One morning after breakfast I went along with my uncle to the local food market to pick up so vegetables. The market was in an area called Uttura, where my uncle lives, which is on the outskirts of Dhaka near the airport.
The main part of the market was a vast, covered warren-like area with many stalls. The fresh produce displayed in pleasingly large mounds. On the outskirts sat men who only grew a small amount of food, in order to sell sit by the roadside. There is much bartering, best done with plenty of banter, like my uncle.
