The wet markets of Asia are zones of frenetic activity. Almost anything goes! Pushcarts are shoved along muddy paths. Chickens are force fed rice gruel to bulk them up for the scales and increase profit margins. Negotiations are barked and spat. A vendor's coveting of another's loyal customer results in an acid word or a smarting touch up with the broom handle. Motorbikes and bicycles are ridden right on into these markets. Fish meet their maker and duck's blood is extracted from their wrung necks.
All of this I can handle.
Wet markets are also places of incredible beauty and colour. Morning rays shine across whole forests of leafy greens, clipped and bundled for sale. Mangosteens and limes are lovingly arranged into perfect cones or pyramids. Flower vendors pluck the withered outer petals off roses letting them float for a second to the ground beneath them. Wizened old faces laugh through black betel stained teeth, their eyes wired with life. The silver scales of fish flash like shards of mirror.
It's a gallery I can appreciate.
Until I chance upon an abstract installation of unidentifiable animal bits.