At The Market
October 25, 2006
Ah, the market, what does it look like? Well, first of all, let’s start with what it feels like: unbearably hot, and it’s in the evening, that time of day when the weather is supposed to cool down. Maybe, generally speaking, but that doesn’t apply here in Thailand, especially during the hot season. The heat feels like a liquid in which you’ve just slipped into, carelessly, not noticing, until you discover with a mild surprise that your face is wet with shining sweat and drops of it are also running down your back and making your shirt stick to your body. So far, so good, there’s nothing you can do about that, it happens and given the circumstances, it’s normal.
There is noise in the market, vendors praising their merchandise in loud voices, as if you can’t see for yourself what exactly they are selling. Fruits are piled on tables: oranges, rambutans, apples, grapes too, and ripe mangoes neatly arranged as they are really soft and you don’t want them squashed.
I stop in front of them thinking I might buy a few, and the lady that is selling them looks at me and says: “Hello madam”. I respond with a smile and a “hello” and then go about the business of choosing the mangoes I like and placing them in the plastic bag she gave me.
The woman starts again: “What’s my name?” I give her a confused smile, although I know what she really means. She doesn’t give up: “My name is…” Suddenly I feel like I’m back in the classroom and I want to laugh and to correct her English. The man next to her (I assume is her husband) asks me in Thai if I speak their language. I say I speak a little bit and try to get away as quick as possible. What use will it be my name to them? So that next time I come here, everybody will call me, point and laugh? No thank you. I’ve had enough of that along the years and it’s becoming tiresome.
I start walking between rows of vegetables, cabbages and tomatoes, garlic and limes and a heap of herbs and vegetables I don’t know the names of. I turn left and now I’m facing a chicken that’s been cut and I can see its insides in their entire splendor. It looks like somebody dissected the animal with the purpose of describing every little organ inside. It’s good they don’t have pigs for sale as well. That would be something…
I fail to see the purpose of this anatomy lesson, after all I understand why they cut the fruits in half, to show how ripe they are, but with a chicken…it’s beyond me. I asked one of my Thai colleagues at work about the purpose of this strange display and he told me with a smile that it was to show that the chicken is fresh. After countless hours in that heat, I really doubted that the purpose was achieved.
I continue my walk and when the row of tables ends I’m faced with a couple of wiggling fish that seem to want to jump from the table they are placed on. Not a pretty sight. Imagine one of those things landing on your shoes or in your path. I look up at he the man who is selling them and he looks at me smiling.
I find something I was looking for: grapes. The vendor tries to convince me of the quality of the fruits and points at the ripe ones saying “sweet” in Thai. I believe him, they do look more ripe than the ones next to them. I buy some and prepare to go when my eyes encounter slices of papaya, cut and arranged in plastic bags. I pick one bag up and a little boy appears next to me and says the name of the fruit in Thai and then in English. Great, now we’re back at school again. I try not to be negative about it, after all maybe he’s just trying to be nice, to help.
I smile again and find my way out of the heat and the market. I discover that it’s possible to breathe more freely once again. I get on a motorcycle-taxi and soon feel the wind drying the sweat on my face. It feels nice and cool.
- April 25, 2005 -
We all have stories to tell. Sometimes we bring them forth and sometimes we keep them buried. Here are my stories. I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. 
