Locals shop for fresh vegetables at the Central Market in Hoi An, Vietnam (image by Pamela Corante-Hansen, 2011)
I reach over a stack of pre-school sized red plastic chairs for my steaming bowl of pho. In that instant, a scooter whizzes by in a blur, grazing my back. Had my soup been ready a half-second later, I would have landed on the dirt floor of the Hoi An Central Market, a near casualty of one of seemingly millions of motorcycles in this historic central Vietnamese city.
Bordered by Thu Bon River and two main thoroughfares, this indoor/outdoor public market reels you in with a discordant mélange of cooking scents and diesel. Arrive early and you can meander leisurely as vendors are setting up their stalls and warming pots and grills. Get there after 10 a.m. and you’ll be carried with the tide of locals through endless rows of squawking chickens, wildly vibrant flower stands, and smiling women flagging you with knock-off designer sportswear.
Faux Nike tube socks notwithstanding, Hoi An was once a vibrant trade center, drawing sixteenth century merchants from China, Japan, Italy, Portugal and other European nations. The Central Market had its beginnings in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century, depending on whom you ask. But a few goods have remained in vogue despite the passing of centuries: silk and spices. Any spice can be had for a fraction of what you would pay in the U.S. Golden saffron, brick-red chili powder and curry the color of burnt sienna are sold in various quantities for under a dollar. As for the textiles, a rich array of colors and weaves are available for next to nothing. Choose your fabric and a pattern for just about any garment you can dream up et voila – custom couture for a fraction of what bespoke fashion costs at home.
Not a fashionista? No problem! Test your sense of adventure – and your tolerance for gore – by browsing the meat and fish section of the market. Not for the faint of the heart (or anyone sensitive to smells), the dock where fish arrive by the boatload is enough to challenge even the strongest of stomachs. Should you wish to see/sniff for yourself, get there before 7 a.m. to avoid the crowds and to take advantage of the cooler temperatures. Fish of all colors, sizes, shapes and gaping-mouth expressions are being tossed and packed, sliced and scaled, loaded and examined. If you pride yourself on having a high threshold for seafood aromas, this Dr. Seuss-Meets-Jack-the-Ripper cavalcade of carnage may be a bit more than you can handle.
Sadly, I’m in this category. I make haste from the fish dock to the safety of the indoor section, away from the olfactory assault. Visually, though, the carnage continues. The dockside fish massacre is a distant memory as I face a vast expanse of eerily fresh pig heads, evenly spaced in neat rows on spotless white table tops. I press on, past tables of symmetrically arrayed kidneys, pig’s legs and stomachs. My meat marathon ends as I cross the finish line into the housewares section, and I exhale into a pile of cast iron skillets. The vendor looks up from his newspaper with a disapproving stare. Undaunted, I saunter past giggling kitchen gadget vendors and hanging displays of fly swatters. I emerge on the north end of the market into the brilliant midday sun, ready for a juicy pork banh mi sandwich.
WHAT $10 BUYS:
2 cups of strong Vietnamese coffee
A 1-kilo bag of coffee beans
1 custom-tailored men’s shirt
A half-kilo of chili powder
A kilo of mandarin oranges
2 bowls of pho
