Bowling-pin-shaped cholitas (Ladies in indigenous dress) sit beside their bowling-pin shaped sacks of coca leaves. Dogs roam amidst the meat counters gazing longingly. Getting lost in these mazes is inevitable, and you're likely to find a whole new room or section of the market after you already visited it three or four times before.
Remove the idea of a food court from your mind, where one might stumble into a Chinese counter next to a pizza joint. Here literally ever stall within one section of the market offers the same menu at the exact same price. What defines one from an other is essentially which plump middle-aged women is most aggressive at convincing you to stay at her table.
Once you've been convinced to sit at their table, expect to be crammed in, elbow grinding elbow, up against other diners at all sides. Each stall has only one semi-long table perpendicular to it. Don't be surprised if during your brief sit down, you're asked to move one way and then the other in order to accommodate more diners. After eating you'll start to get searing looks if you don't skid-addle immediately. There are slews more diners to feed before the day is done.
It's worth mentioning that everyone working at every market i've stepped into, even the butchers, are female.
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