Confessions of a Western Wino: Up Close and Personal: The Filipino Wet Market

Text and photos by Jason McKenney

Now I know why they call it the “wet market.” I followed Vina through row after row of freshly butchered pigs and goats. The large head of a cow sat on a bar stool like a child’s forgotten toy. Piles of fish were spread out over beds of ice that were quickly melting in the early morning heat, dripping onto the pavement into little rivulets that weaved their way to cluttered drains.

The market (or palengke in the local Tagalog tongue) was split into two distinct parts, wet and dry. Wet was where the meat and fish were. It was located underneath a large roof that rested on poles like a giant picnic pavilion or circus big top. Like an open-air warehouse. Dry was outside where the vegetables, flowers, and toys were sold. Those merchants had individual booths more like a farmer’s market or roving carnival.

It being my first full day in the Philippines I wanted to see something authentic. Something new. Something that would remind me I was a long ways away from Los Angeles. I got up early that morning and hopped into one of the motorized tricycles popular around the small town of Baler (basically a moped with a side cart). I rode with Vina who took me along to go shopping with her.

Each morning, after the porches are swept and the previous day’s trash is burning, women make their way to the market to pick up their needs for the day. Arrive early to get the freshest offerings. Arrive late and you’ll find nothing but scraps.

My head spun from the activity around us. Shoppers haggled for prize product and lower prices. Children too young for school ran through the aisles looking for new toys and chasing away stray dogs. Fresh meat, tripe, and assorted organs sat out long the table tops to be picked over and packaged. Large fish in a variety of tropical colors were stacked in piles, eyes wide open staring at me (Pick me! Pick me!).

Vina, a middle-aged businesswoman who ran a large household, was letting me stay with her family during my visit. Over the next few weeks while I was in the Philippines either she or one of the kids would be sent out to the market each morning to pick up goods for cooking that day. The market was a central hub for the small fishing village, providing not just food and clothing but gossip, friendly interactions, and other social connections.

At one point Vina held up freshly killed chicken for me to inspect.

“You will love this,” she said smiling brightly. “Tastes better than KFC.”