Markets are always my favorite place to go when I visit a new town, particularly a foreign country.  I’m guessing it has something to do with things there being close to their source.  Usually the farmers who grew the bananas are selling them and the women who picked the cherries are offering them and the fishermen who caught the fish are touting them.  At the market, things have flavor – the flavor of what they are and the flavor of the town.  Walking through the muddy market in a town called Leogane, I watched as men and women bartered and traded their goods, and I tried to remain inconspicuous, observing.  But sooner rather than later my skin gave way to the fact that I was not a local, and from there on out, ‘Blanc! Blanc!’ and invitations to every stand ensued. I gladly followed their calls, with smiles serving as our common currency.