Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.

This morning I discovered that if I ever long for adventure, I need bound no farther than my own back door. The back gate opens to narrow streets and alleys, often dead to the world except for the activity in the schoolyard. Though on its sidewalks and streets I may have stepped a hundred times, give time a twist and none of that matters. Containers of live shrimp that one can select by hand and strange fish I've not seen the likes of before are presented for purchase. Tables of beautiful tea boxes and long rows of incense easily catch one's eye, as does a feast of colors at fruit stands. Behold, freshly picked oranges with leaves still attached.

It was clear as I turned the corner, I was entering a world that was not mine. It was clear that I was seeing an old place for the first time. It was clear that I was going somewhere many foreigners did not venture. Neighbors moved about from table to table aquiring fresh ingredients for afternoon and evening meals. And there I was, in the middle of it all, feeling completely out of place in a place I thought familiar. Before me, a feast of curiosity for my eyes and yet, an overwhelming sense that I didn't belong. Not even my hat and sunglasses could disguise that I was not the typical sort to frequent this early morning market, yet I was glad to have had an opportunity to see a world I never knew existed beyond my own back door.