Russian Market

For once, I didn't abandon the boss. He had earlier said he wanted to see the Russian Market (Psar Tuol Tom Pong). So I took him there.

Size wise, as many Singaporeans would know, this is just one fifth of Bangkok's Chatuchak Market. It must be the age or something. I used to go ballistic over these sort of wares. Now, I no longer have that desire to just sweep everything that's cheap cheap and cheap. I consider if I'd actually use the item before buying it just because it's pretty.

There were a couple of small art pieces that I didn't mind. But I wasn't quite tempted. So I just lingered for a while over the paintings before walking away. I had absolutely nothing to buy. But I wanted to see, hear and smell the market with all its colors and vibrance.

There were the usual imitation bags and watches, then the dvds. I've this odd habit of catching disjointed episodes of Bones on SQ flights. There's something fun there. It's like refusing to buy a music cd so that I could get a kick out of catching a song on radio. So I haven't gotten around to buying the Bones' box set or something. (I don't download it either!) So for 10 serious seconds, I almost wanted to get the ripoffs at the market.

The wet market was absolutely fascinating. It's probably because I've never seen one quite like this. (Tekka Market is too sanitized. Not quite this.) There was like, fish and animal blood all over the place, water and whatever remnants of seafood. Lots of seafood, pork and chicken. Salted fish, vegetables and dried goods. Strangely, I didn't mind the smells. It didn't stink. It just smelt like, a market.

If it wasn't so hot, we'd have stayed longer before attending the afternoon meetings. Again, my trusty unCroc-like Crocs kept the feet dry in a wet market and dri-fit clothes kept me cool in the humidity.