Haymarket 2-5 Sat.

As I step out of the Haymarket T station I notice a young woman carrying a bag stuffed with indistinguishable goods, almost immediately her bag splits slightly and lemons spill out on to the pavement rolling like pinballs. I’ve never been to the market before so I meander for a moment before the smell of raw fish draws me around the corner. Approaching from the north the first thing I saw was an extraordinary amount of trash. A couple of men are working diligently around the pile, their efforts seemed futile. The pile grows quicker than they are capable of cleaning. The bombardment of odors reminds me of going to work with my father as a child; he managed a produce terminal in Houston. The streets and sidewalks are crawling with both venders and customers yelling back and forth, vendors shout prices, quantities and type of goods. The tents and stands line the street creating a hustling bustling shantytown. It is difficult making my way through the crawdad narrow aisles. The space is so limited that travel is designated for you there are no lines of desire or places to rome. Walk, buy, or get the hell out of the way. Some of the paving types create difficult negotiations. My initial pass through was a little overwhelming so I quickly sought refuge in the North End Park directly across the street to the north. After gathering my thoughts and taking some notes I reentered the bazaar. There is some open space adjacent to the market that is not being utilized; an unfortunate boundary has been created along this common edge by the placement of barriers and fencing. This space is a waste land lying in between the park and market, because of its relationship to the other spaces it is an empty awkward place. Along the other edge of the market is a strange juxtaposition of buildings and narrow alleyways comprised mostly of bars restaurants and sub level shops, it has a pleasant old world feeling. The crowd is very diverse I heard a number of different languages; many cultures are represented within this small parcel of land. The vendor demographic is just as diverse. Each vendor does things slightly different from one another some stand on pallets some use pallets to display goods some have stand scales some have suspended scales no two operations are exactly the same. Some of the vendors are polite and accommodating, making suggestions about specific goods and others aren’t so forgiving, one yells “can I help you ladies because you can’t help yourselves, whose next”. The amount of plastic bags is amazing, vendors provide them for customers that have not brought their own, one woman had a canvas bag full of plastic bags. I even observed an individual selling bags for a dollar a piece. After spending about an hour or so submerged in the market culture I decided to stop in The Point and have several two dollar drafts, the patrons inside were completely oblivious to the busy market on the other side of the glass. While sitting at the bar a couple vendors came in for a beer, judging by the reception of the bar staff the two men are regulars. After overhearing the two discuss business for a minute, I took the opportunity to ask a couple of questions. One man owns his plot and the other rents, both men get there produce from a place in Chelsea and both have regular weekly jobs. The men seemed excited about the idea of redesigning the market but neither one really had any suggestions other than needing more room, in the case of the vendors space itself has become a commodity. Jason Futrell