Gemma Deavin brings the markets of Phnom Penh to life.

The markets in Phnom Penh are more than a gathering place for traders and buyers. In labyrinths of streets across the city, life plays out in a cacophony of colours and smells.

The day starts early. Vendors rise with the sun and prepare for the morning rush.

Aisles packed high with fruit and vegetables border stalls selling poultry, meat and seafood. Pineapples sit in giant mounds as nimble hands skin and slice them into edible portions. Sticky yellow mangoes, watermelons and papaya are dissected for passing customers to inspect. The rambutans conceal their sweet, pale flesh behind furry red spikes.

Shiny red tomatoes and purple cabbage interrupt mountains of bok choy, yardlong beans and other leafy greens. Bundles of thin, white rice noodles are spread over banana leaves.

Everything is negotiable. Haggling voices rise above the car horns and exhausts from the street.

Featherless, pale yellow chickens hang in clusters from the roof like a child’s mobile. Slabs of rich, red meat dangle from hooks next to tables of intestines, liver and brain. Tubs full of crustaceans bubble alongside chopping boards sparkling with freshly removed fish scales. Come Chinese New Year, shiny, orange glazed pigs are in high demand.

“The markets in Phnom Penh are more than a gathering place for traders and buyers. In labyrinths of streets across the city, life plays out in a cacophony of colours and smells.”

It is wet underfoot. Small gutters bisecting the narrow laneways gurgle with runoff from the stalls. The smell rises.

People gather to eat. Shafts of light pierce the smoke as noodles topped with beef and vegetables sizzle in the sharp heat of big metal woks.

But it is not only food changing hands. From books, music and clothes to motorbike parts, flowers and jewellery – the markets are fixtures of daily life.

Outside, motorbikes and bicycles rest in orderly parking lots and goods spill onto the streets. Moto, cyclo and tuk-tuk drivers wait at the entrances, ready to ferry laden shoppers home.

The crumbling yellow Psar Thmei (central market) is the city’s nucleus. The Art Deco domed structure, dating back to 1935, can be seen from all surrounding thoroughfares, its four long arms spreading out in every direction.

Other Psars – Tuol Tom Pong, O Russei, Chaa and Olympic – are scattered throughout the city. Each has its strengths. Tuol Tom Pong, also known as the Russian market, is a haven for bargain seeking tourists. Silks, fabrics, clothing and music are in abundance.

When the midday heat subsides and the cool of evening settles in, the Psars close their doors and stalls assemble on the streets. Small light bulbs illuminate masses of dried shrimp, chillies and rice. Grapefruit and durian line the roads. Piles of glazed spiders, crickets and other prized delicacies tempt the passing traffic on the riverfront.

It is time for dinner. Skewered chickens grill over hot coals and rice noodles are pulled apart and served with mint, crushed peanuts and pickled vegetables. Almost everything is infused with coconut.

Tomorrow, it begins again.

Gemma Deavin is in her fourth year of an Arts (Media and Communications) degree, majoring in Anthropology and Media and Communications.