Vieng Tai Public Park. Located in the center of the city, this square is crowded with people on weekends. There are many people from the locals, immigrants, tourists, adults to children. The Saturday Market, which was started by local volunteers including Kero-chan during the Covid 19, now attracts so many people that it is hard to find a place to park the bikes, and the park is packed with a variety of stores. Among them, there is even a lemon juice shop run by children.
With the approval of the local police, anyone with a connection to the market is allowed to set up store here, without worrying about work visas, business certificates, or other troublesome procedures. There is no specific fee for opening a stall. The market opens at 10:00 a.m., but everyone comes at their own time and closes their stores at their own time. There were khao soi shops, candy shops, accessory shops, etc. Many people had their own handmade goods on display. There were also some stores that were truly worthy of the name “general stores,” where it was hard to tell whether the items were things picked up from the street, antiques, or things that were no longer needed from home, as if they were all applicable.
The overall atmosphere of the store was not at all stylish or marketing-oriented, and even the ethnicity of the customers was random and loose. Everyone was exhibiting what they truly loved, and there was an ideal marketplace that was a direct copy of the purity of youth at a cultural festival, just as it was in the adult world.
Kero-chan, of course, was also a vendor. In the morning, she told me that it was too much trouble for her to carry her large luggage every time she went to the market, so she used the baskets on the front of her bike as shelves and sold her products on them. So we decided to take two bikes, one for the stall and one for transportation in case something happened. Kero-chan's bike was set up near the market entrance of the street, between the khao soi shop and the used clothing store. The seat of the bike was covered with cloth, a board was placed in the front basket, and the store was decorated with banana peels in a matter of minutes. Today's product was homemade Kombucha and homemade mochi rice with mushrooms, steamed in banana leaves. It is like Japanese chimaki.
I put the kombucha and tried to put the chimaki on the shelves, but they were nowhere to be found. Since we had packed a small package, the only place to look for it was on the bike, and we quickly figured out that we had left it at home. She called Bang-chan and asked her to deliver it to here on the other motorcycle at home. Bang-chan replied immediately, but it was not good news, but sad news. She said she looked everywhere in the house but could not find the key of the bike. Kero-chan was fully panicked.
It was the time when some kind of voltage in Kero-chan reached the highest.
"Meoooow! “The identity of Kero-chan was revealed, and the cries of a cat echoed around us. The keys to the bike were lying in Kero-chan's bag, as if it was relaxing in its room.
'Don't worry, Kero-chan, I'll go.' I was so happy to feel the exhilaration of riding a motorcycle through the wind that it was a piece of cake for me to get back home. I quickly went back the way I came and when I reached Pina Paita, Bang-chan brought me a bat of Chimakis, but the steel bat was too big to fit under the seat or under my feet.” What should I do , Bang-chan?" I asked her, and she went back to work, saying that I could just pinch it between my legs and it would be fine.
Alone, I tried again to find a stable place, but to no avail. The only way to stabilize the chimaki was with a strong desire not to drop it, no matter what it took. With the same caution as if I were walking on a string, I gripped the steering wheel and concentrated all my energy on driving. When I arrived safely at the venue, the matter was settled, and I felt as if I had been accepted as a member of a circus troupe in a foreign land, and I chewed on it with my chimaki.
The chimaki I received and ate as gratitude was delicious, with the flavor of the fibrous mushrooms unleashed like forest meat and the aroma of banana leaves packed into the sticky rice. Even if the mushrooms were not magical, I thought Kero-chan's dish itself was magical.
The kombucha and the steamed leaves were so popular and sold out in less than two hours. Looking around, I saw a circle of people around the store, around the trees, and everywhere else, chatting all the time. It was obvious to me that shopping was just one of the opportunities, and that the main purpose of everyone was to meet people. It seemed that every Saturday, there were people whom they could meet at leisure.
This market, where you can enjoy such a slow and peaceful afternoon, is well loved by the locals and plays a very important role in the city.
It was not only people who could be reunited here, but also a dog that Kero-chan used to protect was kept nearby, and it seemed that one of the joys of visiting the market was being able to play with the dog.
The market has played a central role in people's lives since ancient civilizations long ago. Essentially, anyone is allowed to sell or buy. You can feel an organic connection between people and people, between people and things, which you cannot get from online shopping. I remembered that it was a common sight until recently for the creator to pass directly to the buyer. Large malls that offer everything from A to Z in one building, and online shopping where you can buy what you want at the touch of a button, have somehow come to dominate the shopping experience. As this tasteless consumption behavior became the norm, I felt sad that I would no longer even feel tasteless.
Shopping at a market with only individual stalls, where you can see people's faces and receive goods along with the color and expression in their eyes, can be truly enjoyable. An auntie was making khao soi by boldly throwing ingredients into a large pot that looked as big as a kiddie pool. I waited patiently for the khao soi to be ready, staring at the thick soup that changed color every time she added something to it. It was one of the best parts of being able to sit and watch the whole cooking process from head to foot, up close and personal.
Finally, it was ready. I immediately got in line and waited for my turn. I received my freshly made khao soi and ate it with a suspicious-looking Norwegian boy who was also staying at Pina Paitta. He was a nice, quiet guy, though I was a little worried because he was always drunk and dizzy and didn't make sense when I asked him about his travel plans, and his conversations were a little muddled.
Khao soi, which I had been watching since it was being made, was an exquisite local dish, worthy of the first khao soi I had ever eaten in my life.
There is no single thing around you that is unimportant and appropriate. There is also not a single meal that is insignificant.
I want to stop being a mere consumer and start making things where I can feel the warmth of people and where new life sprouts from it, and I want to put it in my hands and mouth.
Pai's local market. There are no fees for opening stalls, organizing fees, or location fees, but I imagine that this was a meaningful and enjoyable way for them to continue their market. It is an ideal market where people freely sell and buy things, and the market is bustling with people like a yeast fungus bursting inside a jar. I felt a sense of peace of mind as if the entire city was wrapped in a silk robe of civil liberties, and the reality that I was there now was firmly placed in my stomach.
