How many times have I said to myself, “hey, you gotta stop and see what that place is all about!”

You know the one, the joint across from Smokin’ D’s on US1 South at 206? The one resembling a scene from Hillbilly Elegy?

Over the last decade, the business (was it a business?) enjoyed some local patronage before suffering a bust. It went dark, the grounds empty. But lately there are new signs of a resurrection. The driveway fronting the main building now looks busy. Lots of stuff. But how to describe it?

Here, let’s try this: a “ceramic-metal-wood-lawn-ornament-vintage-household-decor emporium”.

What a mouthful.

Or, maybe as the owner likes to describe it officially, “Pottery and Garden Decor, Whimsical Metal Yard Art, Antiques and Collectables”.

Regardless of which word salad you choose, a stroll around the sprawling grounds will confirm it’s much easier to name a dog or a baby.

So, let’s see …

Faux Roman sculptures? Check.

Wildlife wood carvings? Check.

Wildlife ceramic and metal depictions? Check.

Art-Deco-era lovechair, with your choice of a matching faux gas pump? Check.

Pithy signs for the lanai? Check.

Mermaids? You bet.

And some nice looking ceramic garden plant holders …

Something for every … well, let’s just say “many ” tastes, in a “Ripley’s Believe it or Not” kind of way.

Let’s not forget a dusty collection of antique jewelry and household effects from bygone eras, maybe even as old as the 100+ year old buildings they are housed in.

Sitting out front was a large, rotund, balding man with whom I quickly felt comfortable, and felt I may have met before. I asked him if he was the owner, and he said he was. He bought the place about seven years ago, his partner beside him adding that he has been in “the business” for a long time, and knew just where and how to find these items.

“What’s your name?”, I asked.

“Z…as in Z************…”.

I didn’t get that last part, and Z didn’t seem in much of a mood to elaborate. He also didn’t want his picture taken.

“Where are you from, Z?”, I then asked.

“New York, if you’re asking recently”.

“And before that?”

“Turkey”.

And then it struck me. I had walked into Z’s American version of a Turkish bazaar. No hookah or Turkish coffee visible, but Z tried to frame my 3rd world shopping experience for me … (“…see that fish here is three dollars, but that Mahi up there is $199. There’s a difference in the quality”.)

“Go, look around”….”, Z encouraged.

I did, and as I looked back at him sitting on that worn couch beneath the overhang, I realized that Z, the New York-Turkish bazaar shop owner, was perfectly at home in his little place in St. Augustine, Florida.

And come to think of it, having browsed through bazaars the world over, so was I.

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