Today, I suspend any judgment, the cultural gap between what we have seen and our values is too high.
We woke up early. The nocturnal rain has ended, leaving only a pale sun. The air is sparkling because of thunderstorm and altitude. The micros (local bus) stops at Tomohon’s market terminal.
A basket filled with colorful chicks attracts our attention. They are the small pets of Indonesian children. A macabre game if you think they are put by force in colors, but forever a game. Tommy is fascinated. He caresses them one by one.
We enter the fish department. The smell strikes us always, but now we are used to it. Tommy covers his nose with the sweatshirt, but holds the blow. We leave the fishery. A cage full of chicken pulls us off the road. From producer to consumer. A real fresh market.
There are no chickens or farms here. Animals, all animals, live in homes, together with their families and are sold to the market when needed. It is an important concept that needs to be kept in mind while moving in the inner part of the market.
The slaughterhouse is huge. We come on one side, dodging a couple of pork heads. The show is gruesome. We are the only foreigners in the market. Adventurers make a race to show us their merchandise. A succession of guts, and legs banquet full of bats surrounds us.
A vomiting pervades us, but we are surrounded by such a quantity of crap that we can no longer stay here. But before to go away. Here they are: the dogs! Shit!