EmilyTurner

“I promise you have never seen anything like this,” David said from outside the bathroom stall.

I squatted over a hole in the ground, using my hands to push against the enclosed walls for balance. It was late; the stars dimly lit the outhouse. A warm liquid trickled down my leg, burning the layers of skin peeling off my inner thighs. Talcum powder would dry it up; my first cultural acumen to life in Thailand when I arrived just six months ago. I stepped out into the cool mountain air and jumped on the back of David’s motor bike. It was the hour before dawn and we rolled down the hill from our cabin before the engine started with a hum. We zipped along narrow roads across rice paddies cutting through the dense fog toward town. David accelerated, winding around corners we came to know well. I let both my hands go from his waist and tilted my head back. My heart beat fast, afraid of what was around each corner.

We arrived and dimly lit by a far off street lamp I saw short, stocky people wandering the sidewalks. They wore cropped black pants and colorful knit tops; quiet in demeanor, giving the dark streets an eery feeling. Produce was lined up on either side, fruits with odd shapes and smells, unfamiliar to what I knew as Thai. Inside a tented area there was buzzing chatter. I spotted the lady vendor who sold me sausages most days. We bowed our heads in greeting, her eyes wide at the sight of David and I out before sunrise. She smiled. In her broken English and my Thai we had regularly conversed about being strangers in new places; the importance of digging into the community to reach the roots of a culture. In her excitement, she pointed us toward a vendor selling fried crickets and mangosteen, the succulent sweet fruit that became my regular snack. She pointed to her calculator, "they don't speak Thai". I nodded and left with a sausage and sticky rice in hand. The light changed and the sun began to rise over the crowded street. This was the early morning market.