We decided we would like fruit for lunch so I volunteered to go to the local market. I love markets, I actively hunt them out. However, the Phu Quoc market, by the rubbish-filled sea was an assault like I have rarely experienced.
The sights were staggering - I learnt a lot more about some animals than I would like to. The Vietnamese version of free-range chicken-not in the cage but on the cage - tied up. Meat, fish, frogs were all on sale; all of the fish, meat, frogs...
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The Vietnamese people-watching was fab. The naturally assertive character is in full display in negotiations between vendor and seller, all while wearing the conical hat & the head coveringface-mask combo on pedestrians and motorcyclists alike.
The sounds - so many motorbikes, so many voices. Please people, take your fingers off the horn for a minute or two. Maybe it's good exercise or maybe tooting one's horn here means something different than I think it does.
The smells - wonderfully intoxicating as you pass the pepper/salt/lime stalls; not great as you wander near the rotting garbage.
Taste wasn't high on my agenda. I felt a bit queasy. Touch was high on the machete-wielding vendeuse of the market as they brought the sword down over the life of many a creature, at the same time reaching out for a touch of my arm, hair or body.
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