Slippery little sucker....

When it comes to markets, Hong Kong is a sizzling smorgasbord of choice. Here there is every type of market you can dream up. The idyllic Stanley markets, for the happy traveller – good for a beer and pair of Chinese pyjamas. Who can resist the saucy night markets on Nathan St in Mongkok if you are looking for a cheap pair of jeans, a rip off handbag and late night noodles. There are the gleeful flower markets that feel as though they are straight out of Mary Poppins. And of course the very unique bird and goldfish markets that are next door.

In the short few weeks I have been here, I have spent a fortune in International Supermarkets looking for produce from home. But ingrained into the mortar of the city are the wet markets, for a fresh supply of crisp vegies and fish jumping straight out of the esky into the pan. I assume it is where the locals shop, as I didn’t see many Westerners. And if that is the case, they are surely smirking at those of us who are slaves to the big food corporations

My journey was to the Graham St Wet Markets in Soho Central. The market descends a thin, steep, wet slope and with a pram and the odd mini bus this was a navigational challenge. But with the colours and the lanterns and cacophony of bartering, Hugo and I loved every minute.

First there is the bean sprout man, whose fingers file the sprouts so fast it is a blur. He moved with the precision of a casino croupier but his mind was somewhere far away.

The butcher is hidden behind a curtain of carcases. He wields his cleaver before your sentence is finished. The smell has a fresh flesh tinge and here you can choose your beast. This shop is not so much for the faint hearted. Hugo watched on in amazement.

The fishmonger sells his wares still swimming. Hundreds of different fish, crabs and crustaceans racing around polystyrene eskies, kept alive by an effective hose system (no comment on sustainable fish marketing practises). Right there in front is where we found the tub of eels, squirming like kids on an aeroplane. But one little guy had escaped! Hugo and I were quickly transfixed by his journey down the street. Unphased by the hustle an

d bustle this little guy was on a one-way trip to Victoria Harbour. I have never witnessed a greater example of courage under fire.

Sadly he was scooped up before he reached the egg stall. It took guts though!

My idea of these markets is that the produce is sourced locally, but could it be that they are as international as the big guns? Take the egg stall for instance. Small towers of crudely displayed nude eggs – they are stacked by colour, shape and spots. Scrawled in front are tiny signs that say, USA, Switzerland, Australia. How is it these beauties arrived so raw and undressed?

Why is it I insist on grocery shopping in a store and subjecting my son to the limitless plastic packaging and brand focussed marketing? This expedition was free from a tantrum at the check out and we raced home to tell Dada about the brave eel trying to find his way home.