The scene by the waterfront is best described as… chaotic. Clustered along a strip of wooden decking dozens of women in floppy brimmed hats, with neck scarves attached to shield them from the sun, are shouting volubly as they sell their prized wares at one of southern Cambodia’s most popular markets. I’m in Kep, a tiny coastal town, gazing entranced as basket after basket of writhing, wriggling crustaceans, with their distinctive, electric-blue legs and claws and toothpaste-white bellies, are emptied into plastic containers. All around is a throng of hungry housewives and local restaurateurs who have been here since around 6am.
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