Entering a market in SoutheastAsia bombards the senses, and where one market begins and another ends can be a mystery. I, of course, found this out at 4am in Ho Chi Minh City, when a taxi was waiting to take us to the airport and I was in charge of running to the ATM to grab funds. I swerved in between stalls for a good fifteen minutes before I realized this was not the market adjacent to our hostel. I had found another almost identical market (to my untrained, foreign eyes) a few streets over.
I think if you catalogued all of our hours in Southeast Asia, our time spent in markets would easily make up at least 30% of it. In Ho Chi Minh City, what looked like empty alleyways held barbershops, hole in the wall restaurants, and vendors selling fruit. One vendor was sell frogs that were still jumping, despite being in a be-headed state–freshly butchered meat at its finest, not to mention a variety of spices in bulk.