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Stories from the road

Markets as a glimpse of the Latin soul

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Chaos in Minerva market in Xela

There is nothing like it. It is a bombardment of the senses. It is an organized chaos, a mess that grew organically but still somehow functions. As such, it is a metaphor as well for life in Latin America. Yes, markets truly are the beating heart of the continent.

‘American tourists don’t come here’, Dolores tells me, and her head nods no to underline her point. The Mexicans have a love-hate-relationship with their northern neighbours. Faraway so close. Migrating there is their ticket to a better future and more income. But they don’t really understand their capitalist culture, their eternal stress. And their fear to open up for other cultures.

Dolores has had her small food stall in the basement of the market in Tlaquepague, on the outskirts of Guadalajara, for ten years now. In the beautiful colonial old town American tourists swarm around everywhere, forking out decent money for the artisanal woodwork and pottery on display.
But they never descend into the food court of the market, the place where I just ordered a torta with Dolores because it is one of the few Mexican dishes I know. True, the kitchen is a far cry from the modern ones in the McDonald’s restaurants that dominate the streets. But these markets are where the Latin American heart beats. This is the real Mexico, not the polished-up version of the surrounding streets.

Food court in San Miguel de Allende central market
Food court in San Miguel de Allende central market

Fabric of a messy life

To understand Latin America one only needs to dive into these markets. They are the fabric underlying this seeming chaotic mess of life.
On my first day in Mexico City my first trip was with the underground. Exit: La Merced. ‘They say themselves it’s the biggest one in the world’, my former colleague had warned. ‘And you haven’t seen anything like it before in your life.’
The latter remark turned out to be absolutely true, though I definitely discovered crazier markets later on during the trip. But not one was as big as this one. It wasn’t even clear where the subway station ended and the market started. There was no map, there definitely wasn’t any plan as well when this thing started. It is one big maze, that probably started under the roof of the official market. And then at some point in time just spilled over into the surrounding streets.

Bombardment of senses

Your first instinct is to guard and continuously check all your belongings on your body. The pathways are so narrow it’s almost hard for two people to pass eachother. Which also makes stopping difficult, although you want to stop every two seconds. Because this is a bombardment of the senses.
Colorful spices are on display everywhere. There is an area where one can buy rucksacks. Shoes? Check. Tourist souvenirs? Of course. But by that time one has already left the official market and is on the side of the road, where the merchants can more easily attract the attention of tourists.

[two_fourth]Whilst the cars are driving by dangerously close, they are praising their ‘official’ Adidas and Nike and Puma training suits. When you turn away from the road, a small church pops up. Followed by another covered market, solely intended for food. Every imaginable type of fruit and vegetable seems to be sold here.[/two_fourth]
And of course the Mexicans are preparing meat on the edge of the hall, on a charcoal barbecue. The sheets of stretched pork are already hanging in the stall, waiting for a buyer.
It’s hard to imagine this is only 500 metres from the Zocalo, the huge square in the center of the country’s capital. But then again, markets are the beating heart of Latin America. It is where the entire society comes together, thus it is not illogical to have them in the geographic heart of the city.

Food courts

During the first 101 days on the continent, I visited many. And it turned out they come in all shapes and sizes. The smaller, older ones are fairly well-organized. They focus around the food courts, where women (always women) sell and quickly prepare meals and fresh smoothies.
The customers squeeze themselves on a seat on the outside quadrant, the women in the center make the quesadilla, tortilla, torta or whatever it is you want in the small kitchen. Fifteen minutes from ordering to finishing your meal, max, and all layers of society come together here to discuss the latest gossip.
It was like that in the stately Mercado 20 de Noviembre in Oaxaca (Mexico). It was like that in the Mercado Municipal in Xela in Guatemalan heartland, where shrines of Jesus Christ were looking over the proceedings in the concrete building with the sloped pathways leading you all around. It was like that in the cute little Mercado Central in San Jose, Costa Rica. And it was like that at Dolores in the Mercado Benito Juarez in Tlaquepaque.

Organically grown

But then there was also this other type of market. The one that grew and expanded kind of organically over the years. Yes, La Merced in Mexico City. The stinky smelly dusty Mercado Municipal de Granada in Nicaragua. The street market of Mercado El Terminal near the Minerva bus station in Xela, where the Guatemalans have built their stalls co close together that at some spots sunlight magically shines through the small spaces left in between.
And then there is probably the craziest of them all: the Central de Abastos in Oaxaca. It’s probably not even on most tourist’s radar, as they tend to head straight into the city center to the two covered markets in colonial buildings.

Abastos is a completely different beast. A place where you can walk around, taking turns left and right arbitrarily in a maze that never seems to end.
Like La Merced, everything seems to be on sale here. Louis Vuitton bags (the real ones of course, the guy assured me) for around 10€. But that was negotiable. There is this crazy alley where daylight permeats through the roof, creating a magical effect together with the smoke that is used to dry the meat here.
And when you think you have seen it all, and Google Maps on your phone shows you the exit is really near, you end up in barbecue alley. It is so hot your skin starts to glow when entering this hall. Charcoal is burning left and right, meat is ready to be consumed. And the smoke is somehow finding its way outwards, in a scene that feels more like Apocalypse Now than a place to have an exquisite lunch.

Difficult

Speaking of exquisite lunches, that brings me back to Dolores. She prepared my torta, tailored to my wishes (which were limited to my limited Spanish vocabulary). In the meantine her neighbor has joined as well, from the smoothie stand nearby. A guy with only three teeth, and a smile that doesn’t even try to hide the missing ones.
Where I am from? Complicated. ‘Yo soy holandes pero yo vivo en Alemanha.’ I am Dutch but I live in Germany. He had already heard I wasn’t American. ‘They are scared of us down here’, he laughs.
But wouldn’t he want to make money of them with souvenirs, like his countrymen in the streets upstairs? ‘Not really. My life is here, in the market. It is sometimes difficult…’, and he stops mid-sentence. And he gives me a look which seems to say: but isn’t life supposed to be a bit difficult? Which gives us a glimpse of this beautiful tragic Mexican soul.

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