Uniting market photo link:
On Monday morning I head to a market near my hostel. The Uniting Market is in the opposite direction from the Siem Reap tourist hub. The avenue I walk on is bustling. Young children in the Cambodian school uniform, white shirts and blue trousers or skirts, cycle against the flow traffic, on the road side or pavements. Nearly all the children and young people wave at me excitedly. Some locals (and there are only locals here at least at this time of day), look at me bemused. It is a hot day, and I am walking without a hat, on my own.
The market reveals itself on my left. This is a local people’s market, a cornucopia of foods and goods. The clothes here are reasonably priced. This is not the place to find colourful silks and traditional wear. This is a real people’s market selling what is affordable and practical. People smile, some are surprised to see me here but most remain indifferent. Colourful baskets filled with chillies, vegetables, fruit. Fish and meat is sold at the back of the market. I am the silent visitor. People lie in hammocks, they watchTV, talk to each other. There are internal eateries offering simple delicacies. I don’t know where to turn first.
A gentle pull on my hand and I turn to face a little girl who generously offers me her smile. She takes me with her and I follow her to her family. She has a loud older brother who jumps around me excitedly whilst speaking in fast Khmer. Am I picking up a different accent? I happily sit around them enjoying the human interaction of smiles and sounds. When I leave the little girl gives me a sad smile.
Bows of respect and a couple of offers of goods follow in the market lanes. I take a left turn again to be faced by a beautiful little boy, a little Buddha leaning forward towards me. His father looks at him with so much love.
Photos and words are limited and cannot convey sounds, scents, affection and human connections. I still wish I could write better. I wish I could take better photos and that I had a better camera. Mr Green be prepared to give me an intensive course on basics in photography on my return.
I am the enchanted wanderer. My senses are sharpened and I am so emotional ( pulse Michalaki mou , I am still a pulse). I see more children and spend some time with another sweet child who is my host for a while. Children are Cambodia’s treasure; I hope Cambodians understand this and do their utmost to protect their little hearts and their health. They open up their hearts , reach out to you, lead you to their families (who might have otherwise not bothered ), they try , they give and don’t expect much. I really bow to them.
I reach a banana woman (surrounded by hundreds of lying and hanging bananas) and am approached by young man who offers his help. I explain that I just want to look around, maybe buy a hat, we have a chat about what I am doing in Cambodia. And then I hear the cursed word again. Barrang stands out amongst other words and syllables in a woman’s conversation behind me. I turn and see an older lady looking at me in an unfriendly manner. I cannot blame her. I am a pale European looking woman, conjuring up images of past stories that have been passed on to her. Respectfully I say, ‘ Teh Barrang Ming’ (Not Barrang auntie). I turn to the young man . ‘Teh Barrang Orm’ (no barrang brother). ‘Yes’ he smiles reassuringly ‘ You are not Barrang’.
