Transylvanian Flea Market

Carolyn Bánfalvi explores one of Europe's most remarkable flea markets

My husband wanted a black, wide-brimmed hat, the kind the Gábor Roma of Transylvania wear. So during the second week in October, the plan was clear: we would head to the sprawling annual open-air flea market in the western Transylvanian village of Negreni (Feketetó in Hungarian). Cars are parked in fields among hayricks, and the market is spread on both banks of the Crişul Repede river between the towering mountains.

The distinctively dressed Gábor Roma pride themselves on being shrewd marketers. The women wear long, pleated, brightly colored skirts and headscarves. The men wear the hats. They sell everything from aluminum pots and shiny copper pálinka (brandy) stills to skirts and, of course, hats. We quickly found the

perfect one and a Gábor couple quoted us 200 lei ($70). My husband (coincidentally named Gábor, a common Hungarian name) peered at himself in their car door mirror. "100 lei," the woman snapped. "OK, 80 lei ($27). But don't tell my husband." Gábor now had his Gábor hat. And he had friends everywhere. "Szevasz Gábor" (Hi Gábor) or "Te Gábor vagy?" (Are you Gábor?), they called out. They quietly asked how much he paid for the hat, and then congratulated him on getting a good deal.

Elsewhere there were stacks of hand-painted ceramic pottery, hand-embroidered tablecloths, new and secondhand clothing, woven linens, antiques, pure junk, old tools, copper cauldrons, wooden spoons and butchering knives, hand-painted peasant furniture, skis and boots, questionable art, electronic equipment, used musical instruments, toys and teddy bears, local honey and sweets, and lots more. Stuff was set up on tables, in the dirt, on plastic sheets on the ground, on car trunks, or inside of vans. To both the buyers and the sellers, this market was all about business.

After a few hours, we hit our marketing stride. The Hungarians from Szék--the women wearing headscarves and pleated red and black skirts--were the toughest to bargain with, we realized. The Gábors aimed for a high turnover, and went way down, without even being asked. The Romanians fell somewhere between.

When the sun set, sellers began packing up their goods and building fires. Soon they'd be cooking their dinner. The Széki women pitched tents and the Gábors slept on piles of blankets in trailers. We headed to a tent where Széki women served homemade stuffed cabbage. A few guys played folk songs on their fiddles, and bottles of pálinka were passed around. We sat at a rickety wooden table next to a pair of antique collectors from Hungary, pleased with the World War One-era serving platter they had acquired. "Prices have gone down noticeably since last year," they said. "And Sunday [tomorrow] is the big day when bargains are easier to find."

A few songs later, we left to wander in among the throngs of people. The smell of sizzling sausages and smoke was in the air, and outlines of Gábor hats were still visible in the darkness. We listened to a band play Gypsy tunes in front of a makeshift dance floor. As we headed back to the car-- satisfied with our purchases and this unfiltered, commercial-free market experience--the Gábors who sold us the hat called out "szevasz Gábor" from the darkness. "Jó éjszakat (good night) Gábor," my husband shouted back.

Carolyn Bánfalvi is a writer based in Budapest. She is the author of the culinary guidebook Food Wine Budapest (Little Bookroom) and she leads food, wine, and market tours through her bespoke tour company, Taste Hungary. Originally from Washington DC, she has been living in Hungary for the past decade. See her I Heart My City: Budapest here, and more pictures from her visit to the market here. For more authentic shopping tips, visit our Authentic Shopping Guide.