Last summer, I overheard my coworker say she was going to take her out-of-town friends to the Saint-Michel Flea Market. I was intrigued. I’d never been to a flea market before, but growing up, I had watched an excess of HGTV and Flea Market Flip was a favourite. It consistently left me wondering about the mystery of an establishment where antique grandfather clocks and still-operational foosball tables could occupy the same space and time. 

I ventured up to the eastern end of the metro’s Blue Line, seeking the unusual on a stifling August afternoon. When I emerged from Saint-Michel station, I turned into a large parking lot behind a McDonald’s drive-thru. Across the lot, beneath an overhang and marked by a large sign reading “ANTIQUITÉS,” the market sat waiting. 

Entering, I had the distinct feeling that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore—so far away from Saint-Laurent ...