I walk around this local market, and I see no tourists. It seems ChatGPT is doing a good job organizing my trip and recommending places. I look around and I spot curiosity in the eyes of people wondering what this dude with a camera is doing around this smelly, dirty place. I smile, and most of the time, they smile back. They say hello and even seem to enjoy it, feeling a kind of surprise when I look at them through the camera.

Some invite me to sit with them, opening their personal space: it seems a recurring pattern when you walk paths that are not beaten by typical tourists. This is not the market made to attract tourists; it’s from the locals, for the locals.

I steal moments of everyday life while the market’s energy slowly calms down. As usual, the time when markets open and are full of buzz and my waking-up time are completely opposite.

I sweat. I sweat a little more. Only the breeze of the scooter taxi alleviates the heat. Neither does the darkness do its job to cool down everything. People are melting with the fan while I walk past them. I smile, they smile. I nod, they nod.

As usual, during my wanderings, I don’t care where I am going, trusting the universe and the reputation of this part of the world for being friendly. I walk up staircases in buildings that, if only I were back home, would scare the hell out of me. But here, I’m cool. I believe that a smile is the only thing I need—maybe Google Translate as well. But I fool myself that only the first one is the one that matters.

Around here, I eat delicious food everywhere. One of the things I’ve learned with time is that when you land in a new country, the first thing to book is a food tour. Food is the codex of a culture, and most of the time, these tours bring me to interesting areas I later spend time wandering in.

I roll back to the hotel with my belly full and the SD card that counts 686 photos. I promised to be more mindful, but still, the urge to take as many photos as possible to avoid missing good ones wins over my willpower. I wish I could head out at 6 AM tomorrow, but I look at the clock and it’s half past midnight. Once again, the early morning buzz and I are still in different time zones.

Till tomorrow,
— M