Street markets around the world are virtually interchangeable: Africa, China, SE Asia, Middle East, and the one in Iquitos, Peru, the doorway to the Amazon, end of civilization. In the market, produce is common, and home-butchered meat, along with electronics, shoes & household goods. The multitude of temporary booths, many with colorful umbrellas, were laid out in rows on streets, paved and unpaved. Walking through was like navigating a minefield, carefully stepping over muddy pools of whoknowswhat.
Locals often call to me because if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s stick out as a tourist: I always wear garish clothes & hat that I buy locally but that no locals actually wear. This means things are brought to my attention that I might not otherwise see in the chaos & confusion: for example, a man selling coca leaf (where cocaine comes from).
Selling coca leaf
I’m always amazed how people in Peru work no-matter-what, a conscientiousness that Westerners have lost. However, it doesn’t seem to make any difference how efficient & effective their efforts are: many of the booths were so sparse & humble it makes me wonder if they sell enough to cover costs: trinkets, ice cream, potions. I felt guilty walking by without looking, and even more guilty if I looked then didn’t buy anything. Everything is just so earnest & sincere: one booth had a young boy sleeping on a pile of used clothing. Luckily, my daughter-in-law, a full-blooded Incan, would stop & talk with local people, and I’d notice everyone was smiling.
Boy sleeping on table
Iquitos Market, Peru
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Iquitos Market, Peru
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