monthly Art, Design and Fashion market.

There was a steady stream of foot traffic following in and out of the tunnel where the markets were held.  Under the tunnel, the merchants had set up neat little stalls displaying their wares, splashes of tidy of colours aligned in rows.  The place felt “clean”.  “Clean” was an odd expression for markets, and I knew that.  I liked clean.  It felt like everyone took pride in their wares and care in their placement – like Katy Pickering who ran one of the stalls called A Little Green.  She sold beautiful mossariums in glass jars.  They were each tiny ecosystems, complete with cute plastic figurines of people hiking or animals in the wild.

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“Doesn’t it feel quintessentially Sydney,” Kat said to me when we exited the tunnel’s eastern side the first time.

The harbour bridge was to our left basking in the midday sun.

“Oddly quintessential,” I thought.  Not every market in Sydney was set upon the backdrop of the Harbour Bridge.  The Kirribilli markets felt like it carried the essence of some common thread.  Perhaps it was the friendliness, or perhaps something deeper.  I did not let the thought linger too long, for I was already late like Alice’s White Rabbit.

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We did another lap of the markets after I bought two mossariums from A Little Green and Kat bought a pair of earrings that looked like diamond-encrusted knots.

“Should we walk across the bridge?  It feels like the perfect day for it.”

 

 

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