The Market

In smaller towns, the market is somewhat ordered. Shanties of wooden beams and cornstalk roofs lean against each other, creating a block formation maze of brown. When it's not market day, the place is absolutely abandoned, tables overturned and discarded plastic bags blowing across the paths. On market day, each stall is filled with giant ricebags full of stuff, the territory staked out long ago. In the city, the market blossoms out of the streets, women arriving early to get a good spot. The market twists and turns through the streets, diving under plastic tarp and corrugated metal roofs one minute to flood back into the sunlight the next.

I love the experience of a market. All of my senses are assaulted as I wander through the stalls. Women sit behind vegetables and spices, trying to get me interested in their wares. If a seller with something unusual sees me, she goes right for me - they seem to have figured out that the foreigners like the strange fruits. There's a crush of people in front of and behind me and I feel like I'm swimming in a school of fish, just going wherever the mob pulls me. Children weave through the crowd, calling out "Tubaboo!" as I pass, just to see if I'll look. Sometimes, they follow me for a few minutes, ordering me to give them money until I order them to go away. My mind wanders as I focus on the smells and colors around me; the smells can change drastically and suddenly - one minute, I can smell pepper and crushed spices, but then the air around me is filled with the smell of dried fish or fresh meat, and then just as suddenly it switches to a perfume of soaps and new fabrics. My eyes are in constant motion, flitting from one stall to the next, straining to make out what's in the shadowy shops behind the stalls. It doesn't matter if a whole side street is just tomatoes, onions, and cabbage, I still watch, searching for the elusive carrot, avocado, or fruit.

In town, I can expect to start at one place and end at another, with the ability to get back to any stall I wish to. In the city, I find myself completely turned around and lost, using my senses to guide me back to the noisy, sunlit main road. I wander from fresh vegetables into meat into jewelry and fabrics. The fabrics always give me pause, just staring at the vibrant colors. I keep moving, drinking up the patterns with my eyes and listening to the whir of old Singer sewing achines. In another section, different sized metal cauldrons and clay pots are stacked next to rows upon rows of brightly colored plastic dishes. In still another section, I find myself surrounded by prayer mats and religious items, while one street over there are dried animal skins and bones, talismans, and strange powders for people still practicing animism. I love the possibility of finding something new and surprising, of asking what something is and having to use charades to understand the answer. I love being lost in the crowd and just wandering with them, deciding which way to turn at an intersection on a whim. I come out at the end of the day, berating myself for spending too much money, but feeling refreshed and excited despite it.

On a related note, I bought a hammock.