A musing on the loss of the market...

At the heart of every self-respecting town or city in Latin America there lies a market of fresh produce, a place for transactions, somewhere to meet and to gossip, the centre for the dissemination of news and a place where revolutions are born... I have eagerly visited many in this southward journey of the Andes, but one of the most impressive has been that of the Mapuche trading town, Temuco, in the Lake District of Chile.

On a cold, misty, grey winter's day walking into the market was sensory bliss; what an extraordinary collection of colour, shape, smell and sound! Rows and rows of fruit and vegetables in their splendor... from huge round blue shelled pumpkins to small green avocados, the peculiar shaped artichoke and the inviting shine of aubergine... perfectly round oranges and leafy green silverbeet, stacks of marrows and sacks of lentils; mounds of spices with the most wonderful colour and smell; bunches of aromatic herbs from mint to chamomile and cilantro; huge, round cheeses reminiscent of Holland and small golden jars of wild honey; fish, fresh and smoked, hanging from wooden stands with their pungent seaside smell; small piles of oval eggs in the most beautiful grey and blue shaded shells... and everywhere the classic market vendor, in cap and scarf against the cold, calling his wares loudly as you pass by, inviting you to sample...

I watched two elderly men in their thick woolen coats and hats carefully selecting carrots from a large orange pile and wondered why we, in the "west", have so avidly chosen the sterility of supermarkets with their artificial lighting and excessively controlled temperatures over this... this most wonderful of social institutions and haven of sensory delights, the traditional market...