The Mountain Market!

 Continues from The Green Mountain

When we’d wake up in the next morning we were really drowsy enough to have any excitement about a visit to the local traditional market in Abhah. Yet, in concern for other travel companions, we dragged out of the bed. After a refreshing continental breakfast, we headed to the local market.

The cool morning in Abhah reminded me of the Garden city of India during the year 2000. Huge green leafy trees walled the medians. Whenever we stopped at a signal the sound of the twittering birds could almost overpower the buzz of vehicles.  Wherever the median lacked the trees, they were beautifully gardened with date palm trees, green lawns or flower bushes.

“After all, did we come to see this?” That was my first reaction as we entered the Abhah market. Most of the shops remained close owing to the morning slumbers. The men in the group went into a traditional honey shop where they sell, honey combs, old leather water bags and native pots.

I was definitely fascinated by the leather water bags. I had so far seen them only in the childhood picture comics of Arabian Nights. My childish mind wanted to own one of the bags but my reasonable mind stopped me even from expressing that wish.

The Honey combs

White honey combs were soaked well like delicious halwas in the golden honey. The vendor offered us some combs to taste. It was much sweeter than my palette can savour. As the men bargained with the vendor, the children darted into the then empty market paths and we followed them. 

Many shops were stacked with home accessories for a day today life. There were also spices, colourful pots, mats, souvenirs and traditional accessories on sale. We got into a shop of a Bangladeshi vendor. As we rifled through many of the traditional souvenirs, we were interested to see that many of them resemble our native accessories.

Abha Market

We had a small chat with the vendor. He informed that the market is comparatively less crowded on the day being a working day of the week. In contrast to our assumption, he was not the owner of the shop and most of the shops in that market are owned by women of the place. This market was a symbol for woman power in the Arab world. 

The sun was getting hot and it was soon time for us to continue to our next destination. As we got out of the market, I thought, “each native market in a country hold pulse of the people dwelling there.  The vendors may watch many people from diverse cultures walking through their own paths. But in the mornings of silent openings and nights of calm closings, they all have a unique language and feeling.”

Continues in Al Habbalah Village-The heaven on Desert