The Grandmother’s Chest

I had been searching for an antique white cotton lace blouse for years. By antique, I mean the turn of last century. I had no particular reason for that bee in my bonnet, I just liked the idea of owning something that old, fragile, and hand-made.

I have also always liked lace, and unless you can afford couture, most lace today is made by machine – and even worse, using synthetic or poor quality thread. I particularly dislike that cheap lace made in China that trims all sorts of inexpensive garments, especially when it pils – ugh!

The store front (click for larger version)So while I was wandering the fascinating and twisty streets of Barcelona’s Barri Gòtic, I was thrilled to discover a vintage boutique, called L’Arca de L’Avia (The Grandmother’s Chest). Housed in what might have historically been storage rooms, the boutique is dominated by the stone arches overhead, so that one feels like one is entering a vast, subterranean treasure trove.

It really was like an Aladdin’s Cave, bursting with vintage stock – impossible to take it all in. At the back of the store was a bridal centre, where they made new, or altered old, gowns. They had a large collection of vintage veils and other bridal accessories.

The lingerie section had a few 1920s and 30s slips and nightgowns, as well as a large selection of Victorian white lace blouses.

To the left of the door was a section devoted to nineteenth and early twentieth century lingerie, including two racks full of white lace blouses. They were all delicate and beautifully made, and in pristine condition. The prices ranged from around €75–100, which I thought wasn’t too bad considering their quality. I would never even see anything like this in Australia. After exploring the rest of the store, I returned to them and found three I liked.

I would never even see anything like this in Australia.

Looking into the second chamber, which stored all sorts of haberdashery (vintage lace, buttons, feathers), and precious accessories in glass display cases, such as antique fans and purses.

After trying them on I couldn’t choose between them, and for such a relatively expensive purchase, I decided to consider them for a day or two. Returning on my last rainy afternoon in Barcelona, (pleased I was able to actually find the store again), I made my selection. There was only one tiny thing wrong with the blouse: the ribbon that pulled it tight at the waist was sewn down on one side of the placket. The helpful shop assistant exclaimed in dismay and told me she would fix it, if I could return in a couple of hours. Certainly I could, I assured her. I would come after a visit to the national art gallery, but before the Spanish guitar concert.

And that is how I brought home to Australia my little piece of Spanish treasure. (Here I am wearing the blouse.)