We're driving down a street lined with a hodge-podge of booths selling everything from meat and vegetables to clothes and DVDs. Edison pulls the car to the side and stops. I step out and am instantly absorbed into the activity around me. My ears fill with the sound of blue and white moto-taxis honking vigorously at one another as they attempt to squeeze their way down the crowded street. Over the clamor, I can hear a vendor shouting out "ceviche! ceviche!" to every passerby. I follow Edison down the street. My vision is overwhelmed by all the motion and colors before me. Vibrant paint decorates every booth, umbrella and sign. Everywhere I look, I see a different array of fruits and vegetables glistening colorfully in the sunlight and every step brings a new smell drifting towards my nose. At one point, we pass a stand of freshly cut flowers and I breath in the lovely aroma. The next moment, we're walking by a lady chopping up chicken and I scrunch my nose at the smell, and sight, and the de-feathered animals hanging upside-down at her booth. That's when Edison turns toward me to ask how I like the "mercado peruano."
Not like Walmart, eh?