It was a chilly February day but the sun was out and the tent-filled market was crowded with shoppers and merchants. There were hundreds of local farmers with their fresh produce spread out on newspapers, crates and plastic tarps carefully displayed to attract customers. The shouts of the merchants yelling out prices and free sample offers were almost drowned out by the cacophonic noises of the banging pots and pans, slams of butchers’ mallets and the firecracker pops of the roasted rice cakes.

The ground was muddy from the rain the night before and the dirt-filled air was thick with smoke from the shopkeepers grilling everything from pig’s heads to dried squid. The smell was an overpowering mixture of raw seafood, fresh garlic and fermented radishes.

As we made our way through the chaotic maze of small makeshift stands, we saw her.