In the blue hour of each morning’s twilight, the residents of Trok Mor (ตรอกหม้อ, Potter’s Alley) emerge from their nightly slumber at the same time. For most of them, each day’s first meal is perfunctory and necessarily rushed, taken in the darkness of pre-dawn. Many have myriad tasks to complete by 5am when the entire length of their tightly knit alleyway, which runs from Ratchabopit Road to Bamrung Mueang Road, is transformed in unison from a dormant passage of shuttered shopfronts into a spirited bazaar alive with sights, sounds and sustenance — a communal marketplace that has been fuelling this neighbourhood’s daybreak since it was first inhabited by ceramists known for their earthenware over a hundred years ago. Although kilns no longer fire pottery on this quiet back alley, an entrepreneurial flame continues to be stoked daily, characterised in the hardworking faces of the resident vendors who go about their sunrise trade with industrious zeal, many of whom ply their wares from right outside their shophouses. As the mellow dawn gives way to the midday sun, the doors begin to shutter along the alley as traders retreat from the afternoon heat, ushering in a return to a siesta-like atmosphere — and just like that, the market ends for the day. Though its hours are brief, Trok Mor morning market sets the quotidian pace to this part of Bangkok’s old town, one that I have savoured on many occasions — a reward for any curious early riser.

“Just follow the people.” A solitary street sweeper instructed me one morning, as she gestured with her comically long witch’s broom towards the unmarked entrance to an alleyway a short distance ahead while Bangkok’s iconic Giant Swing loomed behind her. From the street side entrance to Trok Mor, off of Bamrung Mueang Road, I couldn’t really tell what was going on between the rows of shophouses which themselves were lined with larger than life Buddhas and religious paraphernalia on display, all within inches of cars passing by. But as I turned the corner, I was greeted with a pushcart festooned with greenery — morning glory shoots bursting from the top, a tangle of curly bitter melon leaves, fragrant holy, lemon and Thai basil, pungent flowering garlic chives, pencil-stiff baby asparagus, coiled snake beans, frills of prehistoric looking stink bean pods along with various other produce dangling in tightly ballooned plastic bags like ornaments — a verdant signal of the bounty ahead. 

I’m only steps into Trok Mor morning market and I could already recognise that there was something special about it. With it’s Medina-like density and its jumble of mismatched shophouse constructions on either side, Trok Mor is a scrappy culmination of fabrications. A wire-draped confection of ad hoc add ons and faded tarpaulin awnings wrought over time, casting their oblique shadows on the pavement below. All together, they form a curiously harmonious, yet gritty urban backdrop, giving this pedestrian strip the kind of authentic street cred people like me clamour for — not a single Seven-Eleven in sight. The vendors who line every available segment of the way forward generate their own clatter of market noises, some calling out to passersby, all adding to the hum and hubbub of bylane commerce. Cleavers thwacking on well-worn chopping blocks. The pok-pok sound of bamboo pestles pounding into clay mortars preparing som tam (papaya salad) made to order. The fear inducing sizzle of large quantities of meat or vegetables being gingerly added to boiling hot oil in numerous caldron-like cast-iron woks, precariously mounted on the ground. Mountains of ice being freshly pulverised in Trok Mor’s very own ice store, where giant meter-sized slabs of ice are hand lifted by sweaty labourers into vintage ice crushers — to be delivered by broad chested porters to the numerous vendors selling seafood and beverages throughout the market.

A wayfaring ballet of sorts happens within the tight confines of this busy market street. Being confronted by the closeness and proximity makes me feel at the same time, more engaged with where I am — it is part of the experience. There is so much to look at, although the urge to linger is tempered at the same time by the gentle push and pull of the people in front of and behind me, patiently moving in opposing directions. Intersperse this with the need to make way for the occasional motorcycle, box-laden trolleys, or handcarts that double as compact food wagons, clinging and clanging with any and every conceivable utensil of trade, huffing and puffing and steaming away. I sometimes feel like salmon swimming upstream against the currents of the morning pedestrian rush where everyone starts out at one end of Trok Mor empty handed and arrives at the other end with both hands clutching a multitude of purchases — often amusingly more than intended, further adding to the crush.

The air is infused with a dizzying array of fragrances that both please and provoke. Vendors are happy to pry open sweet-scented tropical fruits, releasing them from their casings to reveal bejewelled bounty within. Pyramids of freshly pounded curry pastes entice the eyes with their deeply rich colours and herbal aromas, but be warned — whereas some are delightfully piquant, others are downright repellent to the uninitiated.  Buffet platters piled high with fresh, vibrant and glossy servings of Khao Gaeng casting out their redolent savouriness like lures hoping to whet the appetite of someone’s pre-lunch hunger pangs. 

By contrast, the smell of butchers carving portions of meat, poultry and fish can be a queasy olfactory wake-up call that will beat any shot of espresso. Although espresso and any number of variations of coffee, teas, fruit juices and smoothies are available from the dozen or so beverage vendors that populate the market. On some mornings I take time to pause for a sip while also letting my eyes visually drink in the details around me, such as watching live fish and crab huddle in plastic basins moments away from their impending demise. It can be confronting, but I’ve always felt if I’m willing to eat them, I need to respect how they end up on a plate. 

Soothing buckets of lotus and orchids rest idly in their cool temporary baths, alongside trays of luxuriously braided garlands of perfumed jasmine and marigold, as well as banana leaf cones filled with cloyingly sweet jampa or blush scented rose pedals — soon to be offered to nearby spirit houses, or perhaps gracing the rearview mirror of a local taxi. A floral yin to the man-made yang of the market’s many aromas. It all balances out in this interconnected hive of abundance that fills Trok Mor every morning.

I never tire of watching the dexterity and fluidity of the traders and their muscle memory as they execute their movements. The masterful knife skills employed in chopping fresh cuts of meat. The flick of fingers as they bundle savouries into neatly folded origami-style banana leaf parcels, elegantly pinned with bamboo pegs. The sparing movements involved in precisely dishing portions of curries, or individually wrapping durian in delicate tissue having freshly freed them from heir spiny pods. Hands expertly tying bundles of vegetables, knotting food-filled plastic bags with lightning speed, or even mercilessly de-scaling fish and shelling crustaceans. Quick-handed noodle vendors preparing orders from an assortment of ingredients from their humble mise en place, mesmerically ladling piping hot golden broth into multiple bowls of freshly assembled noodles, swirling life into the awaiting ingredients. Tawny sweet gravy generously doused over slices of chargrilled pork, tinged brick-red on the edges. Caramel cuts of slowly simmering pork leg judiciously portioned and splayed by expert hands onto steaming rice with sides of briny pickled greens. Each vendor subtly showing their unique tricks of the trade and slight of hands as they manage everything all while working in the unforgiving confines of their side street surroundings with barely more berth than their elbows will allow for. It is truly a marvel of efficiency, ingenuity and necessity.

In between the bustle, there are also moments of serenity where vendors and patrons alike take a brief moment in their morning to make merit and offer alms to barefoot monks from the nearby Suthat Temple who make their way quietly gliding through the market in their sunrise-orange robes, their melodic blessings striking a different cadence all their own against the chitter chatter of the laymen that surround them. A visually beautiful reason to pause, for even the most secular of souls.

Amidst all of this movement and commotion are the people and their beguiling humility. It is the people I derive the most pleasure from. Everyone seems to be well acquainted with one another. Vendors know each other because they all live next to each other in this village within a village. The banter is unmistakable, I hear people talking about the antics from the day before, asking how this uncle or that auntie is doing. Customers are asked whether they would like something prepared just like the day before, or would they like something special today? There is a tone of familiarity which makes itself apparent each time I walk up and down Trok Mor — it’s not just the space that feels closer, its the people. There is a knowingness that is different here than in other markets in Bangkok, perhaps because this almost hidden alley is set behind unassuming, rundown frontages and is populated with more insiders and neighbours than outsiders and visitors. 

Every morning, their interwoven lives form the warp and weft of this tiny community, a hair’s breadth away from some of the most heavily trafficked tourist attractions in the city. It is not a street sustained by the kindness of strangers, but rather kept afloat by and for the residents. To experience Trok Mor morning market is to discover a charming pocket of slow-paced human encounters in an increasingly detached and fast-paced, developing city. There is such a gentle convergence of wonderfully unfiltered distractions here you don’t have time to look at your phone — you’ll be too busy, as I have been, observing a community working in unison. All you need to do is wake up early enough to experience it. To me, this is what makes this market special — the people.

Trok Mor Morning Market (ตลาดตรอกหม้อ)

Trok Mor (officially known as Soi Thesa) between Bamrung Mueang Road and Ratchabophit Road, Wat Ratchabophit, Phra Nakhon, Bangkok 10200

Operates daily from 5am until midday.