Phnom Penh, Cambodia

There must be a special trick to peeling mangoes but I don’t know it. Instead I cut off a piece at a time and enjoy this sweet, juicy treat. I came back from Psar Thamei market with bags of fruit, some of which I don’t even know the names, in various colours and textures. I have fresh lychees too and clementines. I know that when I return the thing I’ll miss the most will be, being able to buy fresh tropical fruit at any time of the year. Mangoes in the supermarkets at home are never as good or as cheap. Maybe I will develop an a taste for English fruit and learn to appreciate apples and pears.

I’ve been feeling better and decided to veture out to the largest market in Phnom Penn, with its huge dome shaped roof which covers a hall full of jewlery sellers and their brightly coloured jem stones. Spiralling off in all directions are various clothes, food and electrical stalls. I spent a few hours browsing, slowly taking in the smells, the sight of fresh meat being prepared. The trickles of blood that run silently along the dark, stained floors. Shiny, plucked chickens hang from wires, next to tables of golden apples. The gentle smiles I recieve are refreshing, once the tourist stalls of endless scalves and sarongs are left behind. I find baskets stacked high with squeezably ripe mangoes, bananas and an indistinguishable selection of leafy green herbs and root vegetables.

I pay a dollar between two stalls, run by wise, hardened women who have lived through a lot but their eyes remain eager and their lips upturned in good humour. As my fruit is placed on the scales I am offered various samples to try. I add some prickly fruit to the basket before handing over my riels. I leave the women to their chatter and feel inspired by the contentedness they display in simple but peaceful lives.