Bustling mountain market

The market opens early in the morning under the shade of an ancient kapok tree. The buyers and sellers are all locals. Occasionally, a few carts from other places arrive. Many people jostle to choose the items they like, but most are just curious and stand around.

I happened to come to the mountain market while visiting a friend. His house is right in front of the market. His family sells everything from food to household goods. I had trouble sleeping all night because of the unfamiliar place. As soon as I closed my eyes, I was awakened by noise. I went outside.

A fire had just been lit, casting a flickering shadow from a makeshift tent at the end of the market. The smell of food mingled with the morning mist. The sound of iron doors opening echoed from the stalls. A few round pigs in a bamboo basket tried to poke their snouts out and squealed loudly. A flock of chicks chirped in a cardboard box with several small holes cut into it.

An old man put down a bag of vegetables next to the vegetable vendor, wiped his sweat and started a conversation: "The frost is coming, we won't have time to harvest and it will spoil." The butcher stopped chopping and said: "Please leave me a pumpkin and a kilo of potatoes."

The old man nodded slightly. The market was filled with voices. A cart approached from across the street, the owner smiled in greeting. Steam billowed from the rustic gifts on the cart. A few people were waiting, walking over. I heard many voices, dialects, creating a lively harmony. Among the high and low sounds, there was the sound of rushing, urgently loading and unloading goods, the sound of inviting customers, and even complaints about the goods not being priced as expected.

I suddenly remembered the market in my hometown, the years of my childhood when I followed my mother to the market, my heart sank and I was filled with tears. It seemed like every market was like that, always displaying the appearance of the countryside, poor or prosperous, through the rustic goods, through the simple clothes soaked in sweat, through the gentle, thoughtful invitations.

I chose a small corner for myself, looked around and thought about the world full of new things that the mountain market brought. The mountain market I encountered was a spontaneous market, gradually becoming familiar, meeting every day. Therefore, the shops were not systematically planned. It was also because of this that the mountain market became diverse, somewhat special.

If you want to buy something, just walk around the market and look for it or ask around. The people here are hospitable, with a simple and sincere dialect. The women sit in long rows, selling all kinds of agricultural products. While selling, they chat with each other about farming, family, children...

In particular, the food vendors were both skillful and sweet-talking, inviting customers to buy “homemade” dishes. The first time I saw the typical dishes of the local people, I felt both strange and excited. Seeing that the casual visitor was still hesitant to try them, the ladies teased me and then burst out laughing happily.

The market became more and more crowded. Some people came from far away, even from the villages in the mountains. They woke up before the rooster crowed, pushing aside the mist to walk. The road to the market was bumpy, having to cross hills and wade through streams. They arrived at the market just as the sun was rising, and dew still hung on the grassy path. The clouds began to disperse, drifting in all directions, letting in the golden rays of the morning sun.

Choosing a suitable seat, they took out from their baskets and baskets products of the mountains and forests: bamboo shoots, cardamom, mushrooms, rock snails and even corn that had been harvested yesterday afternoon. In their ethnic costumes, they stood out among the passing crowd.

The mountain market gradually dispersed in the middle of the morning. Buyers and sellers went home one by one. Looking at the empty, shabby tents and stalls, the wind blowing through them, a feeling of sadness invaded my heart. Luckily, on the edge of the market, the kiosks selling cosmetics, nail salons, and hair salons were still open. A few ethnic minority girls sat waiting for their turn. They showed off to each other their newly made brocade dresses and newly purchased silver bracelets. Some people were so excited that they even softly sang a folk song.

I have been to many markets and have noticed that everywhere the markets are noisy and bustling; sometimes there are even arguments and haggling. Only the mountain market is peaceful. It seems that here the sellers do not bargain and the buyers do not bargain. They communicate with each other in the same voice and tone, both the buyers and sellers understand and measure each other's hearts. I return to the city, carrying with me the affectionate looks and gentle smiles that are typical of the countryside and the mountains.

Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/xon-xao-cho-nui-post317023.html