Sunday morning. A Madrid hangover often involves a coffee in a bar while your fellow party animals carry on sinking cervezas. Not surprising as a working mans breakfast here often involves a beer or two.

Madrid's markets are a Sunday ritual as much as Catholics have church and I have hangovers, and Madrid comes out on the street to stroll, see, sell stuff and just generally be part of their city.The Rastros - table-top sales and flea markets are around the south-west of the city. The main streets around Calle Toledo have the sellers of trinkets, football scarves and discounted homewares, whereas the dusty back streets are where the old men and women set up rickety tables and pile them high with piles of stuff.Some people call this stuff junk and sell it cheap, some people call this 'vintage' and crank up the price.

The old guys sit there all day, stoically guarding the tables of ancient nick-nacks. Their wifes chatter together, shouting across the lanes and occasionally taking the money if anyone actually chooses something.

Generally, for all the noise, people and goods on display, not much actually seems to get sold here.Their retroSelling in the squareSelling in the squareart pictures, old spanish books, crusty furniture and dusty ceramics feel like they are dragged out and plonked there every week, along with the pock-faced old men and aside the old ochre walls of Madrid's back streets.

Just being here seems enough for everyone, just being part of the city.

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  • The Crashpacker

    I never meant to go travelling, I just went. You start moving and can't stop, and when you do come to rest the inertia swells i…

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