Later that afternoon, Maria leaned out the window and inhaled city fumes. Traffic roared five storeys below, and clusters of trees surrounded the mix of corrugated metal and cement roofs of nearby buildings. She drummed her nails against the window frame and exhaled slowly. Exploring Bangkok couldn't be as intimidating as she was imagining. It was just another city, with a different language and culture. After gathering her hair, which felt too long in the heat and humidity, she pulled it into a ponytail then headed downstairs.
When she reached the gates at street-level, the security guards wished her good luck with big smiles. A local man in a baggy t-shirt hurried by, carrying bulging bags of fresh produce. She could use some of that too. Maria retraced his path to find others clutching similar items. A little exploring might build her appetite before sunset.
Food-stand vendors, stirring fishy simmering soup and tending to barbecues, spoke in rapid-fire Thai. She leaned in close to a metal food cart with a giant vat of soup to inhale the savoury aroma. That went on her to-try list.
She responded to the man's next Thai phrase with, "Sorry I can't speak Thai yet. Do you speak English?"
He gave her a funny look and muttered more Thai.
The street-food options impressed her: mouth-watering pork satays, fried chicken, spicy sautéed noodles, or bagged salad should she want to test her Cipro pills. For the next while, she would stick to restaurants and whatever cooking with Dan's old hotplate. For that, she'd need to find the nearest market, a real market with fresh fruits and vegetables that would make her family rejoice.
Farther down the sidewalk, in an open lot, people, produce, and vendors spilled out of a sprawling striped tent. It shaded half a dozen long rows of tables piled with fruit, vegetables and meat. Motorbikes whizzed by on the sidewalks, and she squeezed between large trucks who used her path as a parking spot and a concrete fence.
Locals browsed through bamboo and wicker baskets filled with colourful chilli peppers. There must have been six different varieties. Maria took a short video of the market's offerings to share for the contest tomorrow. A woman behind tables of various unfamiliar green vegetables shouted in high-pitched Thai to the slow-moving local patrons. At least Maria recognized the numbers on top of the products.
Stopping at a table full of fruit, Maria stopped recording to sniff a few mangos to test their ripeness. She picked out a bright pink shelled dragon fruit to work into a dessert for an entry this week. Sunshine had raved about the tropical fruits in Thailand, and Maria's father always lamented Canadian produce could never rival Asian fresh products. Maria was eager to reach her verdict. With a smile, she extended her items and a bunch of bananas to the vendor. After the woman took the fruit, her words blended to sound like 'noon' and 'baht'. Baht was Thai currency, so Maria dug out her wallet.
"Do you speak English?" she asked.
Furrowing her brow, the woman brought her thumb and index finger together as if to crush a small, invisible person. "Nit noi, little."
Maria held out an array of blue, green and red bills.
"Nueng Roi," the woman intoned, taking the red hundred-baht bill. "Ha sip." She grabbed the blue fifty.
As the vendor bagged up the fruit, Maria echoed her words syllable by syllable. The people beside her laughed and whispered.
"Why you no speak Thai?" A young man in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt clutched a bag of orange curry.
She held back a laugh. "Because I came to Thailand yesterday."
"You no Thai? You Cambodia, Philippines?"
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