The market was bigger than it looked at first sight. As any flea market it contained a mix of everything one can imagine. There were things with an obvious western style, local style teapots in all shapes and sizes, gramophone music, handmade vessels, religious symbols, traditional Chinese paintings, old-fashion mobile phones, the smell on Indian sandalwood, books, cheap pants, secondhand tools, squid served on a stick and vintage toys. Merely walking from one stand to the other and people-watching was enough to keep all senses busy.
There was a very special feeling to the market that is hard to describe. Maybe it was the mix of people and goods. Maybe it was that special market kind of smell. Maybe it was the way people were staring strangely at me. A kind man approached us and reminded us to be very careful and not let us be fooled by fake goods or fake bills.
Me and my friend C was giggling around, looking at everything and clicking photos on anything that attracted our attention. She helped me to hear when people were speaking in Taiwanese and not in Chinese around us and we tried a local ginger tea together. (I loved it and bought some red blocks with me home, she thought my taste buds had gone crazy.) The way she reacted to the never-ending staring reminded me of how awkward it really is, even though I am getting used to it.