bounty

Marburg, Germany. It’s a fairytale city, not only because of the hilltop castle that overlooks its cobbled streets and half-timbered houses, but also because this is where the Grimm brothers once lived and studied, starting the collection of folklore stories that would eventually become their famous anthology of fairytales. Throughout the city, sculptures – some perched in improbable places – pay homage to this past, forming a mile-long route known as the Grimm Path. It’s very much like a treasure hunt.

But on my visit to Marburg, I had a different type of treasure hunt in mind and, once done with enchanted mirrors and kissy-lipped frogs, headed straight for the SecondHand by DRK (Deutsches Rotes Kreuz – the German Red Cross) to scout for pre-owned items.

Whereas once there was a stigma to buying secondhand, nowadays it’s on trend. “Thrifted” has been tagged more than 7m times on Instagram, and accounts such as @charity_shop_life and @my.thrifted.abode have tens of thousands of followers. According to Booking.com’s 2025 travel predictions, “Thrift shopping and vintage stores are becoming a core part of the travel experience, with 73% of travellers having already purchased secondhand items while abroad”. Google data also shows that searches for destination-specific secondhand shopping – “thrifting in Berlin” or “vintage markets in Stockholm”, for example – have skyrocketed.

Guides and tour operators haven’t been slow to jump on board either – for £200, Fashion Tours London will guide you around the capital’s secondhand stores for a whole day, while Red Shed Vintage Tours and Gold Crest will set you loose on a variety of French brocantes (flea markets).

But while curated tours suit some, for me it would dampen the thrill of exploring on my own. There is bounty almost everywhere, of course, but I’ve found France great for rustic kitchen and homewares, Madrid a good hunting ground for vintage designer accessories, while in Venice it’s glassware (there’s a tiny charity shop attached to a church where I almost always find genuine pre-loved Murano glass).

The appeal of a tour also depends on how you feel about rummaging with others in tow. For me, it’s a bit like skiing: you don’t want to stop others from having a good time, but nor do you want them to affect your good time. Personally, when I’m in treasure-hunting mode, I prefer being alone, without someone sighing at my shoulder. I’ll just meet you at the bar later and reveal my finds, OK? “You’re a bit like Oscar the Grouch in the Muppets,” observed one friend. “Happiest alone in the bin.” Well, quite.

Whatever your MO, it always helps to do some research before you go – get acquainted with the names of the charity shops at your destination; look for Instagram accounts specialising in vintage. Use Google to search for pop-ups such as kilo sales, and in France use brocabrac.fr to look for brocantes calendars in the area you’re visiting – they generally move from location to location each weekend. This worked nicely for me in the summer, when the brass swans I’d been eyeing up one Sunday were still available the following week on the same stall – but in the next town.

Google Lens can be helpful, too, in determining whether the item you’ve found is genuine or worth the price being asked. Towns with an ageing population, such as Kraków and Léon, tend to have the best bargains, while capital cities and those with a university will probably have higher prices, due to the number of avid shoppers. And generally speaking, the farther out of town you travel, the better the bargains will be. I also wander the streets surrounding weekend markets as residents often capitalise on the passing footfall to set up their own little garage sales.

I’ve been buying secondhand since my early teens and it still gives me a dopamine hit: in Germany I stumbled across an ostrich leather handbag for €2, right next to a synthetic Primark one tagged €3.50; in Romania I unearthed a silk Hermès scarf in a bin full of polyester ones; and in Greece I sifted through shelves of books to find a volume of beautiful botanical drawings. An angry rooster jug I picked up for 100 krone (£12) at a market in Copenhagen remains one of my most beloved purchases. Only recently did I discover he was made in Czechoslovakia in the 1930s and that others like him have sold for close to £200 on Etsy (although there’s no way I’m ever selling mine).

One of the great delights of buying secondhand abroad is that you’ll uncover items not readily found at home and they make the best souvenirs. The vintage stoneware escargot dishes I nabbed in a market near Biarritz, for example, that now sit on my dresser holding my rings, remind me of that trip daily. I love, also, the interactions that such purchases spark. People on market stalls or in small shops tend to be far more engaging than staff in big chains and this often leads to interesting chats and fun exchanges.

“Non, non, ce n’est pas pour toi!” shrieked a woman, laughingly, at a flea market in Nantes, as I peered closely (too closely, in retrospect) at a small statue, trying to make sense of it, before realising it graphically depicted a sex act. “German,” scoffed the man on the stall in Copenhagen, as I examined a mustard pot in the form of a boy squatting with his pants down (the mustard was dispensed via his bottom).

Of course, it’s very easy to get carried away, and you need to be mindful of what you can pack and carry. On a girls’ weekend in Lisbon a few years ago, the Humana secondhand stores were so full of gems that some serious sitting on suitcases was required for the return journey – but, honestly, who in their right mind would leave an utterly perfect, €10 camel cashmere coat behind? Or a pair of Italian leather boots that actually fit?

The really impossible items – furniture, huge mirrors and ornate frames – make me sad because even I have to admit there’s no way that chaise longue or antique dressing table can be squeezed into my bag (and where shipping is available, it tends to be from slicker operations with consequently higher prices). It may well be time for a driving holiday – in a lorry. And I doubt I’m the only one with such ideas: on a recent stay at a campsite in France, the noticeboard listed a week’s worth of local brocantes and vides-greniers (“empty attics” or car boot sales).

As for the DRK in Marburg? Well, I didn’t strike gold on my own behalf – but I did for someone else. A few years ago, while travelling, I met an Australian woman as keen on secondhand shopping as I am. We’ve stayed in touch and she mentioned recently how much she likes Boden prints. Guess what was hiding on the rails? A blouse in a vibrant green pattern, tick; silk, tick; size, tick; one parcel winging its way to Oz, tick. Proof that thrifting isn’t just good for the planet and addictively fun – it’s a great way to make friends, too.